So here I am on a ferry to Wellington. It’s been a fun couple of weeks just passed, not to mention a good few months. I finished up harvest pretty well, doing my job effectively and continuing to learn. All in all it was a good harvest, with a pretty laid-back crew and a well equipped winery coming together into an easy harvest. There were just enough long days to make it feel like harvest, but enough short days to let me fit in a social life.
Well, by social life, I mean hanging out with Danni. She’s a cool chick, someone I can hang out with and talk bullshit with for hours without getting bored. And she’s crazy wild and active to boot which makes for some good adventures. We’ve gotten up to a lot, including a trip up to Auckland to visit her friends who live on Waihiki Island. As it turned out, her friends were going through a breakup and were total dicks to us, yet we managed to have a lot of fun in spite. We went out to a bar and saw a really shitty band and somehow that was fun. Then on the drive home we went to these isolated hot springs near Rotarua. Trying to find the hot springs was pretty difficult, since there was steam rising from heaps of spots but then the water wouldn’t be hot. So while searching, I fell into the stream at one point while attempting to check if the water was hot enough. The things I do for love of hot springs. But we eventually found it and it was amazing, beautiful and fun.
But I said goodbye for the moment and hit the road, setting off on my tour around the country as part of my Douglas Wisor Memorial Scholarship. For the next two weeks, I toured around to many of the best wineries across the country. I won’t go into detail about my winery visits since I already have done so on my other blog about the scholarship, dougwisor.blogspot.com. I started out in Martin borough (where I partied it up a bit with one of the winemakers and her staff), then took the ferry from Wellington (on the southern tip tip of the north island) to Picton (on the northern tip of the south island) and on to Blenheim in Marlborough. After Marlborough I drove up to the Marlborough Sounds and did a hike along the Queen Charlotte Sound. I actually ran about half of it, because I had so much energy from having spent too much time in a car and standing around drinking wine. Also because it was near sunset and I didn’t want to get lost in the woods at night. It was beautiful, with an interesting range of flora, from beech trees at higher altitude to ferns and palms at lower altitudes. After sunset, I drove three more hours to Kaikoura, a little town on the east coast of the south island, where I spent the night. The next day I visited wineries in Waipara, then drove into the large city of Christchurch.
In Christchurch I met up with an old friend, Cris Carter. Cris was the assistant winemaker at Penner-Ash when I worked there in 2008, and we were good friends back then, hanging out every day, but hadn’t seen each other since. He had recently quit his job with Penner-Ash and hit the intern trail again, and had just spent the season at one of the wineries I would visit later in the week, in Central Otago. We hadn’t been able to meet up during the harvest because we were significantly far away from each other (multiple days drive or very expensive flights) but luckily were passing through the same city at the same time. I’d bought a ticket for a live music show, of the band Fat Freddy’s Drop, but they were sold out by the time Cris tried to buy one. So we hung out catching up over a bottle of wine, then shared a smoke and walked downtown. We went over to the venue to see if we could find a scalper selling tickets. It was perfect, as Cris was able to buy a ticket for $20 less than I’d paid then was within ten feet of my seat. So we had a couple of beers in the lounge and filed inside with the rest of the crowd for the show. It was a sit-down venue, not really my style, but the performance was quite solid. They put me into a zone and I just sat there digging the music for hours. There was no opening act but the main played for over two hours.
The next day we started up with a run through the city. We jogged through the main park in town and the downtown area. Perhaps the best part was seeing a bunch of kids, maybe five years old, playing rugby. It was the most energetic, dirty rugby I’ve ever seen.
After cleaning up and killing a bottle of wine with lunch, we walked downtown and spent the last of the sunny day knocking back some brews at a local brewpub. It felt nice after drinking so much wine recently. Then Cris’ friend Matt and two others joined us at the pub and we had some dinner, then went to a thrash metal show of some friends of theirs. The show was “all-ages,” which meant a bunch of 15-year-olds standing around awkwardly and staring and flirting. There was even a semicircle in front of the band, into which nobody would move, except a couple of kids who tried to mosh, to no avail. The show basically sucked but the after party was sweet, and there wasn‘t a teeny bopper in sight, thank god. We went back to their place and drank and otherwise intoxicated ourselves to pass the night euphorically.
