-Chapter 36- The Unemployed Germans- The Fight for a Job

In Te Puke, it was not possible to not find a job. Although in November pretty much all backpackers were staying in the small town, there were countless job offers for various kiwi farms at the Te Puke Holiday Park and the library. We even witnessed kiwi farm managers approaching backpackers directly in the library. There were also plenty of job advertisements on the internet, and if you look closely, you can find some jobs on Facebook as well. As we already knew, job hunting on the South Island is not quite as easy. But since our plan was to only be on the South Island with Flori, we had no choice.

So in early February, we decided to try our luck. Just as Te Puke is for kiwis, Blenheim is for work on vineyards. We had heard from some people that they had found work in Motueka, but there was no sign of any jobs all the way down to Blenheim. We thought that Blenheim would probably offer the best chance on the South Island.

When we arrived in the small town, we first looked for accommodation for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, there were only a few small hostels with extremely bad reviews, a very expensive campsite, and two hostels with spaces for campervans. We turned around at one of them because it was already full. So we had no choice but to check in at the largest and most popular place for backpackers: This place was a combination of a hippie haven and the Brazilian slums. There were about 150 parking spaces for campervans, all arranged around a large gravel area. On this gravel area, there were a lot of run-down tin or wooden huts, an open kitchen that looked like a barbecue area from a medieval village, and two other equally filthy kitchens. There were also unisex showers and a central area where some backpackers lounged in hammocks all day like sloths. The atmosphere in the place was strange, and we didn't really want to get used to it. Half of the backpackers were German, and the other half French. 70% had dreadlocks, and some Germans looked like they were on vacation in Malle. It smelled like weed 24/7, and on the Saturday we arrived, the whole night was celebrated. During the day, everyone simmered in the heat, sat in junkie chairs and couches in front of their huts, and cooked shirtless. (When Flori wanted to eat his pizza in the kitchen, a French guy sat next to him at the table, put his foot on the table top, and started picking at it). Oh yes, there was also a swimming pool. "There they are in the enclosure," Flori said once when we drove into the place. The pool is surrounded by glass panes, which somehow reminded us of the lion enclosure in the Schwerin Zoo. More than half of the residents of the camp were unemployed, just like us, and the longer we stayed without a job, the worse we felt.

In addition, Celina got sick for the only time during the week in Blenheim. Although the campsite was far from suitable for resting, we ordered her to try anyway. Because we were running out of money slowly, Flori and I tried to start looking for a job anyway.

The man at the reception gave us a sheet of paper with numbers of vineyard agencies and factories, but he also mentioned that it was very quiet on the vineyards at the moment. Flori and I decided to focus on the vegetable factory, as the guy said that it would probably be the most promising. When Flori called, a woman rattled off a text without taking a breath, which prompted us to go to the factory just outside Blenheim on Monday at half past eight.

The factory looked a little bit like the Nestle factory from the outside, and we were discouraged when we saw the barrier and two backpackers walking back to their car with a sheet of paper, looking gloomy. Nevertheless, we tried our luck, had to fill out a visitor pass, and saw that we had to sign a new list as there were already 15 people who had arrived before us. I also found the man's smile in the guardhouse a bit too sympathetic... We went to the reception, where four French backpackers were already sitting, including two who had asked us in the morning at the campsite if we could give them a ride. (Which was not possible, as they would have had to take the place of bodies in Flori's bed). The woman at the reception copied our passports and visas and gave us a long pad of paper that we had to fill out. When we finally made it through, we were the last ones at the reception, and the friendly woman routinely gave us a note with the information that we would be called back - or not. Of course, we didn't receive a call. All in all, not a pleasant experience.

Our mood did not improve when we realized that the five Germans standing near us at the campsite were among the handful of people who had jobs. Plus, we had to go grocery shopping and felt like we were only spending money that we didn't have. (The peak of this feeling was when Flori walked through the library in his slippers, dragging his feet on the carpet).

