On the Pull

Trip Start Nov 17, 2012
1
15
26
Trip End Ongoing


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Flag of Australia  , Victoria,
Thursday, June 20, 2013

Beeep beep!!! Jeez this is the second time that I have been in the shower to hear that dreaded beep which means that I have to jump out of the shower and leg it to the van completely un prepared or fully dressed.

We were excited to hear that we would be working today, at 7.30 am we would be picked up. So I woke up with plenty of time to wash my hair (i know it was to go to the farm, but I just cannot go out with greasey hair). But today I do not have plenty of time, as we were told the wrong pick up time. We don't have time for breakfast, even to grab anything to take with us. So off we scoot into the van, being told in whispers not to tell 'The Don' that we were given the wrong time and allow him to think that we were late...so as not to anger him.

Arriving to the farm, I feel slightly excited and quickly tell myself to sort that out as I am sure I will not be feeling the same way in a few hours...Make that minutes.

Standing in the field for one and a half hours waiting for the farmer to turn up....so glad that we rushed out of the shower. The cold hair runs down every wet hair and penetrates my brain. And I think back to the moment that I was sorting through my clothes in England, ' won't need this, it's got sleeves, won't need these leggings, there too thick'. And here I am...dressed head to toe in Kmart chic; a vest, a thick hoodie, a sexy fleece and a scarf...still freezing my titiies off.

We are given a small demonstration from one of the backpackers (self proclaimed leader) finally the farmers wife turns up, but she isn't some chubby happy woman with red cheeks, on first impression she is aboriginal, but I later discover she is - Troya. I had not thought that I would like Australia, due to my facination with new cultures and ways of life, I had not expected that the larger drinking australians in wife beater vests would satisfy my curiosity into different people. The Troyans are an unexpected delight. They all speak a funny little language, are round and dark and throughout the day go from shouting and screaming Justin Beiber to Beyonce.

 I try to wiggle my toes to make sure they are still there, pull my scarf tight around my face and approach my first vine tree. On first pull, a wopping great bunch of hard grapes sault through the air and one firm giant purple fellow comes straight and hits me square in the eye, start as you mean to go on Lucia, why not.

If your not pulling sharp vines slashing across your face, poking your self in the eye to blind you to make the whole process alot easier, then the shavings of bark as you rip the tightly twined twigs fill your  sockets and you can't see a thing, which, enevitably means that you end up walking into a giant branch, poking yourself in the eye again and prolong the recovery of your visibility. Amid this action,  cast away branches are crawling up your legs, twisting their bodies in and out of your legs, grabbing tightly to your shoe laces, even poking you up the bum. If your clever enough to skip any of these on one tree, youll be sure to walk into one of the wires that cross the tree, almost beheading yourself, cutting of your nose, or just touching your neck (which, any of you who know me will know is just as fatal). All of this  contibuting to the enjoyment of one of the best jobs I have ever endured.

And to think I was actually looking forward to this experience, sitting at my desk at work, thinking on the farm I will have no worries, be under the sunshine, work at my own pace, be amongst nature. My vision, of this scene, was aload of friendly backpackers, talking rubbish and singing songs like in the wartimes.

'Ow, shit, come on you bastard', are the only words that my mouth manage to utter between crashing branches over my back. You can't talk, you have to concerntrate or all of the above fatalities would be the least of your worries.

Trying to forget about the fact that each tree is making me just 40 cents (I swear seven year old asian children in sweat shops earn more than me), I crack on....Quite literally.

By the end, I feel quite proud of myself, Iv finished a day.. It was freezing, painful my lady hands are allready hard and ripped, but the day is done.and all for $30.30.

Remember that move in aerobics class, The Grapevine? I will never think of it the same again. In fact, I will refuse to do it.
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