Stepping into another dimension

In the second week of my Erasmus year, I managed to break a bone, the first of my life. I decided to take a friends newly bought bike for a spin, I misjudged a pavement and landed on my hand. After watching 'Sicko' at the cinema (being grateful to be in Europe) and night of discomfort, I finally accepted that I should get my hand checked out.
It was at the Hospital that I ran into a Doctor, M. Sananes who was keen to have somebody to speak to his children in English, I was interested and left him my mobile number. After two weeks I had'nt heard anything so I left him a note at his work, he responded the next day and I made a house call a few days later.
After 30 mintues walk on the other side of the city centre I arrived at a bourgeois town house. The door bell was exceptionally high for a family with young children. In the hall a white marble staircase lead to the front door, at the top of it, at my eyelevel- a small doll like creature with beautiful ringletted hair and clothed in a white victorian nightgown style cotton dress; their youngest child of two and a half. M. Sananes, on the phone, shook my hand and welcomed me into his mansionesque house.
I was soon ushered into the drawing room containing a long sofa of a floral cream upholstering and twin armchairs to match (Louis xiii, or so Mme Sananes claimed). A marble fireplace stood opposite a sideboard topped with marble also.
When it came to discussing what they wanted from me as a teacher I felt obliging. However things seemed to prove more and more unbelievable. They firstly wanted to know what sort of payment I expected, when I timidly admittted I had no idea they suggested a meer 6euros(4pounds or so) an hour, but I was keen to occupy myself, so politely smiled.
However what followed left me feeling hard done by; the parents wanted me to; show the children visual aids, to talk to the three of them whilst they ate their dinner and to teach the children english needed whilst visiting a city or vocabulary for household items. Baring in mind the oldest was but 7 years old and could only say his name in English, I had my work cut out.

There were so many things that made this whole experience seem out of this world;
-The suggestion of going with the family for weekends away.
-The Romanian piano teacher with inch thick make-up, fluffy white hair, a pink almost angora wollen cardigan and gold glitter glasses.
-The senile grandparents pushed into the playroom.
-The portugese Nanny
-The boys' en suite bathroom between their fancy bedrooms
-The cupboards covering the study/piano room walls in an eggshell blue.
-Friday evenings at 5pm were the proposed session times, usually before the parents would get home from their Medical and Psychiatry workplaces.

On leaving this dream, I realised that I wouldn't be able to enjoy this job; the parents seemed cold and distant, the children sweet but spoilt and I had a fear that I'd break the antique furniture in some way or another. It felt like a false reality and a return was dreaded.

I would gladly work for a family I felt I had something in common with; without pay. It was a shame that I went to so much trouble to get the job, but I couldn't justify 12euros as the only perk.