Not surprisingly then we wanted a break from city life and boy did we find it.

We left the North Island on the mighty Interislander ferry that rolls its way between the landmasses that make up New Zealand.  It is a titan of a ferry, which gleefully swallows trains, cars and passengers aplenty without burping. 

Inside it has all the mod cons such as food, drink and even that most vital of oceanic equipment: a full size cinema.  Coming into the South Island is to pass through a maze of broken up coastlines called sounds. 

Sounds are where a tectonic plate has been pushed down and has flooded leaving only the tops of the local mountains poking out of the sea filled valleys.  They are very similar in effect to fiords only without glacial involvement.  They comprise a heady formation of passages which are long and have formed into large inlets.  In these are multitudes of houses and hotels all buried amongst the short beach lines and masses of trees. 

One part is known as the Queen Charlotte Track and involves a 4 day hike around the points and campsites.

Hidden within this maze lays Picton and the port of call for the ferry.  Picton is a small town built up around its status as a transit hub and while it has a quite pleasant harbour you can tell that this is a working port. 

Its main use is the ferrying not of goods but of people in the form of multitudes of water taxi’s and small ferries out to the Sounds various accommodations.  For transport further into the South Island then Picton is the final stop on the train line (yes an actual train! in NZ!) that leads down the coast via Kikura and into Christchurch.  It also is the hub for the hire car companies and the bus companies.  Not surprisingly then, it is chock full of Backpacker choices in terms of accommodation.

We used the web to book what seemed like the best choice.  The Tombstone Backpackers is right opposite the cemetery, which is something that most people would not harp on about.  Tombstone uses the location to be its USP and having stayed at some of the other hostels I can see why.  It is slightly further out of town (still walkable) and its competitors all give away free Apple Pie and Ice Cream.

Every night.

That’s right, I stayed (weeks later) at the Lodge in town and the staff at the counter booked me in and then handed me my passport back, my change from the money I gave, the keys to the room and a bowl of apple pie and ice cream.  Just like that.  As if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Anyway, any visual images of Tombstone backpackers were melted away once we arrived and found that it is one of the every best hostels we have ever stayed at.  It is all brand new for a start.   A large kitchen, two TV sets (one massive LCD), two quiet rooms of sofas, a pool table and a hot tub.  The room was frankly a revelation.  I wondered if we had wandered into a top hotel my accident as this was a stonkingly good room.  Ensuite.  For NZ$60! 

Also the landlady was very helpful.  She quickly chatted to us and probed our somewhat haphazard plan about walking some of the track and within a jiffy had a plethora of good suggestions.  And when she heard that we were looking for WWOOFing… jackpot!  One of the lodges, on the Queen Charlotte Track, was looking for workers in the gardens for a few days.  How about we get the water taxi to drop our stuff there and we then go to the next stop and walk back along the track?  The taxi will be cheaper if we are staff at the lodge and they will provide food as well.  Sounds good,

“What was the name of this place?” I asked.

“Furneaux Lodge.”

The next day we boarded the Cougar Line water taxi at 9am and watched as our stuff was stowed properly.  We had tagged all the bags to go directly to the lodge and, of course, had concerns about leaving our most precious gear in someone else’s hands – a classic no no for backpackers.  The ferry got underway and soon we were streaming through the sounds on our way.  I checked my go-bag had all the provisions I needed for the walk and then relaxed and enjoyed the view.  The water was calm this day and we both were happy as the trees zipped by.

The walk from historical Ships cove to Furneaux was worth every step and a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.  However, it was a hot walk and a significant 3 hours trek up and down the hills.  By the time we came around the headland and could see the borders of Furneaux’s land I was in dire need of refreshment. 

Happily it has a bar.