The next day I slept it off then took it easy, catching up on some internet stuff I needed to do (blogging, winery research, emails, hardcore porn). Then on Monday I did the long, shitty wet drive from Christchurch to Central Otago. It took seven hours, because due to bad weather the main road through the mountains (supposedly quite beautiful) was closed. So I went the long ugly route and got there eventually. I then toured wineries in Otago for two days before driving to the west coast and the glaciers. I stayed the night in the town of Fox Glacier, drinking myself to sleep on a bottle of homemade grappa given to me by the winemaker Nick Mills at Rippon. On the grappa, before going to sleep, I went for a night hike through the jungle near town. It was pretty spooky, pitch black and full of jungle noises. Occasionally I would turn off my light and stop for awhile, letting the jungle forget I was there and return to its normal flow and noises. It was pretty cool. At certain points along the trail I saw glow-worms, these microscopic worms that create pinpoints of blue light. There would be swathes of them if you turned off your light.
The next day I got up early and hiked up to the glacier, which was anti-climactic. After all, a glacier is just a big chunk of ice. I mean, it was cool, but I didn’t even get to walk on it, due to safety restrictions. In Alaska at 16 I walked one with my friend Danielle Woolen, and that was pretty awesome. Afther the glacier hike I went to a local lake and hiked around it, getting some amazing view of the glacier and Mt. Cook in the distance, the tallest mountain in New Zealand. The lakeside itself was quite beautiful. I then drove north to Franz Joseph Glacier, where I hiked a bit as well. I finished my day by driving up the highway to Moutere, near Nelson. I arrived perfectly on time for dinner at the house of John and Ness Kavanaugh, two excellent people. We shared pizza and salad and wine and good conversation while their two kids Tom and Grace played computer games. The kids turned out to be pretty cool as well.
The next day I visited both of their wineries and one more, then we all went out that night to the local pub for some live music and dinner. It was all pretty average except the beer, which was exceptional. I guess Nelson is the heart of a microbrew revival such as happened awhile back in California and Oregon. They like the English style ales more than the pale ales we favor, with more creaminess and low carbonation rather than our tendency toward bitterness and bubbles. It was a good night.
The next day I zipped down to the ferry and hopped over to Wellington. I'm now in my hostel watching a movie and blogging, so I'll have to tell you the rest later...hopefully I can find some good live music.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Living as insane and wild as I've always wanted
So to summarize my time so far in New Zealand, crazy is a good work. I met an amazing woman who listened to me ramble and make self-deprecating jokes, and appreciated and understood every minutiae of what I said. That she once dated the man I was brought here in honor of is all the more amazing, lending a surreal feel to our interaction. At the same time as I developed a meaningful friendship with this woman, I fell into infatuation with a girl who through me into emotional turmoil and sent me spiraling out of control. I felt drawn toward self-destruction, but with the help of my brothers and friends, pulled myself together and realized I was actually just homesick and moody, and needed perspective. I had effectively lost the plot, and the advice of good family and friends reminded me of the plot. They reminded me that I am here to make wine, hone my craft, and enjoy the country, and I began to do that again. Then I met a girl named Catherine who shared good conversation and human connection and reminded me that the point of human interaction is to connect and learn and inspire, to converse and vibe. We spent little time together but she was what I needed at a moment I needed it, and was a great "single-serving friend," as Tyler Durden aka Brad Pitt said in Fight Club, teaching me that God is the space between people's minds. All the while, amidst all of these intense personal dramas and lessons, I worked and learned at Craggy Range Winery, and spent my days of exploring, hiking, wine tasting, and working out intensely at the gym.
Since this tumultuous start to my time here in New Zealand, things have only gotten crazier. I have returned to my oft-subscribed approach of filling ever minute with sixty seconds of sprinting. On Easter weekend, I climbed to a mountain peak with four friends (coworkers, a random local friend, and a local guy I met via couchsurfing.com), went to a barbeque and stayed up till 5am drinking with the guys and girls over at Vidals Winery in Hastings, then worked the next day for eight hours, then went out on the town with Chris from Vidals and checked out an amazing live reggae band perform, after which we afterpartied with the band until late in the night. The next day I worked another eight-hour shift, after which I met up with my woman friend mentioned earlier and we went on a road trip to Mahia (a famed surf beach that is quite beautiful), a hot springs near there, and a waterfall in Northern Hawke's Bay. I got some sleep, then went wine, honey, and cheese tasting. Another random day spent with a different friend, we went mountain biking, abalone (called pawai here) diving but failed, and then to a hot spring. Another day with the same friend we went surfing, then ran the hills to Te Mata Peak.
