Welcome to England. Here we drive on the LEFT.

Hello from England!

I am finally back...no more Mallorca for me! (Well maybe until next summer, if I decide to go back). Actually, in typical me fashion, I am already planning my next summer. And the next one is five months long..!

(Just a quick clarification before I proceed, I changed my name on facebook. Not to be cool or anything, just because it will be easier next year when I'm teaching if people (ie potential students) can't find me so easily on facebook if they try. You just never know in this day and age, so it's best to err on the side of caution).

Anyway, having been back a week now, I have to say it has been surprisingly fun rather than depressingly cold, rainy and boring as I anticipated. The weather has been okay (for England), no rain as of yet. And I have been reunited with both my sisters and my family for the first time properly since April.

The only thing(s) that have caused me great stress this week are:

1. Driving
2. Paperwork, Finance and Accomodation for Paris.

It has only just sunk in properly for me exactly how unprepared for the end of September I am. I have officially booked my ticket on the Eurostar for the 25^th September, London St Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord. Fingers crossed I'll arrive and magically have somewhere to live by then.

The second issue is of course, driving. I have booked my test and now I am panicking slightly. There are two types of people in the world, those who have passed their tests first time and give you positive feedback and people who did NOT pass first time and are sceptical. It's hard to know which ones to believe. I don't want to go into my test with the frame of mind that I'M GOING TO FAIL but equally I don't want to go in cocky and assured that I'll whizz through it no problem.

I have been out twice this week in our old battered Ford Focus (with both of each parents) and to tell the truth, there have been some hair-raising moments. Bearing in mind that it has been 2 months since I've been driving and in those two months I have been accustomed to 'driving on the right', European style.

When approaching a roundabout, my father said “I want you to turn right at this roundabout”. Now, I know that means, “choose the exit on the roundabout which leads right from where you are now” but for some bizarre and unknown-to-anyone-including-myself reason, I decided that I would ACTUALLY TURN RIGHT at the roundabout.

As soon as I had started to emerge and turn right my father began yelling and screaming “WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS IS A ROUNDABOUT!”

And, lo and behold, I realised with a horrifying jolt in my stomach that it was. There was a bus approaching onto the roundabout going in the opposite direction to me. For a split second I was incapable of doing anything except for sit in sheer panic and watch the situation unfold before my eyes before coming to my senses very quickly and turning sharp, sharp sharp to the LEFT to follow the roundabout around English-style. All I can say is that, fortunately I didn't stall, which would have made the situation a lot worse.

But I have to say, if that had been a driving test, I somehow don't think I would have passed.

It's not an abnormal thing to do when you've been used to right-lane drivers for an extended period of time. In fact, in a car with my father driving through France this Easter in a rented car, there was a terrifying moment when he emerged from a junction and stayed ON THE LEFT whilst approaching a hairpin bend into a tunnel until I reminded him “WE'RE IN EUROPE!” and he suddenly swerved JUST IN TIME onto the right before a driver came whizzing through the tunnel “in our lane”.

However, it is nonetheless one of the craziest and most dangerous situations you could get yourself into, driving onto a roundabout the WRONG WAY. Imagine if it was busier (I was driving at night). I don't like to imagine it actually. I would have written the car off for sure.

So, driving needs some polishing up. I have to say, it's not that I can't drive well. I just need to practise everything methodically and get used to English roads before I take my test. In Mallorca, drivers were crazy and not exactly safe on roads. The same in Nice, when I was there. People had a much more 'laid back' attitude in Nice (to driving). Everything from parallel parking in impossibly small spaces to driving by centimetres from parked cars was 'acceptable' in Nice. I guess you have to be one of those really experienced drivers in order to get away with this – but the bottom line is you can't drive this way in England and 'get away with it'. You will get caught. And made to pay.

So, driving is just one of those things I have to try and do without losing my head and just get on with it while I have the chance. Cause next year, I won't. I think I'm having the same frustrations in a car that I was having this summer with language. Speaking Spanish was frustrating for me because the majority of people assumed, before I had time to prove myself, that I barely knew Spanish. When in reality, I knew a lot more than they realised. There was one incident, in the last week of my stay at a house party, which makes me so mad I still get angry thinking about it.