The main house of Furneaux is an old mansion that has been converted into the business it is today.  It has that palatial feel of large white panelling and classic style decking all around the front.  Its large bulk sits amid a collection of chalets and huts inside tree lined gardens and a stream running right through it.  The building is split roughly into two.  One side is the lounge bar, which is nicely appointed and fully serviced with both food and drink of all types.  The other side is the main restaurant, which – on our first visit – was closed for the season.  Behind these are the kitchens and above the kitchens is the staff accommodation.  Out the rear of the building, across the stream, lay the higher-end chalets in a graceful arc looking towards the mountains.  Walking in like we did we missed the most impressive sight of the grounds from the sea.  On approach, this way, the buildings rise up out of the forest and very nice jetty welcomed you through the grounds and gardens up to the house.

We quickly introduced ourselves to the staff and even quicker downed a pint of beer that had been well earned from the walk.  There was about 8 permanent staff spread over a variety of jobs from bar works to grounds, kitchen to cleaners.  The more senior staff, like the head chef John, had their own rooms and everyone else either shared of bunked in a dorm room.  As a kind gesture, mainly due to us being married and it being off-season, we were housed away from the house in the “Possums”, which were small but fun rooms 100 meters from the house.

Work was set to start the next day with some other WOOFer’s who had already got going.  As it was 3pm, and work had finished at 1:30pm, we were told to settle in and relax until the morning.  Bliss.  Sitting out on the boards and looking out to the sounds (with a second beer in hand) was wonderful.  Either side of the sounds the high hills frame the backdrop nicely and the eye is drawn down gently to the crystal clear waters lapping the shore.

Work started the next morning at 9.  All food was provided by the host here and so we got dressed by 8 and selected suitable work clothes for the day, which was looking to be very sunny.  We then joined in with the other morning workers and made ourselves some toast and cereal from the kitchens.  Here we met the other WOOFer’s – three girls who were from Germany and Denmark.  After hello’s and hi’s we presented ourselves to the staff for instruction.

The task for the next “few days” was to weed out the back chalets that had grown over and had not been disturbed over the winter.  We were given directions to the tool shed and told to make a start.  Lunch was to be at 11:30 to midday and then work again until 1:30pm.  We went around to start and were presented with a monster weed infestation.  The sheer size and volume of the weeds here was amazing.  Some were so big that they could literally be confused with trees and all the earth was sown with a low laying creeper that made a lattice of green across all of the gardens.

I went and got a bigger fork.

Weeding is a lost art really.  It is not quite the most unpleasant of jobs, for while it is hideously monotonous you do get a lot of time to think.  I think a lot already, so I turned on the iPod to the longest audiobook I could find (The hobbit – 35 hours!) and just zoned out.  Here the task was either very picky and required the weeder to pull out thousands of tiny weeds growing between gravel or very labouring and required that you dig over every square inch of earth pulling up the lattice-weed on the way.  I chose the latter and the girls all clustered into a gaggle of broken English and good humour and got stuck into the little stuff.

After a pleasant morning we broke for lunch.  I wasn’t expecting much, a sarnie perhaps, but was incredibly impressed with a large cooked breakfast buffet style.  Even with all the staff tucking in we all had plenty.  With a slightly full stomach we cracked back on and soon the sun was taking its toll.  I made a mental note to stock up on water for the next day. 

The other thing taking its toll was the sandflies.

Sandflies are the only menace worth mentioning in New Zealand.  The country was blessedly free of snakes, had only rare dangerous spiders and not a large predator in sight.  What it does have is a species of blackfly about the size of a matchead that requires blood to breed.  And its favourite type of blood is human blood.  Sandflies are talked either down or up by Kiwis.  They don’t want to spook visitors with tall tales of being hit by thousands at once, but at the same time the little bastards are absolutely everywhere and an unholy terror.  A sandfly bite matches and challenges a mosquito bite for itching and they take ages to heal.  They can swarm about someone in battalion strength numbers and almost drain the poor sod dry of blood.  Thankfully, they don’t like DEET and hate Mosiguard.  However, be out near a stream or shore line and not slathered in the aforementioned and you can seriously be made to regret it.  The worst I saw in my time in NZ was 200 hundred on Cescas back (in the Nelson lakes).

