My time as a farm worker in Queensland

“Girls, you’re working too hard ! Time for the smoko”. These were beautiful words, heard every day on the farm. The smoko was this tradition, once during the morning shift and once during the afternoon one, to sit down with the boss, drink hot tea and eat cakes and biscuits. Ah. Life on the farm.

I think I’ve already mentioned my glorious arrival in Yallaboroo (here).The bathroom, the meal, the goddess. Well, things were pretty much at the same level of perfect and fuzzy the whole time I was there.

I was hired as a farm helper and I loved the whole experience. The place was about an hour away from any kind of civilization. You had this gorgeous view of the valley from the kitchen and the back porch, nothing but fields and mountains in the background. After the massive yummy farm breakfast, I would get into the door-less car (my favorite ever), the dogs would jump in with me and we would drive to the teenage cows. Hungry little fellas, I would give them seeds and molasses, which smelled disgustingly sweet and always ended up all over my clothes.

After that it was driving the land mower, trying to do straight lines, then picking it all up with the wheelbarrow. I remember one time when I unloaded some of the grass by hand, a little baby snake sneaked out between my fingers. I was ecstatic “oh look, how cute and adorable !”. Turns out it was a brown snake and even at that age it could done some serious damage. Oh well. What doesn’t kill you.

The day was filled by fetching the chicken’s eggs and feeding the ducks. Painting the house, cleaning the cars, moving the cows. It was 11 o’clock smoko where we talked about life and travels and adventures. It was afternoons spent at the beach where my coworker would go for a jog while I would just lazily sit in the sun, reading my book and chasing little blue crabs. Evenings by the fire with the weird neighbors, petting their enormous puppies. Or at the table with the boss and her husband, sweetly annoying their teenage son who tried to be tough with his cowboy boots.

I loved the job, the remoteness of the location, the simple lifestyle, the beauty of the nature and being able to work outside all day.

And I really enjoyed the time spent with my boss. I was full of admiration and awe. She grew up on a farm even more remote than this, at about 4 to 5 hours from the next town. She was homeschooled by her mom and yet she was so social and curious about everything. She was living in the middle of nowhere yet had pretty clothes for the evenings and she took care of herself. She read, she was always upbeat and she treated me like the best of friends.

I loved the sense of community that you could find there. They all were very good neighbors, even though it was a 20 minutes’ drive to get to the next house. They were there for each other and made time and had drinks. It was such a different kind of life. And yet the bonds were deeper and the need and willingness to get human contact was that much stronger.

Swimming with whale sharks, sparkles in my eyes

I guess I must have mentioned this somewhere before, but my favorite animal is the shark. I remember the first time I saw one in a random aquarium somewhere. I must have been about 15. I didn’t expect anything, it took me by surprise. Instant, delirious love. I was fascinated. I just sat there and watched them for hours. It was so utterly and deeply relaxing. I guess it’s about the elegance with which they move. The casual dignity. It’s also about the symbolism of it all. They never stand still. Ever so slightly, they move all the time. And they can’t move backward, they can only move forward. Isn’t that the whole point in life ?

So, when I arrived in Mexico, it’s the only “day cruise” expedition that I signed up for. Swimming with sharks. And not just any sharks either. WHALE sharks ! Amazing, beautiful HUGE whale sharks. I was so excited.

The boat ride to get over there was pretty rough. I’m usually a pretty seasoned sailor, but by the end I was throwing up just like EVERYBODY else on the boat. Fernando (our guide) asked me if I wanted to go first. I was like “yeah” and then throwing up and then “HELL yeah”.

The whale sharks were pretty impressive, so massive, right next to our tiny fragile boat. One of the women of our group refused to jump “nope, nope, I see them now, I’m good, I’m good”.

So you just sit on the boat, wait for a shark to be RIGHT there, and your guide says JUMP and you can’t hesitate; you just jump right next to the shark. And it is AMAZING. I mean yeah, physically it is rather hard on you. You have 3 or 4 jumps of about 10 minutes, so that there’s not too many people in the water. We jumped 2 by 2 with our guide. You have to swim pretty fast to keep up with the shark if you want to see something. It’s very disorientating. Too many things happening at once. Then you go back on the boat, you throw up big time and when it’s your turn again you just spit, put your mask back on and jump again. No rest for the warriors.

