The Family Plot Twist: “I’m going to Northern Ireland!”
“You can’t go. Mum won’t let you!” proclaimed my older sister.
“Yes, I can — and I will,” I replied, calm and stubborn in equal measure. Confidence was rising in me like steam in a kettle ready to blow. I enjoyed the ability to smile sheepishly while she couldn’t see me smirking on the other end of the phone.
“Mum won’t give you money,” she tried again, pulling out her last weapon: parental authority.
“I don’t need money. I’ve saved up and already bought the flight ticket. I’m leaving on the 24th of June.”
Graduation, Panic… and a One-Way Ticket North
And that was that — my grand announcement to the family that I was leaving Slovakia and moving to Northern Ireland to work as an au pair. Officially, the plan was to learn English. Unofficially, I also wanted to see a bit of the world and avoid doing the things expected of me: get a job, settle down, find a husband. I wasn’t ready for any of that.
In fact, I already had a respectable teaching job at a secondary school, but it all felt far too… normal. So, right after my university graduation, I launched myself into the unknown. Literally. With barely any language skills, I embraced the challenge and off I went.
Landing in Belfast With Big Dreams and Tiny Vocabulary
As expected, the family picked me up at Belfast airport. The kids chatted non-stop all the way home while I desperately tried to understand even one sentence, mentally rummaging through my painfully limited vocabulary.
The Petrol Station Disaster That Defined My English Level
Then came my first real test: the petrol station.
“Would you like a roll?” the assistant asked — or at least, that’s what I thought she said. I stared blankly at the endless choices, utterly clueless. What followed felt less like a conversation and more like an interrogation. She fired questions at me; I responded with the only two phrases I could produce: “Yes, please” and “No, thank you.”
Introducing: The World’s Worst Sandwich (Yes, Pasta Included)
The result? A bread roll. Well buttered. Filled with plain pasta. And ketchup.
“Is that what you wanted?” asked the mum, my soon-to-be boss.
“Uhm,” I replied, nodding enthusiastically. “I like it,” I added, pretending it wasn’t worse than anything I’d ever cooked as a broke student.
And this was me: a university graduate, an A in English (questionable quality, to say the least), landing in Northern Ireland to begin my new life as an au pair.
Welcome to the Au Pair Life: Chaos, Children, and Chores
Main goal? Learn the bloody English. And what’s the best way to learn the lingo? Hands-on experience.
Yeah, right. “Hands-on experience” also meant:
- mucking out stables
- dealing with spoiled brats
- serving pints in a bar
- packing shelves while catching up on the latest town gossip (honestly, the best job ever — you learn slang, scandals and discounts in one go)
The Cultural Shock
Ah, the heating. Nothing screams “welcome to Northern Ireland” quite like a tank of oil outside your house and a boiler system that makes you feel like a human thermostat. Summers were spent saving up for oil deliveries like I was hoarding treasure, and when you ran out? Congratulations! You were now officially a blanket burrito. Or a desperate piggy-bank breaker. Either way, personal warmth came with a price.
It felt absurd. Here I was, a university graduate with an A in English, reduced to negotiating with a metal tank outside like it held the secrets of the universe. But hey, nothing builds character faster than freezing toes and the faint scent of fuel.
Life in Rural Northern Ireland: Tractors, Gossip, and Endless Rain
Living in Northern Ireland was eye-opening. Life moved slowly, almost like the narrow country roads where two cars somehow managed to pass each other without dying. Farmers stopped in the middle of the road for a chat while traffic quietly accumulated behind them. Tractors reigned supreme — if you got stuck behind one, you simply accepted your fate.
Finding Community in a Place Where Everyone Knows Everyone
I learned what it meant to be welcomed into a local community. Neighbours greeted you on the street. Drivers slowed before bends because you never knew what was waiting around the corner — a tractor, a horse, or two neighbours having a gossip-filled car chat.
The grass was greener than green. The rain had more variations than a paint swatch: drizzle, mist, sideways lashings, and full-on water curtains.
What Northern Ireland Really Gave Me (Besides Wetter Shoes)
Northern Ireland gave me language, community, chaos, and resilience — and a very strong opinion about pasta in a bread roll.
If you enjoyed this slice of Abroadien madness, dive into the full Life in Translation category — your home for hilariously real stories about language fails, identity crises, and the kind of culture shock you can’t prepare for. And when you’re ready for next-level chaos, don’t miss Multilingual Chaos – Knowing Too Much (and Saying It All Wrong). It’s where every language learner’s overconfident brain collides with real-life conversations… and loses beautifully.