The numbers in Furneaux were thankfully less than in other places, but bites were exceedingly common on that first day.  The stream ran right by the gardens of the chalets and we were exposed to multiple attacks.  Everyone made plans to combat that the next day.  We finished up at 1:30pm and relaxed for the evening.  The other girls went for a trip in the company kayaks and there was much talk about fishing over the next few days.  However, I was happy to relax that first night with another well earned beer.  Got to love staff prices at the bar.  Any illusions about being under fed after the large lunch were banished when dinner turned up for staff at 5:30pm.  Another massive and greatly high quality meal was dished up and all the staff got stuck in.

There exists a well cultivated and friendly atmosphere at Furneaux between the staff members.  The lodge is very isolated in terms of geography and it is greatly to the managements credit that they have recognised this and run a gamut of staff perks to prevent high turnover or regular burnouts.  Basic perks like good food – more important than you’d think – and cheap drinks are just the start.  Staff can borrow the lodges equipment on their day’s off and go kayaking or fishing.  There is free WIFI, something that costs the earth via satellite connection but is vital to staff moral, and Sky TV with all the trimmings.   A comfy staff room brings the staff together and free pool when the bar is empty keeps the competitive spirit going.  However, by far the greatest innovation is called “Thirsty Thursday” where the management puts a wedge of cash behind the bar and buys every member of staff free drinks for as long as it lasts.

Such a fine balancing act explained why we were put in “the possums” as this prevented anyone from having to move around rooms and perhaps upset people.

The greatest facet was of course that this all extends to WOOFers as well as full time staff.  So many places treat WOOFers as “lesser” to full time staff, but here they are treated very well indeed.  This method of management reminded me of my own – a happy staff works hard and plays hard – and I was not surprised to find out that the owner had worked in a city job before buying Furneaux.  The owner’s name was Geoff and he arrived back from Nelson the next day.  Like many Kiwi’s he exhibited the relaxed but hardworking bonhomie that we have come to greatly like about this country.  Very relaxed in his kingdom home he made all the WOOFers feel welcome, but checked up on us a few times a day as we worked. 

And worked we did.

After-work highlights included fishing off the wharf and kayaking into the inlet.  During the kayak expedition 30 dolphins swam up to the kayak and Cesca leapt into the freezing waters to swim amongst them. 

5 Days later the weeding was almost done (and I had run out of Audible downloads to listen to),

and sadly we had to leave Furneaux for the journey down to Christchurch and a meet up with Arabella.  We promised to come back…

…and four weeks later we did.

Our second trip to Furneaux was during a windy day and the crossing to the inlet was incredibly rough.  Waves crashed over the small Cougar Ferry and the entire journey was like being in a washing machine.  It was great fun, but more than a little scary!

Work the second time around was a little different but still not too taxing, we spent a day sanding down the decking readying it for painting.

I spent a day cutting wood (which was a lot of fun – little destructive bugger that I am)

A Day moving logs

A day edging all the gardens (this was hard work and left me with blisters on my hands)

…and a day fixing the boss’s laptop!

Finally after 5 more days we left Furneaux for the last time (until next time!).  The experience here had been about as good as WWOOFing can get and had more than made up for the gig in Kangaroo Island. My faith in the whole enterprise had been renewed completely and my love for New Zealand increased permanently.

If you are in the Sounds, looking for work, I definitely recommend checking them, and the Sounds, out.

Regards,

Basho

Stokes Bay’s incredible “hidden” beach

Kangaroo Island is my favourite place out of the whole of Australia.  That this holds true after our experience of WWOOFing here just goes to show that the beauty of this island is unsurpassed by anything else OZ has to offer, and that, on the other hand, our experience wasn’t really as bad as all that.