So yeah, everybody was pretty sick and exhausted afterwards. But during. It was surreal, amazing, beautiful. These creatures are peaceful and graceful in a way I couldn’t have imagined. I was lucky, our guide kind of liked me best (probably because I was the only one doing that by myself). So he was always grabbing my hand and pulling me closer to the sharks so I could keep up, and see the most of it. The sharks didn’t give a damn about us. I mean I’m not even sure they registered our presence. The just kept on moving lazily forward.  With their cute little spots and distinguished presence. It was one of the most surreal experiences in my life. When I got back to my hostel and my best friend, I was pale under my tan from too much throwing up, but my eyes were shinning bright. I couldn’t wait to call my mother and give her an heart attack by saying “guess you swam with huge bad ass sharks today ?!”.

PS : sorry I don’t have any pictures. I was too busy living the dream.

Texas and the complexity of the hospitable South

I had a very strong opinion of Texas before going there. It wasn’t even on the plan but somehow I got talked into it. And I can honestly say that I loved Austin. Houston not so much. What I really want to talk about is my special evening with my new Texan friends. In the end, they were kind of everything I was told a Texan was supposed to be. Both good and bad.

I was drinking a beer with my new friend on the back porch when her husband came home. And he looked at me and said “you are drinking my beer ? On my back porch ? Chatting with my wife ?”. A pause, and then, with a big smile and a tap on my back “ah, you are FAMILY now ! if you ever need anything you can always call us”. And that’s all it took. From then on I was their best friend. They took me with them on the birthday diner, and I slept in their daughter’s bedroom, and somehow I ended up going out partying with them and their friends. And that night says it all. I arrived there and everybody was insanely friendly “you come from EUROPE, woow, what are you DOING here of all places ? You want a drink ? Let me get you a beer”. And asked cute questions and were interested in what I had to say. Drove me around, paid for my drinks, were just so completely and perfectly lovely. And this is the south. The south, in what I experienced of it, is full of kind hearted people, ready to drop everything and help you out. Opening their homes, cooking heavy food for you, telling stories. It’s about belonging to a community and the simple stuff in life.

But south is ALSO the rest of that evening. “So, I heard you didn’t have a real good opinion of Texas before coming ? How come ?”. Well you know. Back where I come from we always think Texas is the worst state. You know with guns and … “Guns ? Yeah, guns are important. I mean I have 4 of them upstairs. You got to be able to defend yourself”. Mm, ok. And then it was a lot about all those immigrants coming in to steal their jobs, even though they come to collect the food stamps in Cadillacs (“every one of them I swear !”). I was asked if I had a boyfriend, and then, with a suspicion frown, if I had a girlfriend. Then they talked about the confederate flag and even between themselves they were not quite clear on whether or not it’s ok to have it in your garage.

I guess what I am trying to say is, I really loved my experiences in Texas, and in the South in general. I found people absolutely lovely, so ready to help me out, so open and lay back. But that evening made me wonder if I was able to experience all those things because I was a cute, white, young female. And I just wondered for a second if my black, Mexican or gay friends would have as much good luck here as I did. And that made me sad.

Street art in Austin, Texas

Surfing in Mexico, winning the battle

I always thought surfing was cool. It’s all about the ocean, and that definitely speaks to my soul. It is about braving the waves, spending time at the beach, getting salty hair and sandy toes. I love, at least in parts, the philosophy of surfing, the lay back attitude, the chilled out spirit. I spent a whole year in Australia, THE country for surfing, and yet I didn’t get the chance of trying. I spent a lot of time in California and still nothing.

But when I made it to Mexico, the water was so blue, so warm, so delicious. I was told it was the best place for learning since the waves were smaller and still you could surf on them. My new best friend was up for it and one day, we got down to the beach and just rented two boards.

I think you could right away guess what our level of success was going to be by watching me helping my friend carry her board to the water because it was too heavy for her. That first surfing for me was basically an hour of getting beaten down by the ocean. Hanging on to my board for dear life, and just a general unwillingness to give up. A lot of surfer dudes type were coming up to me and asking “you all right ? I surf, you want me to give you some pointers ?”. And I would just generally reject everybody saying “I’m fine, I’m fiiiine”. And I would get back on that board and wait for the next wave and paddle paddle paddle, and fall down, and underwater, and get hit by the board in the ribs or the legs, and spit salty water, and pant, and moan. And still, I would get back up on the board and paddle away. After an hour I managed to KIND OF get up on the board for some seconds, and I’m pretty sure that counts.

Exhausted, my friend and I gave back the boards, sat up on those swings at the beach bar and started ordering a steady flow of Coronas.  Victory tasted de-li-cious.

