Life as an Au Pair Part 2: tears, tantrums and break-throughs

I am sat in my room smiling to myself having just put a three-year-old to bed without her mamma or papà. She sleeps peacefully in her pyjamas (well the top at least) with clean teeth and (semi-)washed face. We made it through the initial wobble when she realised her mum and dad were nowhere to be seen, we made it through the frighteningly loud fireworks, we even made it through the bedtime story - despite me stumbling over long Italian words and pronunciation and not really understanding the story myself. No tears, no tantrums - this is a break-through of major lengths given that this time last week she screamed and screamed for her mamma when she realised I was putting her to bed; then she was my biggest worry, now we are the best of friends. Silly as all this may seem, it's rather nice when you are an au pair and your kids like you... It took a day to crack the oldest, a week for number two, and three weeks later and I think I've done it.

The reason I say all this is that I am worried that I have painted au pairing to be all sunshine and rainbows, country houses, seaside seclusion and snowy mountains. On the one hand, yes I have all of these things here (even the rainbow, which we saw today), but it's not all fun and games: loneliness, boredom and screaming children are also a part of the everyday routine, and there was a point when I thought I could not possibly get through another month. That was two weeks in when, having left Cervinia where there was always something to do, I found myself in the opposite situation; in this beautiful but tiny village spending too much time alone and feeling very cut off from real life and home. To add to that I was having issues with a three-year-old who resented me because, in her eyes, I was taking her parents away from her. 'Vai via' (go away) and 'lasciami sola' (leave me alone) she would say to me. 

One night, when she wouldn't sleep for wanting her mum so much, I told her - on the brink of tears myself - that I hadn't seem my mum for nearly 3 weeks, which is definitely not the right thing to say to a three-year-old as she looked at me in confusion and then cried some more. But that was it, me done. Something had to change.

I don't really know how it changed but thank god it did. Now she is starting to love me; she asks to play with me and gets sad when she is taken away, I sit and chat to her when she awakes from her nap whilst we drink hot milk and eat jam sandwiches, we pretend cook pasta e pesto on the BBQ and I carry her toy dog around in a basket.

Au pairing is full of its ups and downs. In the end I think you have to do what you can to make the bad good and make the most of everyday rather than forcing yourself through. What was my bad now knocks on my door every night and says 'good night Teena, good night' and I look forward to what the next day will bring.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside: Camogli and San Fruttuoso bay

When the clock chimed two I was sat eating gnocchi al salmone on the balcony of a little restaurant overlooking the sea. Below me I could hear the waves breaking softly on the pebbly beach, lined with green and yellow umbrellas and multicoloured beach towels. The cloudless sky above me gave the sea a deep blue tone and the bright Italian sun made it glitter all the way to the horizon. As picture perfect as a postcard, this little seaside town is Camogli. And it is here that I spent my second day off.

I was welcomed into Camogli by a bustling market just outside the station, where loud Italians were selling fresh fruit and vegetables, odd bits of kitchen crockery and everything you may possibly need for a day at the beach. From the passion of the market I turned down into a narrow, cobbled street, poking my head in and out of shops: fresh fish here, focaccia there, then gelato, postcards and jewellery made from seashells and pearls. I was yet to see the sea, but it's presence lies all over this town.

The port is perhaps the most beautiful place in Camogli, and if you walk down the pier you can see it for all it's serene beauty. The coloured facades of buildings face the little expanse of water where many-a-boat bobs up and down, ready to take a trip to the nearby towns of Portofino, San Fruttuoso bay or Genova.

On the beach the same famous line-up of coloured buildings can be found, this time facing the busy promenade which I walked up and down many times, soaking up the beating sun, fresh sea-air and eating creamy gelato.

Later I returned to the port to take a boat to visit San Fruttuoso bay. This place is so isolated it can only be reached by boat or on foot, and as the boat turns in I am taken aback by the clear blue of the water, the beautiful abbey which sits just above the beach on the hill and the multitude of people filling this serene little bay. I follow crooked paths behind the beach up to the abbey and then round to the tower, on the other side of the bay is a much more isolated beach where people are snorkelling around the rocks, others are eating seafood at the little trattoria on the shore and I am looking for somewhere to fit my towel - to no avail.

It is 4pm but still unbelievably hot, so before I leave I swim in the warm sea, lie on the pebbly beach, then take the boat back to Camogli where I pick up a famous focaccia al formaggio and catch the train home. Camogli is undeniably beautiful, less touristy than nearby Portofino and perhaps more authentic. Smelling of seasalt and sun cream I am happy and lucky to have visited this beautiful little town. I am already planning to revisit in the winter when I am told it is almost completely secluded and serene.

Wandering the streets of Genova

Last Wednesday I had my first day off here in Italy and took the opportunity to explore a new city: Genova.