We were surrounded by lots of Mallorcans who all spoke English to some degree, some more than others. One of the guys who spoke English to a lesser degree (but assured me had spend a year 'studying' in Florida) had been talking to me in English all night. I didn't mind, but then I said to him “Podemos hablar español” because MATE we are in Spain (not England, not Florida) and I am supposed to be practising.

Well of course he didn't really care or bother changing to Spanish; I guess he just assumed that I didn't know enough and that he knew more English. (In reality, he didn't).

Anyway it didn't bother me until later on that night when we were outside by the pool and I overheard him behind me chatting to my friend (who speaks amazing Spanish and is fluent). He was talking about me, obviously assuming I couldn't understand.

(This was all in Spanish. And yes, I did understand every word).

“But your Spanish is amazing! You're really, really good. Your friend there, she doesn't speak much at all, does she, and she hardly understands does she?”

I gave him a very withering stare at this point, but he didn't register because he didn't know I was listening/comprehending. My friend proceeded to explain that I did understand but didn't know as much as her because I'd only been learning 2 years.

He then looked at me, a little bit worried, then back at her and then said “But – that means we can't talk about her? We can't have a private conversation because she understands everything we're saying?”

I don't often feel like punching people (and if I had tried, he was a lot bigger than me and probably could've knocked me out) but I was very tempted to go up and give him a very sharp and hard slap across the face. What an idiot anyway, I consoled myself with, not before giving him another evil look.

The thing is, I've written about this before: people should not be THAT condescending when it comes to language learning. He may have had a point that my Spanish isn't great. But it's never OK to say that about someone when they're learning a language. And I would never say that about someone learning English.

It's kind similar with driving (OK, maybe not completely the same). I know I'm a relatively inexperienced driver, but when I go out on the roads with instructors/parents/anyone and I make a small error (or big error) it's a complete knock to my system. It then leads people to believe that I'm completely unsafe on the roads, that I can't think for myself and that I'm going to crash the car.

Now I know exactly why people might think this (learner drivers are the most risky on roads of course). And I understand that people SHOULD think this because sometimes I do risky things like with the roundabout. But 95% of the time, I don't! I am a pretty safe driver. I keep to speed limits and I generally do what I've learnt about checking mirrors, stopping distances, waiting for traffic etc. But of course, it's the 5% which makes all the difference. The 5% of the time when I'm not concentrating and I end up doing something stupid is what counts against me. And then it's like a shock to my system the way someone insulting me about language is a shock to my system.

I guess we can't be perfect in anything. And maybe there's not much point in worrying about the 5% of the time I get something wrong on the roads or when I'm trying to speak in a foreign language – the best thing is to forget it, keep going and try again.

a) I did reverse around the corner perfectly last night after three goes (and in the dark).

b) And I DID learn a lot of Spanish this summer (compared to what I knew two years ago – zilch – it's saying something that I can hold a conversation for up to an hour and a half about life, careers, crime and poverty and Mexican culture. I talked to the host mum a lot about this).

Guess it just a matter of 'practise makes perfect'.

Stressful things aside, there have been some good moments this week. I walked into our garden the day I got back only to discover we have a TRAMPOLINE!

It's such a shame that my family decided to get this when I am 21 and not 12. I'm just imagining the amazing sleepovers I could have had with my girlfriends if we'd had this trampoline then.

Anna and I went to Lyme Park (which is one of my favourite places in England) the day I arrived home from Spain. Unfortunately we didn't get any photos (it was nice, sunny weather) but this is what it is.

Actually, Lyme Park is where the BBC filmed the 1995 version of 'Pride & Prejudice' - Stockport's greatest claim to fame! Below is a still from the film, Darcy and Lizzie walking through these grounds. We've climbed up these steps numerous times! (You can see the house in the background).

So as you can see, in spite of all my moaning about it and insisting that Mallorca is better, England is a very beautiful country. There's so much green here - even OUR garden is looking good. Could be my parents, having taken up gardening, having a mid-life crisis. 