The next day people were asking me with a shocked expression “what HAPPENED to you ?!”. I had bruises and cuts over 70% of my body. I didn’t care. That’s battle scares. Mexico was only the beginning of what I imagine will be a long and brilliant life of surfing.

To dreaming big and screw ups. We’ll always be the next big thing

I’ve spent my life making choices. We all have. And yes, I’ve chosen to leave right after my studies, take to the road, discover the world. And yes, those years made me who I am. They made me fearless and open minded, flexible and not afraid of getting dirty, happy and creative. Now I am back home, trying to figure out what to do. It feels like I have spent months sending resumes to vaguely media or communication jobs. Not really enthusiastic about any of it, but still, I wanted to give it a fair shot. Yes, I have panicked, and looked at the next ticket for Bali, but this time I am not running. I want to travel some more, but I don’t want to be back home at square one.

It feels like I’m spending my time apologizing. Apologizing in my cover letters for those years of wanderlust. “Yes, I have traveled, but it made me bilingual”. “Yes, I have traveled, but it made me flexible”. Apologizing to my family and friends, “well, yes, I do want a job, I’m not finding one. Well, no, I would not like to have a job right here forever. It’s all temporary isn’t it ?” Apologizing for not wanting to stay here. Not having a saving account for my future apartment. Not wanting to get married before I’m 30. Not settling for something that I do not want.

“Well, you have to realize, this is real life now”

Real life. What the heck is real life anyway ? Is real life coming home from work and watching tv while playing candy crush ? Is real life being in a relationship for the last 10 years and having nothing to say to the other person anymore ? Is real life saving up to buy a house ? And suddenly, after 7 months of it all, it just came to me. Like a revelation. Like I snapped.

I’m done. I’m so done. I’m done apologizing. I LOVE my choices. I don’t regret a single one. I refuse to stop dreaming big because everybody else is pulling me down. I refuse to apologize for having seen the world. For wanting more out of the whole experience. This is who I am. Come on, some people make it to being movie stars. Athletes. Astronauts. Why can’t I just want a little bit more ? A little bit more than working at a shitty real estate job because that’s all I can find ? A little bit more than diner with the same people over and over again ? A little bit more out of life.

 

What the hell am I doing here ?

I talk a lot about the beauty of traveling, about what a magical experience it is, about how everything folds into place. And mostly, it does. You just have to trust your lucky star, and always keep moving forward.

But don’t get me wrong, there were a couple of moments, during my time on the road, where I wondered, for a mere second really, what the HECK was I doing.

For example, I remember distinctively arriving in Cambodia. I was pretty exhausted after a six hours stopover in Singapore. I was emotionally on edge because I just left Australia after a glorious year of sun and beach and making friends everywhere. I stepped out of that airport and the sky seemed to be falling down. It was pouring rain like I’ve never seen it before. It was a couple of months since I experienced any kind of rain in the first place, so that was quite impressive. And I didn’t have time to register any of it because an army of Tuk Tuk drivers were fighting over my attention. I finally found the one send by my hostel. I was embarrassed by my heavy bag, had to repress the urge to explain to him that I was already traveling for over a year, otherwise of COURSE I wouldn’t have that much stuff, I’m usually a light packer I swear.

When my bag and myself were safety inside the Tuk Tuk, merrily away we went. Under the heaviest rain of my life. On the mud roads. The tuk tuk broke down after about 10 minutes and the driver had to call a friend to come and pick me and my enormous bag up and drive us to the hostel.

So, all in all, it was about 20 minutes of tuk tuk driving to get to the city. And during the ENTIRE time I was just looking at the mud, the muddy fields, the people half naked working them, the dogs, the cows passing us buy, the scooter where 4 people would be SOMEHOW sitting, the other tuk tuk full of fruits for the market, the chaos of it all. And I just kept thinking, what in the WORLD was I doing here ?! what was I THINKING ?! By myself ?! I wasn’t really sacred, I was just uncomfortable with my decision. Somehow hearing what my mother would say if she could see me. Wondering if I didn’t bit off more that I couldn’t chew on. You know those few seconds, minutes, were everything is questionable, where you wondering about why you are here, can you really do that, are you strong enough, tall enough, are you not a little bit insane after all ?

And then you breathe in. It suddenly dawns on you where you truly are, and what you are truly accomplishing. That you can’t be nothing but proud. That everything is going to be just fine. Because you are made of tougher stuff. And in the end, you’ll shine that much brighter.