I began what was supposed to be a nice relaxing day running down to the village in time for the bus, my backpack flying all over the place and my trusty old sandals nearly sending me flying down the steep road. Perhaps I should have remembered Italy's relaxed approach to timings as the bus was later than I... I took the bus and then the train to get to Genova and, completely by accident, ended up not paying a penny as a) I was very confused by the ticket system and was expecting someone to come and sell me a ticket and b) the Italians clearly also have a very relaxed approach to ticket-checking (unlike London's many electronic barriers and random spot-checks on buses). Needless to say I arrived in Genova feeling quite smug and spent the money I had saved on a cappuccino and croissant, whilst reading my little tourist guide and planning my day.

In the end I didn't plan much and spent the day wandering up and down streets, round and round piazzas, following people I thought were tourists to the main sites and exploring little alleyways that looked interesting or mysterious. Perhaps what I liked most about this city was how easy it was to feel relaxed, to blend in to a sea of people and not be bothered or stared at as the only tourist in the city. As nice as it is to explore unexplored areas, sometimes it's also nice to follow the crowd, I think.

To begin with I walked down the main shopping street, Settembre XX, which at first didn't seem like much, reminding me a little of some parts of Oxford Street. But as you go further you find yourself walking on beautiful tiled floor, beneath ornamented arches and illuminated shop signs, beautifully architectured shop fronts and patterned ceilings. I wandered a little in and out of the shops before arriving at the end of the street where stood one of Genova's famous palazzos. This one, Palazzo Ducale, is lemon yellow with light pink window-frames and  painted pillars on its facade. It is my first taste of Genovan architecture and it is beautiful. From there I wander into the old town; firstly to the Catedrale di San Lorenzo, an eerily gothic cathedral placed in the middle of a small square. When I visit the sky is dark and cloudy, giving this little square an air of gloominess - I revisit later in the rain to find the square empty and eery, I like it a lot.

Around the old town are a series of small alleyways, known as caruggi. They are narrow and dark with only small shafts of light entering from open windows of the tall buildings towering above the cobbled paths. Here are hidden restaurants and cafes, doorways leading to little shops and homes , and even grander doorways leading to big courtyards of white pillars and flowers, painted ceilings, marble staircases and chiming clocks.

Weaving in and out of these streets, I found the port and marvelled at the many boats parked at the pier and Genova's newest edition, a big, old wooden sailing ship, which I'm not really sure what represents, but I joined the crowd of tourists to take a look and a photo anyway.

As it started to rain a little I walked back into those small alleyways, sheltering by staying close to the building fronts. The streets emptied but, British as I am, I defiantly remained in the open air, refusing to be scared away by a little drizzle. In too quick a moment that shower turned into a storm and I realised I was the only person still on the streets, running for shelter to the incredulous eyes of many-a dry and smug Italian. I burst into a cafe right by the cathedral and traipsed gingerly to a table, leaving a trail of rain-water behind me. Whilst the rain beat down outside I ate delicious ravioli with ragú and drank lemon soda.

Then the sun came out but it was time to leave. I wandered through the market to get back to the station, and not long later was back in Cappelletta telling tales of the day and how much I liked the city.

I'll be back soon, Genova.

Cappelletta: an Italian countryside dream

I began my day in a yellow house with green shutters and a beautiful sea-view. Me and the girls played volleyball in the pool, and then they insisted on listening to Blurred Lines over and over again on my phone, dancing and singing along with their funny Italian accents - 'you know you want it...'.

Then we took the family dog, Ciandra, to the vet in Genova and the girls cried 'che bello!' everytime a new animal was brought in. I sat quietly as they befriended every owner and their pet; the bronzed lady with a blonde perm and her little poodle, the tattooed man and his leggy, fake-boobed girlfriend and their uncontrollable dalmation, and the quiet young couple who were at first confused by these curious children before warming to them, as everyone does, telling us all about the adventures of their rabbit, Cica, and her sister, Kika.

Whilst Ciandra had her operation we had lunch round the corner at what I would say was the Italian equivalent of on English greasy spoon or an American diner. Here they served small pieces of warm focaccia, when in England it would have been bread and butter, and the waitresses were an odd bunch consisting of a moody, skinny blonde playing games on her phone, a bubbly Chinese lady wearing a dress so short I worried Marta might ask her why she wasn't wearing trousers and a very Italian chef who bustled in and out for some reason I do not know. They laughed at my accent and asked the kids questions in English, and then we all laughed as Ciandra, dazed from the anaesthetic, stumbled along to the car like bambi.

From this colourful outskirt of Genova we drove not too far to the countryside, to a small village called Cappelletta di Masone where the family spend every summer. Cappelletta almost resembles an English country hamlet. The houses are all beautifully quaint, perfect for their imperfection; each one is a different colour with wooden window shutters, little picket fences and flowers growing wildly in the gardens. Everybody knows everybody here and greets each other so warmly; 'come sei cresciuta' they say to the girls and I am introduced as 'la ragazza alla pari' to mums with prams and to old Italians smoking and playing cards in the gardens. The children's nonna brings round homemade minestrone soup for dinner and then the kids go to play in the piazza. Now I am watching Pride and Prejudice and eating biscotti in my new bedroom, with its musty smell, wooden ceiling beams and door leading out into the overgrown garden.