Anyway, now I'm off to 'sort my life out' (lots of paperwork still awaits me, groooan).

Laters!

Ninja Tortilla Girl

Holaaaaaa.

Now for the ultimate post about Mallorca...Because that's right, come tomorrow at 12pm, I will be landing in Manchester Terminal 3 and thus bringing a bitter end to the sunshine, beaches, tapas and Sangria of my two-month summer on this wonderful island.

It's so ironic that in my last 48-72 hours here I have had some of the funniest moments (and coldest beers) thus bringing me to the fluctuating conclusion that I'd rather stay another two months until the summer season is well and truly finished. But in spite of this conflicting “should I stay or should I go” syndrome, it's probably best if I leave on a good note (rather than during another Blue Spell).

My last weekend on the sunny shores of Mallorca has been pretty – in the words of my housemate Miriam – amazeballs. It included another epic road trip. Me and four friends rented a car (by the name of 'Manuela Torres' – yes, we named her – like we named Jesús) and drove her round the east side of the island to Porto Cristo (where there are some caves) and Cala Romantica (the beach).

To be honest the caves were fun but a bit overpriced (14 euros to walk around and the 'promised' boat trip through the water in the caves turned out to be a bit of a scam) but I suppose if you go to an island, you can't leave without saying you've at least visited some of the caves.

Felt a bit like Indiana Jones/Aladdin

There was a concert in the caves. That was the best part. The lights were switched off and everything was pitch black and then this eerie music started playing softly and echoing off the walls and three or four long, lit-up boats emerged from the shadows and went around the caves in a circle, disappearing off into the shadows with the eerie music still playing. It was only about 10-15 minutes long but it was the weirdest and most beautiful thing.

(Just to clarify...these aren't actually my photos, I found them online. But it looked like this!)

It reminded me a lot of the scene in the Phantom of the Opera when Christine is taken down into the Phantom's lair and they play the famous theme song...

After the caves (Cuevas del Drach), we stopped off at at supermercado (how I'm going to miss buying bread for 18 cents and mineral water for 25) got ourselves some picnic food and went to a beach not far from Porto Cristo called Cala Romantica.

I guess it was kind of romantic.

Saturday night was a bit epic as well; seeing as we were supposed to go to a beach party in Palma Nova, we had geared ourselves up for fiesta time immediately after our road trip (because Manuela was our car for the whole night until 12pm the following day, so we thought it would be worth making the most of her). However at about 8pm we got a text from our Spanish friend (who had invited us) that apparently the party on the beach was practically non-existent.

So we ended up going to a house party followed by a night out in Palma – long story short, I arrived home at 7am the following day, still unshowered from the beach/road trip, depleted of both energy and money. (Sunday is payday for me).

So after sleeping it off until about 11am (badly, because of the background noise of chickens, dogs and the blinding morning light of Mallorcan sunshine – you either shut the windows and have total darkness but are left to swelter like a pig OR you open the windows and get some breeze but are kept awake by the light and/or the stupid ROOSTERS which crow from 3am onwards) I got out of bed and just chilled out until the afternoon when I went into Palma to hang out with Marlena.

Sundays in Palma are weird because the streets are very, very dead. It's kind of nice though. We went and had a little picnic by the library (which, I didn't realise was the library at first because it looked as if it were about to be shut down for good, graffitied and locked)...

...and then went to our favourite ice-cream parlour which sells ensaimada (I have already posted about ensaimada). All I can say is...QUE RICO.

(Just to refresh your memory)

And of course, there's always room for a little 'Tinto de Verano' (basically Sangria without the fruit). On Sundays it's one euro! (Montaditos our favourite place for drinks).

Last night was Tuesday and therefore the last tapas evening for me (and many of the au pairs). We are dwindling more and more in numbers now, but it was fun nonetheless (and of course, dirt cheap). I took the last bus home (11:20) and then for some reason, could not sleep at all when I settled down to sleep at about 12:30. Tapas is yummy, but the portions are tiny and you get a beer with each one. And you know what beer on an empty stomach does to you?

Makes you more hungry.