Buying my first car

When I arrived in Australia, I had a very European, naïve way on how I was going to do things. Like, well, I was going to take the bus, and the train everywhere. Then I realized (especially arriving  in Western Australia), that the distances between cities were hours and hours, that the buses only made it to major populated areas, and that I was due to work in farms and national parks and getting there was going to be way more complicated than anticipated. I was used to everything being connected. I was used to cheap buses, carpooling and always finding a way to get somewhere. I was NOT expecting houses so lost that their mailboxes were completely elsewhere so that the postman could kind of reach them better. To people going shopping in the “big city” once every three weeks because it took two hours to get there. The sheer distances in Australia are mind blowing. It puts everything into perspective.

I realized soon enough that a car was going to be a necessity if I was to explore like I intended to. I could reach the cities with the bus, but the cities were not what I came for. I came for the endless beaches and forgotten tropical forests. For the outback and to truly get lost.

The thing was, I never bought a car. I didn’t know a single thing about cars. I didn’t know what to ask, what to look for, how to not get ripped off. I guess what I SHOULD have done is browse, see a couple of them, ask a bunch of questions, read stuff online.

What happened in real life though was, a friend of my boss was selling his car. I decided to have a look, asked my coworkers to come with me since they “kind of” knew some stuff about cars.

They did everything. They opened the hood, they asked the questions, they even took the car for a test drive since I didn’t really see the point of me driving it (what was I looking for ? What should I try ?). The ONLY question I asked was “can I connect my ipod ?” cause, let’s face it, when you intend to drive 8 hours a day, you NEED music.

I didn’t look at any other car. I loved it for the moment I saw it. My friends told me it looked good, I trusted them since I didn’t have any other choice anyway. Plus, I COULD connect my ipod. So, I bought it.

And that car was and always will be my favorite car. Her name was “Baby”. A little tiny SUV, bright red, so cute and adorable. It drove me through the desert and into the outback. It didn’t look tough but, just like me, it really was. We drove 20 000 km together and I never had a single problem. Selling it was heartbreaking and I refused a couple of dudes because they didn’t appreciate it enough. I ended up selling it to a cool girl, we stayed friends and she updated me on the car. Cause life works out sometimes.

A thousand lives : My time as a winemaker in Napa, California

Arriving in Napa, California, was a little bit like going back home. Going back to “civilization” as only a European snob can say it. I just came from two months in the south of the US, where, let’s face it, everything is either fried or deep fried. Where all the restaurants are the same kind of joints, serving the same kind of food, with the same kind of accent.

I got there, and it was instant love. It’s just the cutest, most distinguish little town. It’s all European deli with really fancy delicate food. It is restaurants with a “concept”, with a nice decor, imaginative menus. It’s Americans at their snobbiest. The kind of Americans that spend every holiday in south of France or Italy, and talk about wine and fine cheese and traveling. California was for me like being back in Europe, expect sunnier, wilder and little bit more “in your face”.  Napa was the easy lay back small town, with distinguished rich people, talking about culture and being snobs.

It was my first stop in California because I found a job there working in a vineyard. That was always one of the things I regretted not doing in Australia. One of the arrows missing from my quiver. Working in the fields, in wine. The dream.

I absolutely loved it there. My bosses were this couple of retirees who had spent a fair bit of their time traveling in Europe. I would spend my days with my little cowboy belt, working on the vines with my secateurs, cutting the little regrowth so the main vine would have more strength. It was a long and tedious job but painless and easy. And I would work alongside people. Either my boss, talking to me about what we were to eat. My boss’s wife, talking to me about books and movies. Or their only employee, talking about his studies and Mexico.

For lunch the boss would always take me to town, we would go to this fancy Italian deli, buy the best food, come back home with fresh bread and pastrami, delicious expensive cheese and salad. And in the evening after work, if it was a good day, he would open one of his own bottle of red wine, offer me some fancy cheese and crackers, and we would sit there, in the delicate color of the evening, surrounded by vines. I loved the work, I loved the wine and I loved the people. They were brilliant. Old travelers, cultured, with their vineyard in Napa and their beautiful house in San Francisco. They were living the life, quite comfortable about what they had achieved, in what they were doing, and in the glorious and easy future ahead of them. And I just thought, well, I wouldn’t mind being here, quietly working the fields, when I’ll be their age. Winemaker it is.