Another day I went out with Chris again, and when I got home at 6am, I stared up at Te Mata Peak from my house, and spun around in wonder looking at the beauty surrounding me. I thought to myself: "this is amazing, and yet I never acknowledge it. I should drink it in daily, and I haven't for weeks. This is inspiring. I should climb that mountain. Right now. It's what I would do if I were as crazy adventurous and spontaneous as I wish I was." But of course, I knew I wouldn't. It would be ridiculous. I was exhausted, needed sleep, and besides, it was 5am. I went into the house, took off my clothes, and crawled into bed. But something felt wrong. I felt a curse upon me. I had a sensation that if I didn't go through with climbing that mountain, I was a fake, a liar, that my adventurous ambitions were bullshit, that I had failed to change myself. That I was still the conservative, organized model Capricorn I once saw myself as. I felt that if I didn't climb that mountain, I would be cursed, impotent, hopeless for months to come. And in that moment, I knew it was true. Because if I have learned nothing else by my travels and travails, it is that life is what you make it, and what you think it. I am nothing if not a self-fulfilling prophesy. When I decide to do crazy, compulsive, inspired actions, it boosts me, making me feel alive and capable and novel. So I put on my hiking clothes, and set out. The wet grass soaked my feet quickly. I had to dodge cow shit to reach the base of the mountain. Up the first bit, I was tired and slow. Up the steeper bit, I moved in lurches, stopping and catching my breathe and energy at intervals. As it got even steeper, I panicked and had to calm myself by turning around, and watching the sunset. It was beautiful, the valley below me, cows grazing, the river flowing with fog above it, hills rolling. It and the sunlight shadowing it kept me going. I pushed on, and when it got too steep, I found a new route. As I neared the peak, I picked up the pace, and ran the last bit (although I was aware that I did not run, I slow-motion ran). I reached the peak, and collapsed in the grass, face first. After a bit, I got back up and looked around at the view, then collapsed again, back first, and looked up at the sky. I knew I had done it, and it felt surreal. I felt above and beyond myself. I had recreated a part of myself, because a me I once knew would not have done such a foolish, inspired thing. But me now had, and it felt amazing. It felt right.
So I have lived inspired, and active, and happy, recently. I keep doing fun things and hanging out with fun people and being happy. It's been a good time.
Since this tumultuous start to my time here in New Zealand, things have only gotten crazier. I have returned to my oft-subscribed approach of filling ever minute with sixty seconds of sprinting. On Easter weekend, I climbed to a mountain peak with four friends (coworkers, a random local friend, and a local guy I met via couchsurfing.com), went to a barbeque and stayed up till 5am drinking with the guys and girls over at Vidals Winery in Hastings, then worked the next day for eight hours, then went out on the town with Chris from Vidals and checked out an amazing live reggae band perform, after which we afterpartied with the band until late in the night. The next day I worked another eight-hour shift, after which I met up with my woman friend mentioned earlier and we went on a road trip to Mahia (a famed surf beach that is quite beautiful), a hot springs near there, and a waterfall in Northern Hawke's Bay. I got some sleep, then went wine, honey, and cheese tasting. Another random day spent with a different friend, we went mountain biking, abalone (called pawai here) diving but failed, and then to a hot spring. Another day with the same friend we went surfing, then ran the hills to Te Mata Peak.