So I couldn't sleep at all. Partly because of the humidity (which even now, after 8 weeks, causes problems), partly because of the DAMN PERROS (dogs for those of you not speaking Spanish) and partly because my tummy was growling for some foooooooood! (Proper food, not mincey little tapas-portioned size food).

I knew for a fact that in the fridge there was leftover tortilla from the night before. And I hadn't had proper dinner. I lay awake for a couple hours fantasising about this tortilla, but not being able to work up the courage to sneak downstairs and help myself. The problem is I thought the boy (whose room is next to mine) was awake because we crossed paths on my way to the loo at about 1am and also his light was on.

For some reason, it's ok if your parents/family catch you raiding the fridge at 3am because you don't really have to explain yourself in your own household. But when it's someone else's house, there are definite (unspoken) boundaries about this.

It got to 4am and I was still awake, hungry and roasting in the Mallorcan humidity. I told myself that unless I ate something I was going to stay awake for four more hours fantasising about food. So I crept as QUIETLY as I possibly could out of bed, across the hall, downstairs into the kitchen...

I was like a ninja with the tortilla. I don't think I've ever grabbed anything out of the fridge so quickly. I didn't even rewrap the clingfilm back over the plate, I just took the nearest slice and ran (quietly). 

In hindsight, I shouldn't have been SO het up about taking a little bit of tortilla at 4am (there are probably worse things a host family could find their au pair doing in the dead of night...). But anyway.

Even after eating the damn tortilla I couldn't sleep. I stayed awake hour after hour, trying to sleep (you know what I mean – that cycle of 'if I sleep now I'll get 3 hours...if I sleep now, I'll get 2 hours').

So I stayed awake until 8am, went downstairs made some coffee (actually I tried to make some coffee) and ate some more tortilla. My excuse was I had not slept so it was merely an extension of tapas. The coffee machine refused to work and made so much noise trying to make coffee that I think the neighbours 2km down the road could hear.

So this is what I had to settle for:

Reality

Vs. Dream

I was starting to get into that jittery, sleep-deprived state where you start seeing double unless you sit down and when you sit down you fall asleep – or try to sleep standing up. So I had a cold shower, which seemed to work...

Until I made the stupid decision to just 'have a lie down' on my mattress. In my towel and everything. I just fell asleep straight away. And then I woke two hours later at 11:30am and felt like death. Death whose eyes had been scratched out!

It's true what they say about all-nighters (intentional or otherwise) – you need to go the whole night with no sleep whatsoever because if you get that 1 or 2 hour window of unconsciousness you will wake up feeling ten times worse.

So I did my best that day and drank like 3-4 cups of strong (instant) coffee (the machine refused to work still). That machine has hated me all summer, I swear. Every time I try and make coffee it's actually like taking part in the lottery – there's a CHANCE you'll get a coffee, but don't pin your hopes on it, just keep trying.

But do you know what the crazy thing is? I couldn't sleep TONIGHT EITHER. The exact same thing happened. I was tired, by the way. All evening I couldn't stop yawning and promised myself 'an early night'.

After 12am I couldn't sleep and before you know it it's 4am and my alarm is for 5:30 because I have to be at the airport for 7am and that means we have to leave the house at 6:15. And I have not slept yet.

What. is. Happening!

I guess I'm just going to put it all down to 'the-last-two-days-of-summer-delirium'. I think my week has been so eventful that maybe my body is only now catching up with it all. In a way it doesn't really matter, the moment I get home I can have a long siesta and mess up my sleep pattern anew in time for this bank holiday weekend at home.

But still, Mallorca has been great fun.  

My Mallorcan Mini-Life

Hello. It's been a while. Possibly over a week! I keep meaning to post updates little and often, so that these posts aren't so long (because I read over some of the stuff I'd written in my last post and I think I'm gonna try to start making them shorter for the sake of time). I've been very busy though.

Well as you can probably see there have been some updates to my beloved blog (I just figured out how to make tabs at the top – amateur that I am). Nothing really exciting, but there is a map of the world which I used to make tabs of people and places I want to visit (if you're not on there, send me an indignant message and I will happily add you. And hopefully visit you before I die).