 

No one ever walks : welcome to the US

I will always remember my very first day in the US. I arrived in Florida and worked near Miami. I asked where was the closest supermarket and I was told the nearest Wal-Mart was about 30 minutes away by bus. I asked if I could walk there and I was told “nooo, it’s too long a walk”. On my phone it was about 15 minutes away, so I happily put on my brand new little white shoes and went on my shopping trip.

15 minutes it was but there was NOWHERE to walk. Not one sidewalk, not one bicycle lane, nothing. I walked on the side of a road for about 5 minutes and suddenly I was confronted with two massive motorways. I tried walking by the side of it, a little farther away, in the grass. It was uncomfortable and loud and after about 5 minutes I feel into a puddle of mud, up to my knee. So much for the pretty white shoes.

Then I came to the point where I was forced to cross those motorways. I had to run across them, it was highly dangerous and probably incredibly illegal. I arrived at Wal-Mart exhausted, sweaty and disgusting. And that was just one way.

But that’s the way it is in the US. There is just nowhere to walk because, well, let’s face it, no one wants to. I found that the lifestyle was, for the most part, very lazy. Everybody owns a car there, because that’s the only way to get around. And then their whole system is built around that. I went to a burger place one time, and wanted to go to the ice cream place across the road for dessert, and there was LITERALY no way for me to walk there, I had to take the car and DRIVE those 100 meters.  And since they are driving everywhere, they are getting pretty reluctant about leaving their cars. That’s probably why they have drive-in for everything. And I do mean everything. Drive-in for MacDonald’s and burger king, ok, fine, we have those in Europe. Drive in for Starbucks, well, why not. I mean, the line was always so long that if you would have just PARKED your car, walked out, ordered your coffee, walked back, you would have been 10 minutes faster than just waiting in the drive-in line, but I guess that’s just too much commitment for coffee.

I saw a drive-in for an electric company, so you can pay your bill from your car. Drive-in for the post office. Drive in for ATMs. So you can get into your car and, without once getting up from it, get cash, spend it at the fast food place, get a coffee for dessert and go home. All of that from the comfort of your leather seats and AC environment. Well. After all. Isn’t that what we are talking about when we are yearning for the American dream ?

Yallaboroo or how I arrived in heaven

At one point during my Australian adventure, I decided to go on a 3 days boat trip through the Whitsundays. That’s a story for another time. It was marvelous, and absolutely exhausting. I’m writing this to tell you about the little things in traveling. Like arriving to a new place and finding it better that you have ever dreamed it could be.

So my boat arrived at the harbor late afternoon. I was exhausted. I didn’t shower for 3 days, my skin was salty and dry, my hair were blonder than ever before, I didn’t like a single person on that boat but for the friend I came with. I wanted a shower, a nice meal, 3 litters of water and to NOT be around people all the time.

But no rest for the warrior, I had to drive 2 hours to my next job. And of course I wouldn’t start working right away. But it’s always the same thing when you arrive in a new place. You have to be “on” all the time. And polite and nice and funny. Make a good impression, present well. Get up and do the dishes, help around, offer your service. And I was just exhausted, and uncomfortable in my skin.

So I drove the 2 hours, didn’t find my farm because of course it was in the middle of nowhere, had to call the people so they would help me on my way.

And then, something wonderful and amazing happened. I was suddenly and instantly home. The house was the nicest, so calm, comfortable, clean. I had my own room and, what never ever happened before, my own bathroom ! And I’m not talking about a shady shower outside of the house (because THAT happened). A full-on bathroom with a tub and a big mirror and made of marble. Now I know that I may seem overly excited over something that is, after all, pretty common. A bathroom. But when you are on the road for as long as I was, you really, TRULY appreciate those things. Not sharing the space with 10 other backpackers showering at the same time as you do. Not having to pack all your stuff every single time you take a shower. Not having to precariously balance your products so they don’t touch too much of the floor if it’s disgusting. Not worrying about the camel dudes barging in when you are in the shower. Your own space. Were you can leave your stuff. That, my friends, is pure LUXURY.

My new boss made me a yummy diner, didn’t ask anything out of me “you just rest darling. You look exhausted”. The conversation was easy and floating. I talked and I listening and none of it was awkward or forced, none of it was politeness, it was instant friendship, and instant ease. My whole body and mind relaxed in those first hours and quite frankly, it was like arriving home. And believe me, when you are on the road for two years, this is a rare miracle indeed. You have to appreciate to the fullest, every comfortable, easy, and fuzzy second.