Diary – 18 August 2006

Mexico City/Punta Ixtapa

This summer my family have done a life-swap. Every day we eat a large breakfast prepared by the cook, Isabel, in our residence in Mexico City, while Gaby, the maid, tidies our bedrooms. A brace of gardeners in cowboy hats, José and José-Luis, arrive shortly thereafter to fish out bougainvillea blooms from the fishpond. Another José, the driver, awaits our instructions. A beach house in Ixtapa (which means white sand in Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs) is also at our disposal, with a cook and a maid. Not speaking the language, I talk to the staff in pidgin Latin and they reply in fast Spanish. It seems to work as well as any other form of communication. In return, Jaime and Patricia Riestra receive our cramped house in London. Our cleaner, Mumtaz. And our primitivo house on Exmoor. Viva la revolucion! is all I can say. According to their emails, Jaime and Patricia are happy in Notting Hill, where the only live-in staff I’ve ever seen do not wear crisp maids’ uniforms but coats of soft grey fur.