Read this article and write a formal letter to the newspaper in response to it giving your version of what life is like on the island and asking them to print another article. Use the comments below the article to get some ideas of what to say.
Useful language:
Dear Sir/Madam,
I am writing with regard/reference to your article "...", which appeared in your newspaper on...
I am writing to express my concern/disappointment with/ disapproval of/...
I would like to draw your attention to/ point out certain inaccuracies
I should like to make it clear to readers that the comments made do not apply to....
Firstly/To begin with, the impression given of poor relations between ... is certainly not true of Calvia, where I live.
According to your article, ...
Your article states that... However, ...
Moreover/Furthermore/In addition, the reason why...
In addition to a vast array of social and cultural events, the island offers residents and tourists alike a wide range of activities throughout the year. Seldom does a day go by without a...
I feel I must also disagree with the suggestion that... Indeed, I would like to take this opportunity to invite all your readers to...
Finally, I should also like to point out that...
I would appreciate it if you would...
I would be grateful if you...
It seems only fair that you should...
I trust you will...
I very much hope you will print a new article in your newspaper, or alternatively, you could also print this letter instead.
I am looking forward to...
Yours faithfully,
As it's revealed 75,000 Britons are emigrating every year. One expat warns how escaping to PARADISE can land you in HELL
For many Britons, facing spiralling food and fuel bills and the prospect of a long and rainy winter, the idea of emigrating must seem tempting. But is sitting in the sun for years on end really such bliss?
Lynnette
Evans, 50, a divorcee, has lived in Spain for eight years. Now sick of the shallow
and listless lifestyle of the expat, she tells ALISON SMITH why there's no
place like home.
“The sun shines almost
every day of the year in Puerto Portals, the chic resort on the Spanish island of Mallorca which has been my home for
eight years.
Generally, my
routine goes something like this: after a morning of doing precisely nothing, I
have a lazy lunch with my shopping partner June, who happens to be Simon
Cowell's sister and is a fellow expat. After that, I probably have a siesta
before heading out to a party in the evening. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it? But
if I'm brutally honest, I long for my old way of life in rainy old Britain. After
nearly a decade, I am heartily sick of sunshine and shopping. Credit crunch or
not, there is nothing that can replace art, culture and that British humour
that is so lacking on the Continent.
Most days in
Puerto Portals I amble (stroll) between my apartment and the beach, or perhaps
wander past the port (a floating millionaires' row of stunning yachts) or the
many little bars where I might spot one of my many celebrity neighbours such as
Cynthia Lennon (John Lennon's first wife.)
It was fun to
begin with, but now I feel unfulfilled - as though an existence here
is simply pointless
I laughed out loud when I
read that more Britons than ever are moving abroad. They just don't know what
they are letting themselves in for. If I'd known
eight years ago what I know now, I would never have left Britain.
In September
2000 we arrived in Puerto Portals and moved into a luxury Spanish apartment
surrounded by a fabulous swimming pool.
I would say
it was my son Chris's first day at private school that made us both truly
realise what a massive lifestyle change we had made.
His school
had 26 different nationalities in it - the majority of pupils
coming from families of vast wealth.
Amazingly,
some kids were sent to school, decked out in the newest designer gear, with a
few hundred euros in their pockets simply to buy themselves a pizza at lunch.
One boy lived
in his own flat near the school. His parents occasionally popped over to visit
from the States. He was 15.
I would take
Chris to sleepovers in vast, white-washed mansions surrounded by high,
wrought-iron gates which would swing as the CCTV camera announced our arrival.
Looking back,
it was also an introduction to what I grew to dislike about Mallorca
- the shallowness of many people and their lifestyles, which are about
money and little else.
Another clue was the way all my son's friends clamoured to stay at our apartment. It was nowhere near as grand as their fully-staffed mansions, but to these teenagers it felt like a proper home because many of them barely ever saw their wealthy parents.
At first,
though, I was taken in by the glamour of my new life.
Puerto
Portals is a small place - only 2,591 residents - and I
estimate at least half of them are expats. And as everyone knows everyone, one
invitation simply led to another.
Lunch parties
are an everyday occurrence. By lunches, I mean gettogethers at one of the many
restaurants that line the beach, starting at 1.30pm and rarely finishing before
6pm.
Then there are
the evening 'dos' (parties) - I would be invited to at least three a week.