There's also a link to my profile which is a bit boring (because everyone has facebook, so who really needs a 'profile' anymore?) but I suppose it makes things look a bit more Bloggy. Whatever that means.

Anyway, just one more week in this delightfully sunny island known as Mallorca, Spain and then I'm back to the dreary and cold Northern lands known as Manchester. The reality of returning to the UK is upon me now and although in my last entry I was all nostalgic for England, I know that going back means three very imperative things:

1. Sorting out my year abroad (accomodation, documents, CRBS and so much paperwork that I can't even begin to comprehend the intricacies).
2. Working (possibly with Cancer research again....groan. Money is money though).
3. Taking (and passing) my driving test FINALLY. You cannot begin to imagine the dread I feel at this.

But with regards to the latter, as my sister and members of my family keep cheerfully informing me “You might surprise us all Rachel...and pass on your first time.” Well. I only hope that's true...

I sometimes have nightmares of this happening on the day of my test, even though this has never actually come close to happening...

I am actually quite a safe driver, in spite of what people assume about me based on my rather reckless and careless attitude as a cyclist and pedestrian. However, there was one very panicked and heart-stopping moment (for myself and my instructor) in a lesson once where I was waiting in traffic downhill and temporarily mixed up the brake and accelerate pedals when I released the park brake to go.

That was only once though. And I've never made the same mistake again.

But so anyway, the prospects of going home is better than the prospect of staying in Palma for the rest of September without an au pair in sight. (Everyone for the summer is leaving by the end of August).

So now there is one whole week left before leaving. And weirdly, although my last post was all about the blues and homesick vibes I was getting, I feel a little bit wistful thinking about the fact that the beaches, the tapas bars and the sun will all go on partying without me once I've left Mallorca. I guess it's simply a case of “You always want what you can't have” and “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”.

(In England's case, the grass actually IS always greener at this time of year simply because Mallorca's grass got burnt to brown desert the moment the summer sun appeared from April onwards).

And needless to say, there have been times in the past 2-3 weeks where, when I've felt at my worst, I've continually said to myself: NEVER AGAIN AM I AU PAIRING.

I think it's true that au pairing definitely has an expiry date and there's only so many summers you can live with a family and look after their kids for 2-3 months whilst inhabiting their personal lives and space. But the truth is, I've had some of the best and funniest moments of my life au pairing and I wouldn't change those experiences for the world.

I mean, who knows if I'll do it again? Towards this part of the summer, things always get a little hazy and when the delirium sets in (like it is now) I begin to say irrational things. The bottom line is, I've never been with a 'bad family' so to speak. I've always had independence, I've always had fun and I've always had the beach at my disposal. So maybe it is simply delirium from the intense summer heat that makes me indecisive about whether I'll do it again.

Looking back over the past 7 weeks from the beginning until now is quite a satisfying thing to do. When I think about the things I've done, the places I've been to, the hilarious moments and the exciting memories and the relationships I've built here, it's almost like I've built a mini-life here in just two months. I love the fact that now I know Mallorca – I know the places on the map and and know which buses go where, which bars sell the best Sangria, ensaimada and tapas.

(Just in case you were wondering, the thing on the right is ensaimada. It is somewhat similar to a pastry, but in actual fact it is a little cloud of heaven covered with icing sugar that melts in your mouth.)

Which is encouraging because it shows me that regardless of some of the difficult moments I've encountered, I've managed really well. It tells me that I am cut out for this (living independently in a foreign country shizzle). Even though I've done it before, for much a much longer period of time already, I was starting to doubt myself this summer when the blues hit me.

With all the fun I've had here, I think one of the best things I've learnt in the past 7 weeks is that no matter where you go, who you meet there and what you do, you must always have a focus and stay grounded. Being yourself and remaining true to your personality is the most important thing. It's sometimes easier to blend in and just be like everyone else. But if you're not afraid to do what YOU want, be independent and don't let others change that then everything becomes so much easier. I think you start building your mini-life abroad when you stay grounded and don't change your stripes.

