i stumbled into exeter by accident while chasing a bus that smelled like old pizza. the weather here is this weird 16.56 degrees, which is like a damp pub night but with more humidity. 83% humidity? yes. your skin probably feels like it’s inside a sauna. i wore a hoodie and still got chills. the place is small enough that you see the same person three times in a day. strangers giving you directions? maybe. locals? probably not. i heard a barista once say ‘if you can’t afford it, don’t come here.’ that’s not fair. it’s cheaper than you think, but only if you avoid the tourist traps near the cathedral.

quick answers

q: is this place worth visiting?
a: only if you like cheap beer and people who talk about the weather. don’t expect art galleries or fancy restaurants. but if you like waking up to strangers asking about your travel story, yes.

q: is it expensive?
a: no. abagel and a pint cost less than your daily coffee. but the hostels? they’re a gamble. some are run by people who think ‘student’ means ‘homeless.’ others are just empty rooms with a mattress on the floor.

q: who would hate it here?
a: people who want silence. or air conditioning. or a place that doesn’t feel like a loop of local pub names. also, anyone who can’t handle 83% humidity.

q: best time to visit?
a: july. the weather is slightly less screamingly damp. but february? it’s like a freezer. just don’t plan a beach day.

i heard a local warn me about the high street. they said it’s full of shops that smell like old theatre curtains. i didn’t believe them until i walked past a sale that had a mannequin wearing a sweater from 1997. it was haunting. but then i found a bookshop where the owner sells secondhand maps. that was magic. the map was of a forgotten forest. i bought it. i don’t know if it’s real.

another insight: the weather here is a joke. 16.56 degrees, 83% humidity, and it feels like 16.44. that’s not a typo. it’s like the city is whispering, ‘you’re not warm enough, but you’re not cold either.’ it’s exhausting. someone told me the sea here is colder than a math exam. i didn’t test it, but i’m 80% sure they weren’t kidding.

i saw a street artist painting a mural of a fish on a wall. it looked like it was done with a marker and regret. the colors were wrong. the fish had too many eyes. a kid pointed at it and said, ‘that’s not a fish. that’s a warning.’ maybe they were right. the locals are weird. they talk about the weather like it’s a personal trauma.

the safety vibe is mixed. i had my wallet stolen once. not a lot. just a subway card. but it was in a place that should’ve been safe. a café. a local said it happens often. they called it ‘the exeter tax.’ i’ve since stuffed my wallet into a bike lock. it’s inconvenient, but it works.

exter has a thing for old things. i found a bookstore with a sign that said ‘used. maybe not new.’ inside, they had a typewriter from the 1960s. it made clicking sounds when you typed. i didn’t buy it. i just sat there typing nonsense words. a man in a tweed jacket watched me. he didn’t say anything. maybe he was judging. or maybe he was just lonely.

the best thing here is the way the wind smells. it’s like the sea mixed with bread. not the fresh kind. more like a bakery that forgot to clean its oven. i don’t know if that’s a good thing. but it’s consistent. every time i step outside, it’s that smell. it’s weirdly comforting.

i heard a group of tourists complaining about the lack of tourist attractions. a local told them, ‘exeter isn’t about things. it’s about moments.’ they didn’t get it. they wanted a castle or a museum. but the real magic? a bench by the river where no one sits. or a street where the cars are so quiet you can hear your thoughts.

i tried a local restaurant. the menu had pictures. nothing written. i ordered based on the pictures. it was a dish of potatoes and something green. the waiter said, ‘that’s it.’ i thought it was a joke. but it was good. really good. the taste was like a memory I don’t have.

someone told me the city is dying. not in a bad way. like it’s quiet because it’s sick. they said the youth leave for bigger places. but then i saw a group of kids playing frisbee in a park. they were laughing. it felt like a memory from another time. maybe exeter is just waiting for someone to notice.

i couldn’t find a good place to sleep. the hostels were either full or too loud. i ended up in a cheap apartment with a view of a train track. the train passed at 3 am. i heard a woman singing. i didn’t know the song. i didn’t care. it was better than silence.

i asked a local about the weather. they said, ‘it’s always like this. 16 degrees, 83% humidity. you learn to hate it or you learn to love it.’ i chose to hate it. but then i saw a sunset over the sea. it was orange and sad. the wind made the clouds move like they were trying to escape. i took a photo. it looked like a painting. or maybe a bad dream.

the best part? the connections. i met a woman who ran a bookshop. she gave me a map. i met a man who played guitar in a pub. he told me a story about a fish that never swam. i don’t know if it’s true. but it’s a story now.

i heard a friend say exeter is a ‘hidden gem.’ i don’t buy it. it’s not hidden. it’s just not flashy. but maybe that’s the point. it’s not trying to be anything. it’s just there. and sometimes, that’s enough.

i left with a full backpack and a headache. the weather was still 16.56. the humidity was still 83%. but i had stories. not the exciting ones. the quiet ones. the ones that don’t make sense. i hope that’s okay.

... and that’s it. i couldn’t write more without forgetting something. or maybe i forgot something. either way, exeter is what it is. 16 degrees, 83% humidity, and lots of people who know exactly what they’re doing. or not.

exeter: a budget student's accidental paradise

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