WWOOF stands for Willing Workers On Organic Farms and is a way of getting around the fact that one may not have a work visa.  The nature of the whole enterprise is “exchange“, where the “willing” “exchange” their “work” for free board and food.  That is a lot of high concepts for WWOOF to hold up, so perhaps it is better to say that while WWOOFers aren’t supposed to have any specific skills they are also not supposed to use their host for free accommodation.  Freeloading, the WWOOFing guide says, is not in the spirit of the adventure.  To become a WWOOFer one simply purchases a membership book for AUS$25, which acts as membership card, list of hosts in that country and a set of guidelines for the scheme.

The main guideline is simple.  Half a days work for a full days board.

Picking a host is actually quite hard.  All the hosts have to sell themselves is a single paragraph outline of their farm coupled with a quick listing of tasks they may ask you to perform.  This produces WWOOFing entries that are not dissimilar to lonely-hearts adverts in that the host will often try and soften the work, while talking up the accommodation and extras (eg fishing).  When reading the guides one keeps in mind that many of the hosts are in the back end of literally nowhere and you will be all alone and reliant on the host for transport.  Bad hosts do exist and backpackers all have tales to tell each other about their darkest experience.  We heard a few as we made our way up the coast to Cairns.  Stories of backbreaking work for spider infested caravans.  They sat in the back of our minds while perusing the adds, until eventually I hit on a modern solution; we would only consider hosts with a website.  No one with a good website would be the type of “local” found in “Deliverance” surely?

Eventually we had the list down to two and after the first claimed simply, “they had used all their budget for WWOOFers”, we were down to a choice of one; Paul’s Place.  We rang Paul and he sounded like a nice bloke, so we set a date to be in Kingscote and left it at that.  I think 90% of our problems would have been avoided if we had simply gone into a bit more detail in those phone conversations, we asked all the obvious things of course, but I think I should have asked simply “exactly how many hours will we be working?”

I will definitely ask next time.

Our ferry over from the Adelaide hills was a rough affair but the weather couldn’t dampen my mood.  I really wanted to make a top go of this.  KI was awash with rain. We were picked up on the other side by a small bus which raced us through the night to Kingscote at speeds far in excess of R17.

“R is a velocity measure, defined as a reasonable speed of travel that is consistent with physical health, mental wellbeing and not being more than about five minutes late. It is therefore clearly an almost infinitely variable figure according to circumstances, since the first two factors vary not only with speed taken as an absolute, but also with awareness of the third factor. Unless handled with tranquillity this equation can result in considerable stress, ulcers and even death. R17 is not a fixed velocity, but it is clearly far too fast.”

Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy

It turned out that the bus driver was full of the new news regarding Paul’s Place and while I clutched to my seat in terror he filled us in on the gossip.  Paul had been visited by a few WWOOFers recently and one young girl had been a bit put off by the whole thing.  This pricked my ears up.  What had happened?  Apparently she had hated it and said she had to go home.  “Had to go home” is the WWOOFer code ones uses to a host when one wants to leave immediately.  It is basically the best, most inviolate, excuse you can make.

The driver perhaps sensed my unease and said, “I hope you like snakes mate!  He has a big snake!”

I smiled in return, “Sure I love snakes…. I just hope he hasn’t got any spiders!”

We sped on into the night and our rendezvous with Paul.  Kangaroo Island has zero night life of the human kind so we were dropped off in an empty street.  The driver tried to make up for winding us up earlier by pointing out the nearest pub if Paul should not arrive and wished us luck.  He turned his bus around and made the jump into light speed leaving us alone in the rain and dark.

This wasn’t too bad as Paul arrived 1 minute later.

Everyone drives fast on Kangaroo island and Paul was no exception.  His car was warm and clean and I started to relax.  I was sure we would do ok here.  We stopped at one point to dig up a “white ants” nest (Termites) with which to feed the Echidna‘s.  This was the first of many new things I learned from Paul.  He explained the situation thus: his family were currently on the mainland due to a very ill relative, but he needed to get on with the businesses and so he still needed us.  He had stopped using WWOOFers a few years a go but had started the whole enterprise back up after he had nearly been killed by a very nasty snake bite.  The recovery of the bite was long and he found himself weaker and more tired than before.