Some pictures from my weekend. The penultimate one. Watch out – the heat is setting in and things are about to get REALLY delirious in the next few days...

Starting with the best (and oldest) handmade ice cream parlour in Palma.

 "...So this summer,I went to Mallorca...

...and ate it"

Found a pink Vespa. 

A Bulgarian picnic with pasta salad, tortilla, chocolate chip cookies, LOTS of beer (Cruzcampo) and a strong Bulgarian liquor called rakia (homemade and unavailable in shops).

The perfect time of day for a picnic.

Getting a bit giddy (I blame the copious amounts of cruzcampo and rakia we were force-fed)

The picnic lasted until 3AM...

Big fat olives. Mmm.

Spanish picnic essentials: water, olives, bread, tuna and tortilla. The cheap way to do a beach day.

Marlena photo-bombing the scenery. In good taste.

The Blues (not Brothers)

No this blog title is not about the BLUES BROTHERS although they are amazing. Me and my friend Miriam from uni are the Blues Brothers, by the way:

I'm Jake (below right) and she's Elwood (below left)

This blog entry might turn into 100 scenes I like from the Blues Brothers. Here are a few to start with:

A vision from God befalls.

]

HALLELUJAH PRAISE THE LORD (for women like the one in the blue dress)

(and by doing somersaults...)

DO YOU SEE THE LIGHT

I SEE THE LIGHT!

HALLELUJAH PRAISE THE LORD!

(cut to later, five mins before credits, one of the best scenes in all films...)

....

CAR CEMETERY

The church scene in particular scene makes me laugh so much I nearly pee my pants. The even funnier thing is is that it strongly resembles my church back home in Southampton, and that's NOT even a joke. There are several of those women like the one in the blue dress with the tambourine...

Hahaha ok so speaking of Southampton. The truth is, I miss that place. I actually am coming to the point of my blog title now, which is “I've got the blues” (not the jazz version, but the sad vibes). I think it might be homesickness, which is not unusual when you spend long periods of time away from your family and friends. But this time I think there are several more reasons why I have hit this wall of “Bluedom” than I did last summer in France:

1. I have now officially left Southampton for good (well, for the year, but I won't be back until September 2014 and by then a lot of my friends will have graduated). It's suddenly hit me now because Southampton has been my home for 2 years now and I really have loved living there (even though perhaps I didn't appreciate it as much as I could have at the time). I have met so many lovely and amazing people in Southampton and it's almost like I have a family there now.
2. Next year I am jumping into the unknown once again, which is fun don't get me wrong, but it's a bit unnerving. There's always that bit right at the beginning where you don't really know anyone and everything's a bit strange in a new city and just generally you miss your friends and your old routine.
3. The language here has been an issue at times, although I am getting more and more comfortable speaking Spanish by the day. Nevertheless, there are many times when I feel I am just incapable of expressing myself completely and in the end I just go without saying what I wanted to say!
4. I miss my family. And I haven't seen them in a while either as Manchester isn't all that close to Southampton, even though that was my own choice!
5. I am still waiting to hear back from my school for next year* and while it's understandable that there are hundreds of other assistants still waiting, it makes me feel like I am in transit and I hate not knowing exactly where I'll be teaching, where I'm going to live and what all the costs are going to add up to. In spite of my horrific lack of organisation skills and generally laid back attitude towards life (ask my housemates for more information), I am still someone who likes to have some sense of a plan.

*I have since heard back from my school!There is still a LOT of paperwork to be done however. Which does not make life less complicated.

Okay, so as for the first point I suppose moving is something that I should be used to by now. Especially moving countries. And to be honest, I don't anticipate a huge cultural shock when I get to France because a) I have already lived in France for a year after all (although in the complete opposite end of France) b) I have actually been to Paris before and c) I do actually speak French (to some degree of fluency as opposed to Spanish..!)

And the other thing is is that I have experienced culture shock big time already once in my life and after that experience, moving from Bangkok to Manchester....well let's just say you can't really get any more culture shock than that.

So it's weird. I've never thought of Manchester as my 'home' home, but for some reason, Southampton has been like a home.