I think I am going to be happy here.

One day I will buy a red Vespa and live by the sea

Today we left the mountains and arrived at the sea. I rode on the back of a dusty blue Vespa to pick up creamy  gelato for dinner - down cobbled Italian streets with yellow and orange buildings looming over us, past bronzed italiani going home from a day on the beach, zooming along in the salty air, the sun still beating down on us though it was already 6pm. We ate on the balcony looking over the endless ocean, and now the sun is setting and it is truly bellissimo.

Onwards to new places tomorrow. All is well.

Life as an Au Pair Part 1: mountain air, wild flowers and tired legs

I was greeted at the station with a very Italian ‘ciao! ciao!’ as a little girl held a homemade sign with ‘Athena’ written in big child-like handwriting and wore a shy yet boisterous smile on her face. From there I was whisked away to my Italian family’s home in a town called Bogliasco, just outside Genova. My first hours as an au pair were spent meeting many extended members of the family, eating Genovan pasta and homemade pesto on the balcony with the most stunning of views of the Italian mare, and bonding with the oldest child, Anna, who was keen to show me everything in her bedroom, closing the language barrier by using two English words she knew well; ‘look!’ and ‘beautiful!’. For to the Italians everything is ‘bellissimo’. And perhaps after only a week here I understand why they have such passion for their country.

That same day we travelled 3 hours in the car, from the sea-air of Genova to the mountain-air of Cervinia in the Valle d’Aosta. There the family have a small but cosy apartment surrounded by big, booming mountains – perhaps the most beautiful I have ever seen. Everything is fresh; the air, the water, the food, even the people smile and say ‘Buongiorno’ as we pass. ‘I like it here because it is like we are at the edge of the world’, my Italian mum said to me. I like it here because when the clouds are low it feels as though we are in the sky.

On the first day we took the kids ‘da Gina’ – Gina is an American lady who owns the ‘Kid Zone’ in town, where Anna (8), Lucia (7) and Marta (3) can spend 2 or 3 hours playing with bikes, bouncy castles and balls without getting bored or tired. In the background Gina plays American 60s hits and I ask her about how she came to live in Italy. By this point I have already bonded well with Anna who wants to hold my hand and tries hard to speak English to me. The other two are more difficult to crack; they are content playing together and are not yet curious enough about ‘la ragazza inglese’ who confuses them with strange foreign words.

That was day one, now it is day seven and I hear ‘Ateeeeena, look!’ from all angles. I think this means we are friends now.

We have spent the last 3 days hiking in the valley. We began in Cervinia; up and up and up we went before arriving at a ‘chiesetta’ (little church) where we ate cheese and melon wrapped in prosciutto (they insisted that I must try this very Italian dish – it was strange but I ate it anyway, if only to be polite). After 7 hours we arrived at our first destination, Cheneil, a tiny but charming village with perhaps only 6 or 7 houses. We celebrated completing the first day with a treat of cream (good enough to rival Yorkshire’s) and forest fruits and later had dinner in a family-owned restaurant which had an old-fashioned till and black-and-white photographs covering the walls. We spent the night in the ‘rifugio’ where I shared a room with Anna and Lucia who were giddy with excitement all evening and insisted on giggling, playing games and arguing for a good hour before finally falling silent and asleep. Hiking is hard work, but when you also have three children full of life and energy to entertain it is even harder – needless to say I was tired.

On the next day the panoramas were spectacular. We walked past tumbling waterfalls and sparkling lakes, through summer snow and fields of wildflowers (bluebells and violets and buttercups and daisies). Lucia asked me all the English names of the flowers and then we played a game where I said a colour in English and she pointed to the flower. We play lots of games as we walk; Anna pretends to be a tour-guide and we ask her for directions to our next stop, Grand Tournalin. ‘I’m sorry I am English, where is Grand Tournalin?’, ‘Just here’ she says and points to a small building at the foot of the mountain. In not too long we are relieved to be eating apple cake and drinking milk, our feet resting before the final day of walking.

Somehow these kids have endless amounts of energy, and whilst the parents and I walk fairly wearily on the final day, they bound along playing games, arguing, shouting and laughing. When we arrive in Chamois we take a cable car down the mountain – though my mum would definitely have called it ‘a bus on a piece of string’ as around 30 of us were packed into the small cabin. We miss the bus home by seconds and have to wait for an hour in a restaurant, whilst outside the rain is pouring and thunder and lightening fill the sky. The children somehow still have enough energy to play nascondino (hide and seek); running around the restaurant, hiding under tables and screeching with joy.

When we arrive home the rain has stopped and it is truly like the calm after the storm; the girls decide that I am to be their doll and brush my hair, and then play horses together quietly (without arguing!) before it is time for bed.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about my new role at first, but I like being an au pair more and more everyday.