Another day I went out with Chris again, and when I got home at 6am, I stared up at Te Mata Peak from my house, and spun around in wonder looking at the beauty surrounding me. I thought to myself: "this is amazing, and yet I never acknowledge it. I should drink it in daily, and I haven't for weeks. This is inspiring. I should climb that mountain. Right now. It's what I would do if I were as crazy adventurous and spontaneous as I wish I was." But of course, I knew I wouldn't. It would be ridiculous. I was exhausted, needed sleep, and besides, it was 5am. I went into the house, took off my clothes, and crawled into bed. But something felt wrong. I felt a curse upon me. I had a sensation that if I didn't go through with climbing that mountain, I was a fake, a liar, that my adventurous ambitions were bullshit, that I had failed to change myself. That I was still the conservative, organized model Capricorn I once saw myself as. I felt that if I didn't climb that mountain, I would be cursed, impotent, hopeless for months to come. And in that moment, I knew it was true. Because if I have learned nothing else by my travels and travails, it is that life is what you make it, and what you think it. I am nothing if not a self-fulfilling prophesy. When I decide to do crazy, compulsive, inspired actions, it boosts me, making me feel alive and capable and novel. So I put on my hiking clothes, and set out. The wet grass soaked my feet quickly. I had to dodge cow shit to reach the base of the mountain. Up the first bit, I was tired and slow. Up the steeper bit, I moved in lurches, stopping and catching my breathe and energy at intervals. As it got even steeper, I panicked and had to calm myself by turning around, and watching the sunset. It was beautiful, the valley below me, cows grazing, the river flowing with fog above it, hills rolling. It and the sunlight shadowing it kept me going. I pushed on, and when it got too steep, I found a new route. As I neared the peak, I picked up the pace, and ran the last bit (although I was aware that I did not run, I slow-motion ran). I reached the peak, and collapsed in the grass, face first. After a bit, I got back up and looked around at the view, then collapsed again, back first, and looked up at the sky. I knew I had done it, and it felt surreal. I felt above and beyond myself. I had recreated a part of myself, because a me I once knew would not have done such a foolish, inspired thing. But me now had, and it felt amazing. It felt right.
So I have lived inspired, and active, and happy, recently. I keep doing fun things and hanging out with fun people and being happy. It's been a good time.
Harvest time
So since I am so lackluster about posting on this, my travel blog, I've decided that the only, obvious solution, is to make another blog! So I have, dougwisor.blogspot.com, where I will post about my harvest experience at Craggy Range, in Hawke's Bay, New Zealand. I'll post more regularly there than I ever have before in this blog, simply because it is easily done, as it will just be a detail of my day's work. I'll try to post on this blog about my daily, personal experiences and thoughts, but as you know (if there's anyone out there who actually reads this thing), I probably won't post much, since the things that really matter are too personal to post publicly, and the things suitable for public posting don't inspire me enough to write. Enjoy! hah...
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Hawkes Bay, New Zealand
Just arrived here in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, today, and my what a day. Woke up tired as hell after snatching a few hours of patchy sleep between runs to the bathroom to piss out the mixture or alcohol and liters of water I was chugging to avoid a hangover. Didn't have a hangover but the exhaustion was just as painful. Was zombie-like packing up and making my way to the airport to head from Auckland, where I'd been for a few days experiencing New Zealand biggest, most multi-cultural city. Not much to say about my time there; went to a music festival and listened to a bunch of Kiwi (aka New Zealand) music, including Katchafire and Lady Six, my two favorites.
So after arriving in Hawkes Bay, the winemaker Adrian Baker showed me around the region, at first in his car then after a bit we picked up my rental car and I drove that. I'm not renting it- they are, for me. It's a sweet deal.
We ended our day with lunch at the winery. Rare venison with pomegranate for appetizer, then a gratis appetizer of pork belly, crispy on one side and fatty on the other, as well as this apple-pie like thing. Had a beer with all that, which I think took Adrian off guard; he would have expected me to get a glass of wine, considering the situation. I wanted to impress that I was a hard working bloke type. To his credit, he got a beer too. A very proper guy, very serious, but also friendly and I think down to earth. Anyway, the main was salmon with capers and tangerines for me, and a whole flounder (Adrian's 6 year old son loved the crispy part aka tail and the eyballs, and swallowed it all down with pink lemonade. Cappuccino to finish.
After he dropped me off I introduced myself to the neighbors. Jeff, Felicity and Craig. The first two were and old married couple, but Craig looked early thirties; turned out to be 36 but in amazing shape. I told them I was thinking of taking a hike up towards the local mountain, Te Mata Peak, and he said he'd like to join me. I puttered around until he finished what he was up to (shifting some cattle from the other side of the road back to the stable), then we headed off...accompanied by his 8 year old son in law. The kid talked constantly, never an iunternal thought. It was cute though, and I was happy for the company. Craig was much more reserved but still friendly. We chatted as we went up the hillside, but when it got hairy- and it did- I shut up and so did he mostly, except for some advice. For twenty minutes I knew (and Craig warned) that a slip would mean death or seroius injury. At one point I could not have made it up without Craig's help, or at least it would have taken awhile. But that 8 year old was doing it, only a little more slowly than me. At times, better. We all eventually got to the top and enjoyed amazing views of the entire valley, down to the river and ocean and Craggy Range and towards Napiers and then the hills on the way to Havelock North. He showed me some good hiking, and told me about the Three Peaks run, a sort of outdoors trail marathon, sounded fun. So then we went down, much easier than up becauyse we took one of the easier routes. We got back and Craig invited me over for a beer and we shot the shit a bit, while he showed me Jeff's egg sculpture, and Zavier (his son) showed me Jeff's full-size garage theater. It was awesome. I also met the daughter and wife briefly through the window ("Sorry, I'm in me Jammies, or I'd come down").