(The oh so beautiful Common...in all its summerdom glory)

So it occurred to me today that maybe the reason I feel a little blue is partly because I'm homesick for Southampton, my new home that has been there for me for 2 years now, but partly because I am unsure about being uprooted once again for another whole year!

It's a bit complicated to explain culture shock sometimes, but maybe a good way to describe an element of culture shock is this: it is a feeling like you are drifting in a place where you are living. You're not really part of their world, but you're not really outside of it in any way.

(Ok here's an actual definition that I found on some sociology website: '[culture shock is]...a sense of confusion and uncertainty sometimes with feelings of anxiety that may affect people exposed to an alien culture or environment without adequate preparation').

Anyway, that's sort of what I've been feeling here, almost 6 weeks into my stay. It's inexplicable as to why 5 weeks in I'm feeling this way, and not in week 1, but I guess I frequently do things backwardly so that might be why.

In any case, with social life stuff, I had a very fun weekend. I guess this week I've spent less time with the family since I've been socialising so much and as a result there are days when I feel like maybe the family feel I'm deserting them (particularly the kids). But in actual fact, I'm sure that's not really the case. This is the way of au pairing: you balance two lives – life in and with a family that is not your own but a 'temporary family' – and life with new friends and new acquaintances every week! It's an exhilaratingly fun experience because when it works, you're learning new things all the time. For example, with the family you're learning the language (new words and phrases), customs of the country and generally more about kids and how they function. (Useful for people like me who are leaning towards a profession in teaching).

And with your friends, you're learning new things too, especially if the friends you make are from countries scattered all over the world. In my au pair experiences so far, I have made some good friends from all over: the Netherlands, South Africa, Germany, Sweden, Canada, Macedonia, Poland...New ways of saying things, new ways of looking at things!

You learn a lot from being around people whose ways of life are culturally very different. Of course, this has been a big part of my life; being around people from different cultures, namely Asians. But I have learnt and experienced a lot in Europe too, which I suppose I have just taken for granted over the past three years that I've started au pairing and travelling about a bit more. And not to mention, having second languages has really done something amazing to me. Having a second language is so much more than being able to pass an exam and having a qualification to get you a job (which is sort of the aim of education in languages). This is why language students are kind of in a world of their own, because language students eventually go off and study their second languages in the context of the country where it is spoken and from then on, language is not just about learning grammar rules. It is so much more – culture gets involved. And when culture gets involved, you open the door to tons of things you can never learn from a textbook!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that while this whole experience where you're learning all these new things in context is fun, yes, exhilarating, yes, it is also quite tiring. There are days when I just want to sit back in my own room, in a place where I am settled, with a cup of tea, surrounded by my things: my furniture, my books, my shoes, bags and all of my silly possessions. I even miss my wok. I don't know – there's just something about having all your own stuff in one place that makes you feel secure.

Every year there are places I go back and forth to now: Manchester, university and France (well this summer it's been Spain). My possessions come with me where I go (or at least some of them) and it's funny because I definitely can live without them (I'm here now without my beloved wok) but having them around makes me feel settled. There are some possessions I have and I think 'Why do I even need own this?' but I know that throwing it away will make me feel sad.

Anyway, there are approximately two more weeks left in Mallorca and although I am looking forward to going home and feeling a bit more settled, the ironic thing is I know how much I'm going to miss it when I'm gone. I'm going to miss things like tapas evenings with the other au pairs, Saturday road trips and beach days and wandering into town to browse around the shops and visit the cathedral. Generally I know that what I'm going to miss is the lifestyle. (Maybe that's because I keep choosing places like Mallorca and the south of France). Even in the height of winter during my time as an au pair on the Cote d'Azur, I still felt like I was on holiday.

But the idea for the next two weeks, in spite of bluedom and sad vibes that might attack me, sending images of Earl grey tea and my poor little scraped up wok all alone in the kitchen at home without me, I am going to enjoy myself as much as I possibly can.

I might as well. How many more of these fantastically long – four to five month – university summer holidays are left before I graduate and get a proper job? Not that many.

(This is my future...)

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