I have remarked since that if this is the case then he must have been bloody Superman previously.

We arrived at our home for the next two weeks and all worries about the quality of the accommodation vanished away.  The Waves and Wildlife huts are simply stunning.  The location is top class and the quality of the huts is best described as brilliant.  They consist of a studio style room with a combined kitchen and sitting room that led off into a very nice bathroom and also to a well appointed bedroom with a good double bed.  After two months of backpacking around I was simply unable to speak through joy and just stopped to smile at Cesca.  Paul smiled and told us he would pick us up at 10:30 in the morning.

We slept peacefully that night and I dreamed of home.

Morning welcomed us awake.  The view from the Waves and Wildlife is over the cliffs above Stokes Bay and out to the sea.  This lends itself to an amazing view of the sea between KI and the mainland.  Slow moving weather fronts gift the photographer the most amazing vistas to capture and Cesca didn’t hesitate to partake with her Canon camera.  The other special thing about these huts are the aforementioned wildlife.  The entire grounds are festooned with Kangaroos.  On the first morning I counted two score easily. Bliss.

Paul picked us up and we travelled over to his place about 4K along the road.  The typically terrible KI roads winded up the hill until we turned into his long drive and down along the public area of the farm towards the large house overlooking the grounds and indeed the stunning view along the coastline.  Paul’s Place has been a life’s work for Paul.  Every single stone in the hundreds of meters of wall have been placed by Paul himself.  Further all the work on the half finished house is being done by hand.  His hand.  The size of the projects he takes on is daunting.  Just the house alone would take years and has indeed done so to get to this stage.  This is despite some nasty setbacks such as some falling trees and roof damage.  The upshot is that, magnificent as the house will be one day, that day is nowhere in sight.

The sanctuary area in front of the house and leading up it is in better condition.  6 or more very large caged areas and aviaries surround a central viewing courtyard with benches.  The view was only slightly ruined by the recent storm damage, which had overturned three trees in the yard.  In fact clearing up after this was much of the work we performed for the first few days.  Starting with raking/sweeping the yard.  I actually quite like sweeping, it is mind numbing work and leaves me plenty of time to think about things.  Sure, the most common thought is “I wish this would end”, but none the less.  This was to prepare for tourists or “tours” as Paul calls them.  He has a different voice for these.  A kind of higher pitched chirpy bonhomie, which captivates the tourists, but I know it is not his real voice, his real feelings.

The procedure for Paul’s Place depends on which day of the week it is.  On alternate days he opened the farm to the public for two hours.  This small and narrow timetable seemed to do nothing to diminish the visitors.  Even though it was “winter” there were 15+ on most days awaiting a tour.

Setting up for these tours involved bringing in the animals from the main pen.  Such furry friends as kangaroos, sheep, a calf and an alpaca.  This particular alpaca beast, and beasts they are, immediately hated me on sight.  As I shooed him towards the gate, with everything else all hopping; trotting and moving nicely, he just stood his ground.  “Common!” I shouted.  He didn’t move.  “Move it!” I motioned.  The alpaca moved towards me menacingly and raised to his full height of 6 feet tall.  He then spat at me aggressively.  I reeled and ducked.  I had seen a Camel spit at someone once; a magnificently fired volley of grass the size of a golf ball that smacked the offending person straight in the eye almost knocking them off their feet.  However, the alpaca’s spit never made contact it was just a loud sound.  In fact over the next two weeks I was spat at every day (just like being back in London then) until eventually the alpaca gave up with spitting and tried to eat me.  It was a hate hate relationship.

Jenna, Paul’s youngest and most playful dog.  More like half gazelle if you ask me.

