House-swapping is no longer the preserve of economising couples, it opens a new world of holidays, writes Marianne O'Malley

Some months ago friends phoned from Britain to ask if I'd like to join them in Mallorca for a week's holiday in August. Nightmare images of banana-shaped boats, beer-swilling contests and Karaoke evenings flooded my brain - I was convinced my lovely gentle and cultured friends had drunk one green tea too many.

Stalling for time, I replied: "Mmmm, lovely", as one of those outlandish statistics we all strangely tend to remember tripped off my tongue: "Did you know that Magaluf has the largest disco in Europe catering to over 4,000 people every night - that should be great fun?"

I awaited Karen's response before deciding whether they urgently needed psychiatric help. Her manic guffaw did nothing to reassure me.

She handed the phone to John: "Relax," he said smiling, "we've arranged a house exchange and we're going to a beautiful converted farmhouse in the mountains. Why don't you just simply trust us and come along."

Ashamed of my sceptical reaction I agreed to trust their judgment and meet them in Palma airport. Compared to me their investment in trust is enormous.

In return for an unknown villa, they are handing over the keys to their stunning home, a place of sanctuary and peace, to complete strangers.

I am astounded that they belong to a home-exchange agency and are prepared to lend this home to strangers. I'm even more astounded to discover that they are veteran home-swappers with a history of successful swaps behind them.

On the agreed date we meet in Palma and on the drive from the airport, following the directions e-mailed by the owners, they try to allay my trepidation. I'm convinced we will find a cowshed at the end of the route and that their entire art collection is being auctioned off from the boot of their car in London. "We're not completely naïve, you know," says John, and then they regale me with stories of some of their successful past exchanges.

One of the most extraordinary was a high-tech white marble and black leather condominium in Florida, where the security was so sophisticated that residents used their fingerprints to gain entry.

"Although it wasn't quite to our taste," Karen explains in an understated way, "we still had a lovely holiday. And how else would we ever have an opportunity to experience that sort of life?

"The owner was a fantastically exuberant and wealthy Texan and he couldn't have been more helpful and generous. We still keep in touch by e-mail telling of our latest exchange experiences."

Then there was huge converted wool factory in Tuscany. "That definitely wasn't my style," John admits. "But it was incredibly stylish," Karen interjects.

"The owners were advertising types and it was in the oh-so-contrived, distressed rustic Tuscan style, but with a minuscule kitchen. Again, a very interesting place to stay, but maybe not the most comfortable."

They're about to tell me of other long-weekend swaps in Austria and France when we arrive at our destination, driving through the entrance gates, up a winding narrow track.

It's definitely not a cowshed.

Instead we see a delightfully mellow sandstone farmhouse with traditional shutters which has been renovated and extended seamlessly with lush terraced gardens looking down the valley to the sea, 5km away. Every child's dream of a treehouse is perched in a mature pine and the sparkling swimming pool twinkles an invitation in the late afternoon heat and sunshine.

We rush to discover the interior - and it's beautiful. Simple, understated, cool and comfortable. A bottle of champagne and a cheery welcome note are waiting for us on the dining table. John and Karen look at me and smile smugly and we all burst out laughing with relief.

All thoughts of their London home being stripped bare and vandalised evaporate as we settle in and begin our week of Mallorcan living.

I silently apologise for my negative thoughts to the absent owners and their two appealing little girls smiling from happy family snapshots around the house. As the week unfolds, so do the benefits of home exchange. Everywhere there is evidence of this family. Packed bookshelves and an eclectic collection of music have me enthralled for hours.

Terraces, deckchairs, squashy cushions and hammocks shaded by magnificent trees are havens to be discovered and enjoyed. Candles, condiments and cars are ours for the duration.

This is not a luxury villa rental, it's better than that. A much-loved home with all the comforts of home too. We are the expected and welcome guests to a terra firma Marie Celeste, and strangely, I don't feel like an interloper

Not only did we have their home to enjoy, our hosts also left their recommendations for the best beaches, restaurants and places of interest to visit.

These suggestions guided us effortlessly in discovering a different Mallorca - one that is light years away from the hurdy-gurdy of the main holiday resorts.

As we sit splashing our feet in the pool on my final day, I ask about the preparations necessary to welcome home-exchangers, remembering with horror the state I left my place in as I rushed around at the last minute. "You do need to be organised, and even then it can be a bit stressful," John admits. "We had completely different ideas about what needed to be done. Karen was like a scouring dynamo - washing, dusting and vacuuming rooms that I thought were perfect."

Karen aims a good-natured splash at him saying with a shrug. "It's a great motivator having guests to stay, particularly ones that are free to roam. We got lots of niggling little jobs sorted.

"You know, all those wonky doorhandles and broken light-bulbs that had been put on the long finger. Even the linen cupboard and the cutlery drawer got tidied."

I suggest that home-swapping isn't for everyone and they certainly agree. Karen says: "We have friends who are shocked and horrified that we will let complete strangers into our home - they couldn't imagine it.

"But you see, by the time we've communicated and arranged a swap, these people don't feel like strangers any more."

John adds: "In fact, I'm really grateful to them. It's a bit like having unpaid housesitters minding your place while your away on an extremely inexpensive, luxury holiday. Beat that!"