So then on the way out a beer bottle I'd picked up along the trail fell out of my pack and shattered. "Another smooth exit by Kevin," I joked. We cleaned it up quick like and I said goodbye again, walked home, made and ate dinner, did yoga, and here I am, exhausted but proud and happy and free in my newest home.
So after arriving in Hawkes Bay, the winemaker Adrian Baker showed me around the region, at first in his car then after a bit we picked up my rental car and I drove that. I'm not renting it- they are, for me. It's a sweet deal.
We ended our day with lunch at the winery. Rare venison with pomegranate for appetizer, then a gratis appetizer of pork belly, crispy on one side and fatty on the other, as well as this apple-pie like thing. Had a beer with all that, which I think took Adrian off guard; he would have expected me to get a glass of wine, considering the situation. I wanted to impress that I was a hard working bloke type. To his credit, he got a beer too. A very proper guy, very serious, but also friendly and I think down to earth. Anyway, the main was salmon with capers and tangerines for me, and a whole flounder (Adrian's 6 year old son loved the crispy part aka tail and the eyballs, and swallowed it all down with pink lemonade. Cappuccino to finish.
After he dropped me off I introduced myself to the neighbors. Jeff, Felicity and Craig. The first two were and old married couple, but Craig looked early thirties; turned out to be 36 but in amazing shape. I told them I was thinking of taking a hike up towards the local mountain, Te Mata Peak, and he said he'd like to join me. I puttered around until he finished what he was up to (shifting some cattle from the other side of the road back to the stable), then we headed off...accompanied by his 8 year old son in law. The kid talked constantly, never an iunternal thought. It was cute though, and I was happy for the company. Craig was much more reserved but still friendly. We chatted as we went up the hillside, but when it got hairy- and it did- I shut up and so did he mostly, except for some advice. For twenty minutes I knew (and Craig warned) that a slip would mean death or seroius injury. At one point I could not have made it up without Craig's help, or at least it would have taken awhile. But that 8 year old was doing it, only a little more slowly than me. At times, better. We all eventually got to the top and enjoyed amazing views of the entire valley, down to the river and ocean and Craggy Range and towards Napiers and then the hills on the way to Havelock North. He showed me some good hiking, and told me about the Three Peaks run, a sort of outdoors trail marathon, sounded fun. So then we went down, much easier than up becauyse we took one of the easier routes. We got back and Craig invited me over for a beer and we shot the shit a bit, while he showed me Jeff's egg sculpture, and Zavier (his son) showed me Jeff's full-size garage theater. It was awesome. I also met the daughter and wife briefly through the window ("Sorry, I'm in me Jammies, or I'd come down").
So then on the way out a beer bottle I'd picked up along the trail fell out of my pack and shattered. "Another smooth exit by Kevin," I joked. We cleaned it up quick like and I said goodbye again, walked home, made and ate dinner, did yoga, and here I am, exhausted but proud and happy and free in my newest home.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Enjoying myself
So the time has come, and now harvest is over. I can´t say I am sad to put it behind me. I suppose it was partly culture shock, and partly the difficulty of working at a larger winery, but the style of working here drove me crazy. And the mood around the intern house was already rather Debbie-Downer, if you catch my drift. Sometimes I woke up sad, sometimes happy and ready to go, but always after 10 minutes talking with my housemates and coworkers, I was in a bad mood. We spent most of harvest complaining about harvest. That being said, oftentimes we were complaining about harvest over a few (or 15) Liters of beer, playing dominoes or going out partying all night...
So with a mixture of harvest-from-hell and fun times behind me, I moved to the center city of Mendoza. So did Mike, and the York twins, and we had a few fun days. Right before Jesse left, we had a crazy day of winetasting (we were just a little bit drunk) and I was reminded of how retartedly, awkwardly strong I am when I accidently bodyslammed a dear friend and gave them a minor concussion. Seriously. But besides that, everything was great, and we let off a lot of steam from harvest. Jenna and Mara (the twins) headed back to the US and better, richer things, and Mike and I continued our adventures. More amazing wine-tasting (few things are better than amazing wine, served by beautiful women, in a gorgeous winery, with a view of the astounding Andes mountains while eating a 7-course gourmet meal), more going out at night till 6AM and meeting cool people.