Once all the animals were present Paul would bring in the tourists and let them feed the hoard who would all swamp all over them to get to the proffered buckets of grain.  This was always highly funny to watch.  Then he would lead them around the enclosures to show them the other animals on the pens and finally back to the main yard for the two special items; the snake and the possum.  The snake in question was a 6 foot long Carpet Python, common to Australia, and like all pythons non-venomous.  He was a magnificent serpent and I loved handling him and seeing the reactions of the guests as Paul dumped him onto their shoulders.  Soon it became my job to fetch the fellow each visit. The possum was a cute but quite tough little blighter that was coddled up in a soft cloth so his claws didn’t scratch anyone.  He was fed almonds and munched happily away while the customers cooed over him appreciably.

Another nemesis, this parrot hated all men.

All in all Paul had all sorts of animals for the tours including:  kangaroos, sheep, calves, pigs, ponies, many types of ducks, deer, emu, peacocks, parrots, a snake, a possum, two koalas, two echidna and a kookaburra (which laughed when prompted).  Some of the animals had particularities like the alpaca.  Some didn’t like men and when I went near one of the parrots it would go mad, others like the galah parrot hated Cesca on sight.  When this bird spotted her in its enclosure it would very slowly climb down from its perch and waddle after her.  Like a feathered zombie the large white bird would, small step by small step, chase her around attacking whenever she got in range.  Eventually she had to leave the aviary and the bird would climb the door to a jib where it would guard from her return.  I found all this very funny until another parrot took a dislike to me and I almost got torn to shreds.

One animal I loved were the Kangaroo’s.  Every other morning Paul would have us feed the wild kangaroo’s up at Stokes Bay.  They would all come hopping out of the woods to the line of oats we lay on the ground.  The ones at Paul’s Place were also very friendly and soft to pat.  On one occasion I was cold and so went and cuddled one for a few minutes to warm up.  I find it amazing that this country can support such a large creature in the wild.  It must be due to the lack of real predators in Australia?

When cold and wet in KI cuddle a kanga’!

It was long work that day but we put that down to it being the first.  Paul offered us a beer and then introduced us to his “Ute” four-by-four vehicle, which was to be our transport around for the next two weeks.  The passenger side window was missing so we had to park close to the wall every night to keep the seats out of the rain.  The incessant rain was probably one of the causes of our coming problems.  Being winter the weather was basically an English summer.  That is it rained on and off as the wind blew all through the day.  More than a few times we sheltered from the rain in the ute, strategically placing it away from the winds direction to make up for the lack of window.

This all sounds somewhat idyllic up to now and perhaps it was.  The good times were very good, but the bad were very frustrating.  The bad seemed to come along with lots of bad luck and Paul’s moods.  They started in earnest right from the beginning.  Paul has the managerial method of presuming that you are completely useless at everything and that whatever is your naturally inclined approach to any problem is not as good nor as obviously perfect as his.  This extends to the smallest level imaginable such as the right way to rake a yard, how best to shovel shit (literally) and even how to carry fallen branches.  This was micro-management on an obsessive level.  It was coupled with a general grumbling moan about almost everything we did.  We really tried hard to do things quickly and cleanly but nothing elicited a “thank you” or a “well done”.  By half way through the experience this had started to really drag us down and probably Paul as well.  This was coupled with the hours.  We worked from 10:30 to 12:30 and 13:00 to between 18:00 & 20:00.  That is a lot more than half a days work.  It is working full time.  And what work were were doing?

The good:

• Animal feeding (mainly a little baby lamb)
• Tourist help. Such as running horse rides.
• Animal catching.  Two emu escaped and it was fun catching them.  Unfortunately we arrived back to find one had died of fright.

The OK:

• Burning.  Setting large fires of fallen wood.
• Fencing.  Putting up curly plastic fencing around a new paddock.
• Chainsawing.  Cutting up trees.  Unfortunately I not only broke the chainsaw (which I fixed I might add), but I also cut down the wrong tree limb due to a confusion about Paul’s instruction.
• Wool packing.  Packing wool into transport bags.
• Tree planting.  The planting of a row of trees up by Stokes Bay, which was not fun in the high and cold winds and we worked in hats and gloves with frozen hands.
• Koala leaf collection.  The cutting of leaves for the furry wonders.

