So, making conversations in English for a whole week (and trust me when I say I can speak for the whole of UK) in exchange for luxury accommodation, three-course meals and learning about the Spanish culture sounded pretty decent.
Except life's never that simple...
Native speakers (or Anglos) were a mix - the middle-aged American teacher, the twenty-something Hungarian who seemed to shy away from the rest of the group, the ageing Brit who spoke with such pride about his improved life in Spain, the mysterious-looking Aussie who's eyes sparkled like the sea, the Scottish couple who no one seemed to understand... but we all shared a sense of excited uncertainty.
A coach pulled up and we were introduced to about 18 Spaniards, all female bar a young guy who looked like he'd rather stick pins in his eyeballs than stick out like a sore thumb amongst the ladies. Poor thing.
The programme leader quickly got us talking to one another and I found the level of English from the teachers to be pretty impressive. Everyone seemed friendly and I found it easy to strike up conversations - once they got past my 'weird but wonderful' Essex accent.
The daily schedule had us up on our feet at the breakfast table from 9am, it was always necessary to talk and include the Spaniards as much as possible. Simply minding your own business and ignoring everyone while tucking into your meal was a big no-no - from breakfast onwards, speaking (even when you didn't feel like it) was essential.
After breakfast, we flocked to the reception to check who we were paired with for our hourly one-to-ones exercises. I liked the fact that once we found our partners, we were free to roam around the hotel grounds and chat about whatever tickled our fancy - I even gave a pilates lesson!
At lunch and dinner, the rule of not talking with your mouth full completely flew out of the window as we were still expected to chat. Honestly, the programme leader stared at everyone like a hawk, waiting to pounce on a table that fell silent even for a split second.
The food was average and I was always surprised to find the soup was cold and the bread rock-hard. According to the teachers, this is traditional of Spanish culture - soft bread just doesn't cut it. Red wine was always present at the table but mysteriously remained untouched for the most part.
I never thought I'd say this, but I was starting to tire from talking after only a few days into the programme. And the Spaniards had double the work-load as they weren't used to thinking and speaking in English all day.
The only time we had free was a two-hour siesta after lunch. As many Spaniards and Anglos flocked to the pool, I opted, rather antisocially, for the comfort of my bed where I recouped my energy for round two.
The most entertaining part of the day for me was 8pm where presentations and theatres, that involved the Spaniards acting out in English, took place. It was also the time my stomach started talking in 'hunger language' - did you know that the Spanish eat a large lunch and then opt for a snack / lighter meal for dinner around 9 / 10pm?
I was often surprised at how deep some conversations turned out to be, and re-telling my life story about twenty times started to make me think about what mattered in my life.
The first three days of the programme were the most painful but after that, the days seemed to fly by and before we knew it, it was time to pack up and go our separate ways. I should have been happy about turning my back from the programme but something rather strange happened during the closing ceremony.
I didn't expect it but instead of feeling relieved, I felt a wave of sadness sweep across me. I realised that although I was tired for the most part, I did thoroughly enjoy getting to know everyone.
Some Anglos and Spaniards had joked that it was starting to feel like a prison, but what we didn't expect was that it actually brought us closer together. Thinking back, we had bags of laughter and fun times. I'm definitely planning to keep my promises of keeping in touch.
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