Often, they would be held on board one of the luxury yachts permanently moored
in the harbour.
More often
than not, their owners were elderly and unattractive men with a beautiful
- and much younger - woman on their arm.
The place is
all about image. I have no idea where I will store the 50 or so bags, dozens of
evening dresses and numerous shoes I have accumulated when I return to the UK
- but dressing up is an important part of life in Puerto. You simply
don't slum it.
Cosmetic surgery is the norm. I didn't succumb, but I had many friends my age who did. They felt they had to compete with the younger, beautiful women who you see here all the time.
It was common
for an acquaintance to drop out of the party scene for a few days only
miraculously to reappear looking better than ever (although it wasn't the form
to ask why).
Looking back,
I blame myself for being blinded by the sheen (shine) of glamour that surrounds the
place. It's only with time that you realise just how shallow it all is.
Many of the
people are nice enough, but conversations about how much money they have become
so boring after a while. I think that's why in Mallorca,
like scores of other expat haunts around the world, alcoholism (and other
addictions) is rife. After all, what else is there to do all day?
One neighbour of mine squandered £60,000 of savings in six months on slot machines. She'd never had a gambling problem until she was left with endless empty days to fill here.
And then
there are the seemingly trivial home comforts that you really miss. For
example, the supermarkets here are erratic, stocking your favourite shampoo one
week, but not the next.
Good sausages
and English bacon are virtually impossible to come by, as are decent tea bags,
and the dates on fresh milk are pointless - it all goes off within
hours - so you are forced to buy the unpleasant longlife milk
instead.
I long to be
able to go up to London
and just stroll round a gallery or see a new play.
But there's
nothing like that here. If I try to discuss a book, I tend to be met with blank
looks because most people here would rather spend their time having their hair
done than improving their mind.
Even all that
sun is a very mixed blessing. You can tell the Britons who've lived here for
decades - their skin is the colour of deep mahogany and their
abundant wrinkles mean they often look decades older than they really are.
I know of
people in their 60s who can never go uncovered in the sun again because their
skin is so damaged that they're prone to cancer.
The red tape
here has to be seen to be believed - nothing can be done over the
phone - and working here is rife with problems. Rules are there to
be broken, it seems, as everything Spanish is corrupt.
Jobs, when
you can find them, are very poorly paid and the wages don't always appear on
time. Many payments are also made in cash - fine, until you reach
pensionable age and realise you have no money.
Thankfully, I
did keep a smaller property in the UK, in Bexleyheath, which is rented
out. I have since remortgaged and am returning to a flat I have bought just
outside Worthing, West Sussex. I can't wait.
Visiting my
old friends in the UK
also made me realise their lives were so much richer than mine. They were all
my age - early to mid-50s - but they were involved in
local drama groups, many were working in good jobs and some were setting up
their own businesses. Most importantly, their days were full of purpose.
Even the cool
British weather was welcome. I'm sick of the heat and humidity in Spain
- it is incredibly oppressive and leaves you exhausted.
When I came
back to Puerto after the last trip home, I saw it with new eyes. I had a vision
of me at 60 with my brain slowly rotting and my skin starting to look like a
crocodile skin handbag, and I didn't like it.
I have
enrolled myself at a college in Britain
learning to teach English as a foreign language - probably to
Spanish people in the UK.
I don't
regret coming to live in Spain
- but only because it has made me appreciate how much England has
going for it.
To anyone who
is longing to escape the British weather and the current financial gloom, I
would say: think very carefully before you book that plane ticket to some
corner of the world you think will be a paradise. You might just find it turns
out to be hell on earth.
Comments
- Get a grip woman! (= make an effort to control your emotions) You chose to live a shallow meaningless existence and now you're moaning about it. When I retire and move abroad I will learn the language and live where the locals live. (Susan)
- This woman does not live in the real Spain. If she's so fed up, why doesn't she move to a place with more Spanish residents? And get a job, which are not all badly paid. (Joan)
-Adapted from The Mail Online-
Ready for CAE Ss p 21. Writing. Letter in Response to an Expat
I really hope she has gone back to her island
ReplyDeleteHopefully there is more to life in Majorca than Puerto Portals. We enjoy theatre, cinema, books and art, among other things....We share our freetime with trutworthy friends and practice all kind of sports in our beutiful island instead of showing up in bars and partys.
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