The Ugly:

• Stone picking.  Picking up stones from a field and digging up the biggest ones.
• Rock moving.  Moving building rocks from one end of the farm to the other.
• Concrete mixing and carrying.  Cesca was a dab’hand at making concrete and she certainly got practice.
• Stump picking.  Picking up naturally occurring wooden stumps from a large paddock.
• Tire changing.  The ute tires were completely worn and we had three punctures in the two weeks.

Cesca mixes concrete under the baleful eye of Paul, baking skill coming in handy!

The Terrible:

• Brush cutting.  This is the collecting and bailing of brush for the making of fences.  This was wet, hard work, which involved being out in the wilds of the bush and collecting as fast as possible.  After a day of this and 40 bails of brush (aiming for one every 6 minutes) my hands were cut to shreds. After carrying them to the ute, my knee that was still struggling from a very nasty injury in Cairns, ached terribly.

On more than one occasion Cesca asked me if we could leave as she found Paul’s instructions light in detail and his remonstrations, when we got it wrong, very wearing.  I wanted to stick it out.  I felt sorry for Paul.  He was all on his own up at that, at best, half-a-house, with his family away at a deathbed of a relative.  He had three companies to run and only two newbie helpers.  He was tired, lonely, sad and moody all at the same time.  I was sure that in different circumstances he would be a happy fellow and we would all get on famously.

Has it stopped raining?  Back to stump picking!  (right) The collected stumps

We were determined to make a good end to the experience and we really put our backs into the brush cutting eventually running out of daylight and having to walk out of the bush in the pitch black, which Cesca REALLY didn’t enjoy.

Alone in the bush!

As the end of the experience drew near we had a little thing to look forwards to as Cesca had arranged for us to borrow the ute and go around the island for a day.  That morning we were bright and happy again.  Not only would this experience soon be over, but we felt that yesterdays brush effort had earned us a little in the credit column with Paul.  Cesca, happily wondering where we would go first, pulled the ute out of the drive and rammed the front into the hut ripping the gas exhaust vent clean off the wall and denting the outside panels.

The damage was damming and Cesca was very very upset.  I could only imagine what Paul would say and I felt she had had enough from him over the weeks we worked so I made a silent decision.  As we drove up his drive I could see her getting very stressed at what he would say to the point she shook.  As we got out of the ute she stopped to take a deep breath and I took the chance to run in and tell Paul that I had caused the damage not Cesca.  There is not much else a husband could have done.  He was not happy but he didn’t shout.  I hung my head in shame, even though I hadn’t caused it myself “Team Bell” were responsible and our fate here was sealed.

We went around KI that day (another post perhaps as this is long) and had a great time. We even bought him a new tire for the ute to make up a little for our part in the atmosphere.

We arrived back to find Paul melancholy and we all sat down and got drunk together.  He chastised me for my “shocking driving, truly shocking!” but I was too tired to say anything.  By the end of the night I think we came to an understanding between us that at least the worst was behind us now and I left him a credit slip for the damage.

The next morning Paul picked up and we drove back to Kingscote.  He was conciliatory on the way and even apologised for any grumpiness he had exhibited over the last few weeks.  We were more than happy to bury the hatchet and we all hugged before he left.

After he left Cesca and I hugged again.

And that was that.

Suffice to say, bad luck played as much of a part in all this as fate. We had really tried to get things right with Paul and put in a large effort. Had the weather been better perhaps we would have done different work.  Had Paul’s family been there he may have been happier.  Had I cut down the right tree…  Nevertheless WWOOFing was not to blame here, only the humans who work within its structure.  I will never WWOOF those sort of hours again.  I will not stand for it regardless of the outcome and I will perhaps try and bury the hatchet a little earlier rather than let simmering resentment fester between us and host.  .  I really did learn a lot of things from Paul, albeit some very painfully, and I will take those skills onwards through my life.  In that sense I don’t regret our time at Paul’s Place.

There’s WWOOFing for you!

Regards,

Basho

I will write another post about the amazing KI and our day around the island, it was a great time.