Reflections on my Study Abroad Experience in Berlin
By Angelina Baicu (CAS ’26)
I draw in my spare time; you should know that about me. I say this because something as simple as picking up a pencil can land you halfway across the world on an electric scooter from Johannisstraße, with its still-mystifying pronunciation.
I was halfway through a self-portrait in the first semester of my junior year when my roommate came back from her last class of the day. She told me she had just been accepted to the BU London IR Internship program. We made plans to celebrate that weekend, but as my eyes darted back and forth between her and the paper, her and the paper, I began to think. Perhaps if I had finished my drawing a little bit earlier, or if I had chosen another suitable subject, I wouldn’t have come to the conclusions that I did. Instead, I stared at my unfinished portrait. I had already ruled out studying abroad by this point because of program expenses, but I’d soon learn this isn’t an impediment. I began to conduct program research, first out of general curiosity, and found myself falling in love with Berlin. More specifically, I became engrossed with the thriving creative scene the city had to offer, a major attraction to artists around the world. To a certain extent, of course, an artist is only as good as their materials, and study abroad was the equivalent of one of those fancy graphite pencils with 3H lead. I opened the programs portal and submitted my application to Berlin: Urban Studies and Social Science that same day.
I doodled on my 8-hour flight to Germany. I doodled during free time slots at orientation and when I finally moved into my room for the semester. Thanks to a combination of scholarships, my time abroad would turn out to be less expensive than my schooling in the U.S. As a sociology major on the pre-law track, my coursework focused mostly on migration, political theory, and urban identities. I was also able to take an internship seminar course, which gave me a work placement as a research assistant. I am forever grateful for the incredible opportunities I was able to take advantage of while working part-time in Berlin. What stood out to me the most was how hands-on my classes were, the way in which they blended theory with experience. We wouldn’t just read about history; we would interact with it through museum visits, monument tours, and group projects.
That brings me to my favorite sketch from my time abroad; my roommate sends me a picture of her holding a cup of chocolate-covered strawberries from London’s famous Borough Market. I decided to outline it on the U-Bahn on my way to class. Be warned, nobody on the U-Bahn speaks above a whisper, and doing so will earn you a few glares from native U-Bahn riders (I learned the hard way, after 18 years of New York City subway speak). The silence on public transit quickly became a welcome one, an open invitation to reflect. There’s also a deep regard for crosswalks that I didn’t expect to encounter. Jaywalking isn’t just frowned upon; it has cultural connotations that are linked to postwar ideas of social order. Sundays were unexpectedly sacred; almost everything was closed for the entire day, promoting rest and relaxation. Despite this structure, no one can ever say that Berlin’s social life isn’t vibrant. From open-air markets to techno music, the city is always alive with possibilities. For future students, don’t miss out on shawarma from Maroush or döner from Mervan Bistro.
I ended up visiting Paris, London, Edinburgh, Ireland, Greece, and Amsterdam during my time abroad. I found my travels to be oddly reminiscent of places I’ve never been, mostly because in these spaces I found myself interacting with people from my background. You don’t get a lot of Romanians in the United States– hence the green card lottery– and when you do find those select few, it’s probably because you’re related to them. But the housekeepers in my hostels spoke Romanian fluently, I would often be privy to Romanian parents scolding their children for trying to climb museum exhibits, the list goes on. I drew a statue outside the palace of Versailles this time (as if I wasn’t enough of an insufferable tourist already) and I bounced between lived experiences. To grow up in one country while being raised in the memory of another, and then to study in a third, taught me more about myself than ever before.
I sketched two empty glass bottles on one of my final nights in Berlin, left behind by friends on my windowsill. There wasn’t anything particularly special about these bottles, and I never actually finished the drawing before moving out. Still, I liked the way the city lights landed on them. One of the most overused lines you’ll hear from people who have studied abroad is that it changes you in some fundamental way; I disagree. Berlin didn’t change me; it just reminded me who I was, allowing me to pass through freely without scattering. I feel like we could all use the reminder now and again.