I am a city mouse. Always have been. When I was applying to colleges in high school, I immediately crossed off any that were far from skyscrapers. Cities were home to people from all walks of life, they offered dazzling cultural opportunities and had an intoxicating dynamism to them. Suburbs had strips malls. Rural areas had cows. When I got in to Columbia, I happily bade adieu to my lame life in the suburbs of Philadelphia and set out for the most urban place in America.

I love living in the city and would not want to be anywhere but Columbia for undergrad. But I have recently realized something that should not have been so mind-blowing: city living cannot offer everything I want from life. In fact, spending time in the “middle of nowhere” can be incredibly fulfilling and feel just…right.

Last summer I interned for the US Department of State in Geneva, Switzerland. I applied for the internship for its international flavor and cosmopolitan edge. During my stay, I did my best to take advantage of the opportunities in Geneva as well as nearby cities. When there was a festival with floats, I was there to bob awkwardly to the techno music. Every weekend my planner was filled with possible plans. A cultural exhibit at the UN? Of course. Pain au chocolat by the Patek Philippe and Cartier shops outlining Lake Geneva? As if there is any other proper place to eat the French pastry.

I gradually noticed, however, that some of the best times I had were my travels to remote areas. The closest I have ever come to a religious experience was visiting the monastery on the St. Bernard Pass in the Alps. I felt like some sort of badass Amazon Warrior Woman while trekking through the St. Beatus caves by Lake Thun (they used to be guarded by an evil dragon, you know). And the best part of going to touristy Interlaken was that it allowed me to visit Gimmewald, a small town in the Alps that was only accessible via cable car and was home to more gnomes than vehicles.

After that summer, I realized that leaving urban areas was not only worthwhile, but a necessary “chicken soup for the antsy college soul” experience. A few weeks into the semester, already feeling worn down by the concrete jungle, I booked a fall break trip to visit one of my best friends from high school who goes to a small liberal arts college in Bennington, Vermont.

On the second day of break, I rode the Megabus up to Albany, New York. 45 minutes away from Bennington, this was the closest public transportation hub. When my friend Lauren first saw me, she giddily pranced out of her car in heavy-duty clogs, a large jacket from Salvation Army, and an oversized cable knit sweater that smelled faintly of sweet cinnamon and grandma’s attic. My black peacoat, riding boots, and silk amber scarf screamed “City mouse. Not prepared for country life.”
Bennington College is not quite like Columbia. For one thing, there are less than 200 people per graduating class. Grades themselves are optional. Instead of listing average incoming freshman SAT scores on their website, they list acres of wetland—fifteen, if you’re wondering.

Adapting to this new environment was not difficult. I spent two days with Lauren and two other friends from high school. In a word, it was glorious.

Imagine the type of images that would spring up if you Googled “new England autumn scene.” That’s what it looks like: vibrant fall foliage, rolling hills and ivy-laden colonial homes. Lauren lives in a co-op with a bike out front and a tire swing just a short walk away. Describing the area as “charming” would be selling it short. College campus brochure photographers take note.

The campus was also incredibly friendly. Whenever I go to a Columbia Class of 2012 event, I am always surprised by how many faces are and unfortunately will remain completely unfamiliar to me. At Bennington, Lauren would stop and talk to almost every person we saw. I have not experienced that sense of homey-ness and community since graduating from our 200-person high school.

One of the main reasons I came to New York City was to interact with diverse and interesting people, and I have been lucky enough to do this. But Bennington has just as many fantastic characters. After we whipped up homemade bread, Lauren invited her friends over for bruschetta, kale chips, and wine. I spoke to traveling singers and songwriters, pedicab drivers, and artists. I talked to her friend who, adorned in Santa hat pajamas, purple crocs, and a floral cap, told me he planned to take a semester off to transcribe therapy sessions. This was after he imitated his (surprisingly spot-on) “turtle in love” face and before he left for the annual “Rollarama” roller skating event at Bennington.

My next day in Vermont was equally unique and refreshing. After a deliciously greasy breakfast at a local diner—the kind where the waitress smiles and calls you “hun” while pouring you black coffee – my friends and I went to a goat farm to pick up goat milk and cheese. I find the taste of goat product to be too sour and, well, goat-y, but I could appreciate the precious baby goats on the farm. I haven’t laughed that much in a long time. Seriously, get thee to a petting zoo.

The rest of my weekend was spent doing more typical Vermont-y things, which generally translated to walking around windy paths and admiring the way the non-perpendicular (!!) patches of grass weren’t colonized by red and green flags. I took in a deep breath of fresh air that lacked that hint o’ New York grease and smog, and was pleasantly surprised to wake to the sounds of birds chirping instead of taxis honking.

I only stayed in Vermont for two days, but I came back feeling much more in touch with myself. Now don’t get me wrong. Despite my snarky commentary, I really do love living in New York. But it was nice not to be Ana the student, employee, intern or city dweller. I was just Ana the human who enjoys walks, fresh air, sunshine and chilling with baby goats.

I left Vermont with a glass bottle of maple syrup, a “Small Farmers Big Change” coffee thermos and a happy realization. This city mouse could be equally happy in the country, at least for a weekend. And hey, you probably would be too.