The next day, we searched all the internet sites again for jobs in Blenheim, but with no success. Flori and I called several job agencies using the 10 numbers on the sheet. It was just as demotivating as the attempt at the factory. Eventually, all the other backpackers who checked in at the campsite received the same sheet, and it seemed like everyone was in Blenheim at the moment. We took turns calling. Either no one answered, we had to leave a message, they had enough workers, or they simply hung up when we started talking. I had the best attempt, after spending an eternity trying to teach Flori his long application text, "if someone answers." When a real person actually answered my call, I was so shocked that I said, "Me and my friend are looking for a job... umm.. uh.. Do you need workers?". Flori burst into laughter. Too bad he already had enough workers, otherwise he probably would have hired us after that application.

This place was just too depressing, and we felt more rundown than ever before. In addition, we felt like we were just wasting time and money. Waiting for the season to start was definitely out of the question. After all, the other hundred guests probably had that in mind too. We decided to leave Blenheim earlier after four days. Flori had to fight for our deposit, but we were just glad to be able to get away from there. The days in Blenheim were among the worst in New Zealand.

We set off through the mountains again, this time in one stretch, stopped again at Lake Rotoiti because it was so beautiful, and watched a group of holidaymakers swim with giant eels in the ice-cold lake.

Google Maps led us astray in search of our campsite for the evening. We turned off the deserted road too early and arrived at a horror movie set: gray sky, a narrow gravel road winding through the forest, partially torn barbed wire fence, and a huge, rusty but open gate. (Behind that gate, the campsite must be hidden!). After some hesitant considerations, we actually drove through the gate and followed the gravel road for a while. The foolish Germans simply ignored several signs warning of surveillance cameras and everything possible. (We later found out that it was the entrance to a mine). Honestly, I don't know why we kept driving. Of course, at that moment, a serious man in a jeep came towards us, probably the owner. He told us through the open window that he would now close the gate. I explained that we had gotten lost and we turned around with difficulty.

A curve further on, we finally found the right entrance and spent two nights at a campsite called "Berlin's". One night there was an unpleasant German guest who constantly wanted to borrow something from us, kept asking for cigarettes, and asked two or three times exactly where we came from, if we knew a Justin in Schwerin, and he asked Flori if "the one" was his girlfriend. (We didn't know who he was talking about). He also tried to make crude small talk: "But Austrians smoke, don't they?" he said to an Austrian couple when they couldn't give him any cigarettes.

The next day, we continued down New Zealand's West Coast. Celina and Flori tried to call several job agencies in a park, but they couldn't help us much over the phone. We stopped at the Pancake Rocks

and drove all the way to Greymouth, a small gray port city that consists of 80% industrial area. It rained there for the first time in weeks. We drove back to the East Coast via the Arthur's Pass in one day. (One of the most beautiful routes ever!). We stopped in Castle Hill, where we hiked for a few hours and enjoyed the view. This place was one of my favorite places in New Zealand!

The next day, Flori and I went to all the hostels in Christchurch's city center in his hearse, where Flori not very successfully asked about job offers. We also compiled a long list of farms to call and sent countless applications. Flori and I got lunch at Burger King, drove past it, and did a slow-motion U-turn on the highway. The futile job search was not only quite annoying, but also really draining on our strength and nerves, and we were slowly running out of ideas. We headed to Ashburton because it was unbearable to sit in one place and wait for jobs that wouldn't come anyway. When we were in motion, we at least felt like we were doing something meaningful. (Flori said in the end we would end up on the little island south of the South Island in search of work). In Ashburton, I then called the 15 numbers on the list that we had made in Christchurch, but it was the same as in Blenheim. Either they already had enough workers, you had to leave a message, or two said they would call us back, which they didn't, of course. After that, we really had no hope left.

Feeling completely depressed, we checked in at a campsite in Ashburton, where we luckily felt completely comfortable. Other German backpackers gave Flori the tip to go to a job agency in Ashburton, as they had received a promising appointment from them. That was really our last chance. When we showed up there on Monday morning, the employee explained that she currently didn't have any jobs that would be worthwhile in terms of hours for us. She gave us her card and said that starting from March 1st, when the harvest season starts, we could contact her. After that, the unemployed Germans wisely decided to travel first and work later.

-> To be continued