Work hard, play hard

Day 18

The first week of work on the kiwi farm is over. I think a little interim assessment can't hurt. I'm able to do this because we'll be staying permanently at a campground with Wi-Fi, electricity, and hot showers in the second week, so I can check in occasionally.

One week ago today, we were sitting in the hostel in Tauranga, not knowing what the next week had in store for us. Up until then, all we really knew was that we had to stay in a small hostel on a side street in Tauranga in order to get the job and roughly how much we would earn per hour. We had no idea what kind of work we would be doing, with how many other people, where, and for how long. We were just happy to receive a positive response to our cleverly crafted applications and to have gotten the job. No one knows if the boss even took a quick look at the applications. But that's what we assume now. Because in 25 seconds, that's the time he spent explaining to us what we had to do. He took a bud from the plant that grows to a height of about two meters and crushed it. That was it. So for the next eight hours, that's exactly what we did. Along the plant in the field, always looking up with our heads tilted back, we looked for buds and crushed them. Why we had to do this in relation to the yield of the kiwis, what crushing them would accomplish, or if we had other tasks to do, was not explained to us. As mentioned, 25 seconds. Later, the supervisor (I purposely put that in quotation marks because this lofty title definitely does not correspond to the actual esteem these people hold) also added appropriate phrases like "Work faster" or "Not think about it, just work."

We imagined it would be more like a family. Now we stand here in the sun for eight hours every day and are obviously just a means to an end, to ensure the best possible kiwi harvest in the summer and to fill the pockets of the orchard owner. It sounds too rebellious, but for €8.50 an hour, we just do it and wait for the time to pass.

On Tuesday, we worked on another farm. After six hours, everyone suddenly stopped and went to their cars. Linus and I followed suit and caught something about "changing farms." Of course, we didn't receive an address or at least a general direction, and logically, we lost the others in the convoy at some intersection. We drove to every farm, called the guy from the hostel, got the new address, but couldn't find it. We drove around again. Asked people about the farm. And after an hour and a half, half an hour before the end of the day, we finally found the remote kiwi farm. The supervisor sent us home, and after a phone call with the guy from Tauranga, it became clear that we wouldn't be paid for the stressful search for our workplace or receive a small amount of gas money. We realized what small fish we actually are and what lies behind it all. Similar problems followed in the days that followed, always one per day. On Wednesday, we drove to the new address where we were supposed to be at 7:30 and realized there that the boss had sent us another address via SMS at 5:23, which we were supposed to go to and start work at 8. The half hour we had gotten up earlier, of course, was not paid. On Thursday, we arrived at the right address at 7:30, but the supervisor was late and we could only start working at 8, so the half hour we had gotten up earlier was not paid.

And so on. We can get upset, which we have done enough, or we can accept it and realize that we're earning a lot of money and getting tan.

Today is Sunday, and we've worked for 7 days straight now. Only yesterday did we find out that we have to work on Sunday because tomorrow is a public holiday in New Zealand, so there is no work. That means we have a day off tomorrow and then the second week begins, which will hopefully run a bit more smoothly.

Halfway there. We've already celebrated that. We're currently sitting at a table outside eating cookies. It's 22:19. This week, we'll be staying at a larger campground, which will cost a bit of money. In the past few days, we've mostly stayed at free self-contained campsites. These are usually just parking lots with toilets and sometimes cold outdoor showers in beautiful places. In our case, mostly right by the beach.

Except for twice, when we were at a parking lot in Paengaronga. Because no matter how boring and exhausting the work is, it's an experience and you get to talk to different people. We've met a nice French guy there, whom we've bumped into twice at this campsite in Paengaronga. His name is Jean. He's studying management in Lille and is traveling alone through New Zealand for the next few months. In the evenings, he invited us to his van for a decaf tea because he says it's very healthy before going to sleep, and we exchanged our plans for this country. Like us, he also wants to head towards Wellington after work, so maybe we'll see each other again. But one thing is certain, on Saturday, our last day of work, we'll have a beer together with him on the beach. And maybe even two.

We're about to get in the car and finally get to sleep again after a week, which also means not having to change in 7-degree temperatures at 6:45. Life can be pretty good. Well, we'll talk again on Tuesday when work starts again. But it's only a few more days, and then after leaving Auckland, there will be a second chapter in our journey. One thing work definitely creates is the feeling of actually living in New Zealand when you have the same routine every morning and then drive the familiar roads to work.

We'll see if we can have that feeling even without work.