Where the tourism ends and the torture begins!

Fossalon-The First Farm Stay

Alayna and I arrived at our first farm this past Saturday, August 4^th, not really knowing what to expect. We had only barely been in contact with these people and now were going to be staying at their home. This is also where I currently am and it is quite the isolated little slice of paradise! Just kidding! The few days I have been here I have gone back and forth wondering if this is my personal purgatory or some big life lesson to be learned. It was a pleasant surprise to find that there are other WWOOF-ers here to spend time with. There are two guys from Italy, Francisco and Alessandro, a girl from France, Johanna, and there was a couple from Poland who left because they did not like it here. I don’t exactly blame them. We live in a luxury housing development…and by that I mean a couple of campers with no electricity placed so strategically in a wood festering with mosquitoes that get their kicks by constantly buzzing in your ears and sucking you dry. We work six hours every morning, and even by then it is hot and sunny enough to soak you through with sweat while tediously weeding overgrown vegetable plots; not exactly the life I was imagining in laid back Italy, but the hard work is rewarding. On the other hand I sometimes feel as if we WWOOF-ers here are only a means to an end.

The hosts, per se, have not been so welcoming. Their names are Gionni and Zahra. They have given us little in the way of instruction and insight into organic cultivation. We just showed up unceremoniously and started working. For some reason they believed that we were going to be German, but upon learning that we were Americans their attitudes flipped like a switch. Now it is very hard to do right since we are already condemned. I knew we should have said we were from Canada! Not having received a proper introduction to the farm or the family, though Gionni speaks perfect English, I was very uneasy and did not know what to do with myself. This seemed to insult my host even more. The evening which we arrived I was quickly swept away in a windowless van by Zahra, whom speaks very little English and kept saying something about picking peaches, and taken to the neighbor’s house where a noisy argument in Italian about la dona Americana (American girl) commenced. Thoroughly confused, I just stood there dumbstruck until the conversation ended and we were dismissed. I got the impression that they were trying to hand me off and get me out of their hair for a little while or punish me for my insolence. Then soon at dinner several of the others were speaking to each other in Italian and I again heard “Americana” in a sneering tone from Gionni’s lips. Though I could understand very little, I still got the gist. Maybe it was something I said? I still don’t know to this day.

The next morning to atone for any misgivings, I set straight to work doing dishes after breakfast. This seemed to placate Gionni somewhat, seeing that I wasn’t just some useless or arrogant American. He actually conversed with me some and asked if we were planning on staying for the month. On that I couldn’t give him a straight affirmative. Both Alayna and I did not enjoy the overall predicament and we soon began plotting an escape to another farm or at least another city if need be. While relations with the hosts have somewhat warmed, the comfort of our accommodations is still daunting. I enjoy the hard work, but it does take a toll on me since I’m not accustomed. At the same time I’m trying not to come off as a useless American. It is very difficult here, but I feel like it is teaching me a lot. I feel as if I should devote myself more to language studies since it is hard to get well acquainted with people when you cannot properly express yourself and it is very one-sided when someone has to speak to you in your language while you cannot in theirs. I am still learning how to balance sensitivity to others preferences with maintaining my true personality, which can be a little abrasive or avoidant at times. While it is difficult to get to know people of different cultures, especially for me with being shy, I think it is good to put ourselves outside of our element every once in a while. I think it gives one a greater appreciation for home. I tend to get wanderlust and having a wake-up call like this reminds me of all the wonderful things waiting for me and how no circumstance devalues them. I will have more on my travels as things develop. Until my next post, ciao!

Miss Understood

                No, my post title does not refer to a pageant of sorts where we parade around being comprehensible; it is quite the opposite in fact. So much has gone wrong is such a short time that I’m not sure that my world was ever not turned topsy turvy. First I am suffering from my usual travelling ailments and more, secondly my host couple hates or hated me, then I learn that their grandmother was on the brink of death and has finally passed away, then a trip to acquire an internet connection went absolutely wrong causing Alayna and I to go missing through the funeral. So much akward….so little time. Let me start from the beginning. No I will not go into detail about my bug bite, gastrointestinal , and sleep deprivation woes, but as I have explained this first stay started off on a wrong foot. Now it has continued its convoluted tango of twisted meanings, mistakes, and misunderstandings. I understood that their grandmother lived with them. I did not understand that it was because she was on her death bed, so I may have acted in a way that seemed callous. Gionni does much in the way of philosophical lecturing, but little in the way of explaining what the hell is going on. She finally passed away and now the house is constantly full of loud Italians wondering what’s wrong with the mute American girl intruding on their family. Alayna and I made a bus trip to Monfalcone to connect to the internet and see about visiting a nearby town called Trieste as well as other farm opportunities, but things took a turn for the fucking aggravating (pardon my French).

                Alayna and I had not understood when we left that the next morning we were going to be taken to attend the funeral. We knew preparations were going to be made to have family over to celebrate their grandmother and nothing more. That’s not the worst part. The family knew we wanted to plan a trip to Trieste the coming weekend but said it was impossible to get the days off. So to take care of our arrangements for in the future we went to Monfalcone. We had to run to catch the last bus back, but little did we know, it was the same bus line but heading in the direction away from “home”. Its destination just so happened to be Trieste. We soon realized we were heading the wrong way but there was nothing we could do but finish the trip. When we got there the bus station was closed, we didn’t have our passports or much money, and we were basically screwed. The train station stayed open 24 hours, but whatever we did we would have to sleep somewhere strange that night. We decided to wait for the bus that morning and stay in the train station. To lessen our anxieties we wined and dined at a late night bar where cheeseburgers were relatively cheap (we hadn’t had meat or cheese since we got to the farm). We found some late night gelato, and tried the café corretto which is an expresso shot with a shot of potent wine liquor. It was the perfect way to energize our sleepy minds to last the night while further suppressing our anxieties.

All was not a loss, but once there was no more night life, there was only the long wait at the station where, so very conveniently, only the bathrooms closed at night. We stayed vigilant and read our books (both of us are reading Jane Eyre, but not intentionally) while safely, if not comfortably, waiting at the station.  We got our bus that morning at 8:00 AM, which dropped us at the wrong stop, walked 10km to where we were supposed to be, and then finally rode bikes back. We left around 4 PM the day before and arrived around 11:00 AM the next day to learn that we had missed the funeral and much of the preparations. We told everyone of our mishap, but given that we intended to go to Trieste before, I’m not sure they believe us. We had tried to call the house beforehand to explain what had happened, but wrestling with the pay phone proved quite a task and of course no one was available. What measures we took to avoid misunderstanding were still foiled. I believe in karma and that doing good brings good and bad brings bad, so I’m left wondering if the universe is trying to send me a message about some cosmic imbalance that needs remedied. I’m starting to fear that my heart is not truly in this project. Where I am now has not inspired me as I had dreamed it would, and motivation is hard to come by. A change of scenery is going to be necessary. Much weighs on my heart, but I trust an answer will come. Ciao for now.