Hailing from an underfunded 1960s state school, my visions of attending Cambridge before I arrived included ancient, gargoyled walls rising up around me as I sashayed through cobblestone streets in a Hogwarts-esque gown – or perhaps I would be swallowed by marble busts who instantly recognised my inexperience and foreignness.

In the years that have followed, however, the wisteria-gilded walls of Christ’s have become an unexpected cradle of comfort, a familiar yet constantly awe-inspiring backdrop to academic achievements and positive memories.

Conversations with friends of similar backgrounds echo my own largely positive experience. We remark on the boost in productivity we feel studying in old, beautiful libraries, the sense of privilege and awe as we traverse medieval passageways, and the transformative experience of being the first in a family to partake in centuries-old traditions framed by chapels, portrait galleries, and grand halls which were once reserved for an impenetrable upper class.

“The wisteria-gilded walls of Christ’s have become an unexpected cradle of comfort, a familiar yet constantly awe-inspiring backdrop to positive memories”

At the same time, the town and gown divide in Cambridge is embodied with crystal clarity by the architecture of the city. The compact, decorative centre is home to listed buildings and historical gems at every corner, while just less than a mile away, neighbourhoods like Grafton and Mill Road, as well as Anglia Ruskin University, are denied the same investment, financial or aesthetic. Stark differences in the age, design, and upkeep of buildings across such a small geographical area prove once again the frequent conflation of “Cambridge” and “University of Cambridge” as one and the same.

As Alex, a Trinity student, reflected, “it is interesting that so many students I have spoken to in central colleges particularly seem to never leave the cobbled paths of the centre, lined by charming colleges, expensive chain restaurants, and shops.” The same painstakingly maintained buildings which give us the university’s trademark charm become a barrier to access to much of the city for its other residents – only worsened by students’ unwillingness to cross this border in the opposite direction.

“The same painstakingly maintained buildings which give us the university’s trademark charm become a barrier to access to much of the city for its other residents”

The same can be said for the difference between 'old' and 'new' colleges which sees King’s, Trinity, and John’s lauded for their classical beauty while newer builds are branded by some as “council estates” or “miserable blocks of flats,” despite their often award-winning modern designs. In fact, as Dr. Marco Iuliano of the architecture department affirms, this style of building “embodies the laboratory of the future, a deliberate attempt to reflect the revolutionary ideas generated at the University by creating a rupture from the past.” Does our refusal to celebrate construction that dares to abandon Cambridge’s ancientness actually expose a wider issue of our institution’s deep roots in the past? Our interactions with space seem to reflect a common criticism of Cambridge, at once existing at the frontier of academia and lagging behind social progress in the rest of the country.

Even among the central colleges, architecture enacts a hierarchy which embodies the UK’s pervasive class system. The dominating structures and strict, sometimes nonsensical rules which police lawns, pathways, and the river alike may be familiar markers of grandeur for certain students, but for the majority, they are a force of alienation. Ella Peralta, a Downing student, remembers the “fanciness” and “intimidating” nature of her college when she first arrived, while Alex describes his first impression of Trinity as “a space that made me slightly anxious – some people seemed to understand how to operate in the large dining hall, with all of its wonderful formal dinners, and already had mastered the small talk at faculty social events, in ornate rooms lined with medieval paintings.”

Both, like myself, have experienced a certain loss of novelty at our once breathtaking city, as we rush to lectures or walk back from a night out, passing history without a second thought. And yet, it is always in my lowest moments of imposter syndrome and self-doubt when the walled gardens, stained glass windows and mahogany halls threaten to consume me once again. Centuries of history and exclusivity – both intellectual and social – ooze from the fabric of the city centre, and I question how it is that someone so distant from this picturesque world ever found myself in such a place. As Alex’s words echo, “I have found myself, dramatically, wondering if the stone walls of my college were built to invite me in, or keep me out.”