An Evening in Exetah

As Raisin looms, the drunken freshers are released onto the streets of St Andrews to ransack the pubs and halls in the name of scavenger hunts. Older — and wiser —  students flee to the sanctuary of Edinburgh Airport before escaping to the far-flung corners of the world for independent learning week. While Mumbai, Paris, Prague, Brasilia, and Mont Blanc all looked like tempting options, I trade one end of the UK for another and find myself flying into Exeter to visit family and catch up with friends studying there. 

Established in 1955, the University of Exeter is home to 30,000 students, spread over three campuses and four Wetherspoons. The institution is recognised for its historic setting, internationally renowned research, innovation in sustainable development, and high proportion of Surrey expats. 

Trading my boots for sambas and my trench for a pea coat, I immersed myself in the crowd of Longchamp le Pliage and Canterbury enthusiasts battling up ‘cardiac hill’. While shinty was exchanged for lacrosse, the university shared many similarities with St Andrews — including a geography department which fails to educate Home Counties students that, no, Tunbridge Wells is not basically London. 

After talking to other students and checking the 23 Fixr pages available (we have two at last count), I found no shortages of venues offering society socials, quiz nights, and club evenings. From Fever to Ludo, Luna, Bomba, Cavern, Castle Street, and Lemon Grove, the list of clubs and bars spread across the city was extensive. So, swept up in the novelty of having more than five pubs and half a club to choose from, my friends and I ventured into a night of Halloween parties.

After wandering through cobblestone streets and paying a £4 entry fee, we found ourselves ensnared in the labyrinth of ‘Timepiece’; a cornerstone of the Exeter community. Rooms morphed into corridors, dancefloors, and winding staircases, that led to secluded spots and smoky terraces, spilling into crowded alleys and fairy-lit courtyards. Cast in the hazy glow of flashing lights and neon signs, each room had a new assortment of objects dangling from the ceiling: spitfires, ships, and tubas loomed above while convicts, ballerinas, and gangster grannies mingled below. 

While the venues were considerably more imaginative than those in St Andrews, the drink prices, costumes, and conversations were not. I still passed the same number of vampires, Vectors, and Loraxes as at Fright Night, and I was informed of gap yahs to Southeast Asiah, before being questioned relentlessly about where I ski. However, university students were not the only ones enjoying the nightlife. Exeter College students, locals, and tourists could all be found dancing to Britney Spears and exchanging drunken conversation in a far-off corner, mercifully skipping  past questions concerning your degree and which halls you live in. The endless combination of people and places the city offered promised that no two nights would be the same, unlike the sense of déjà vu that often accompanies an evening at Molly’s. 

But there is something uncanny about hearing a city you have grown up in described in a new language of acronyms and nicknames by people around you. You realise that the place you once thought of as home isn’t quite that anymore. Your memories and adventures have been made somewhere else, and these streets now belong to someone else. 

So, while there was a novelty in bursting The Bubble and exploring what other university towns have to offer, I was grateful to catch the 787 bus at Edinburgh and see the familiar faces around me.

Photo by Lara Lack