Hilariously, after all of this relaxing, I guess I felt the need to work more...I joined a local gym. I´ve been going twice a day and am in some of the best shape of my recent life. Today I rode my bike for 5 hours in the park and hills surrounding Mendoza, it was quite exhilirating and amazing to get out of the city for a little while, see some nature...
Besides variously indulging in gluttony and excercise, I have been sleeping odd hours (the daily schedule here involves a long nap late in the afternoon, a very long night, and then another nice long sleep until I wake up late...), practicing lots of Spanish (the place where I live has lots of older, very lonely women working who follow me around talking to me, so I get lots of practice), walking around the city alone while people watching, walking around the city with Mike while people watching and making lewd comments, and uh...more gluttony, excercise and sleep...
I have no clue what I am doing with my life, even less than I used to. It is definitely fun, and definitely unique. I don´t regret a moment of it...but I am losing my connection with reality and convention mores. I am so lost amidst beautiful distraction and people and cultures, that I often forget who I am, and what morality and philosophy control my actions. I have come to understand so many different cultures and philosophies, that at any given moment I can justify my actions by utilizing any of the above...it results in a shitfest of actions that retain very little central reasoning. I chalk it all up to experience, to the remembrance that I have rarely regretted things done, only things I did not do. So I act, act, act, and try to remember who I am, as I continue to drastically change...for awhile there, I had an anchor that I drifted around, which kept me stable, but now I am fully adrift...Gocke will join me soon, and together we will travel this crazy land called South America, and hopefully he will lend me some stability and reason for acting and remind me of the drive and inspiration that started this whirlpool...
So with a mixture of harvest-from-hell and fun times behind me, I moved to the center city of Mendoza. So did Mike, and the York twins, and we had a few fun days. Right before Jesse left, we had a crazy day of winetasting (we were just a little bit drunk) and I was reminded of how retartedly, awkwardly strong I am when I accidently bodyslammed a dear friend and gave them a minor concussion. Seriously. But besides that, everything was great, and we let off a lot of steam from harvest. Jenna and Mara (the twins) headed back to the US and better, richer things, and Mike and I continued our adventures. More amazing wine-tasting (few things are better than amazing wine, served by beautiful women, in a gorgeous winery, with a view of the astounding Andes mountains while eating a 7-course gourmet meal), more going out at night till 6AM and meeting cool people.
Hilariously, after all of this relaxing, I guess I felt the need to work more...I joined a local gym. I´ve been going twice a day and am in some of the best shape of my recent life. Today I rode my bike for 5 hours in the park and hills surrounding Mendoza, it was quite exhilirating and amazing to get out of the city for a little while, see some nature...
Besides variously indulging in gluttony and excercise, I have been sleeping odd hours (the daily schedule here involves a long nap late in the afternoon, a very long night, and then another nice long sleep until I wake up late...), practicing lots of Spanish (the place where I live has lots of older, very lonely women working who follow me around talking to me, so I get lots of practice), walking around the city alone while people watching, walking around the city with Mike while people watching and making lewd comments, and uh...more gluttony, excercise and sleep...
I have no clue what I am doing with my life, even less than I used to. It is definitely fun, and definitely unique. I don´t regret a moment of it...but I am losing my connection with reality and convention mores. I am so lost amidst beautiful distraction and people and cultures, that I often forget who I am, and what morality and philosophy control my actions. I have come to understand so many different cultures and philosophies, that at any given moment I can justify my actions by utilizing any of the above...it results in a shitfest of actions that retain very little central reasoning. I chalk it all up to experience, to the remembrance that I have rarely regretted things done, only things I did not do. So I act, act, act, and try to remember who I am, as I continue to drastically change...for awhile there, I had an anchor that I drifted around, which kept me stable, but now I am fully adrift...Gocke will join me soon, and together we will travel this crazy land called South America, and hopefully he will lend me some stability and reason for acting and remind me of the drive and inspiration that started this whirlpool...
Friday, April 3, 2009
Harvest, fucking harvest
So the life of a traveler comes with its pitfalls. There's the fact that to travel, one must save up money, or build up debt. I have done much of both. Funding travels requires lots of money, even if you travel cheap, like I have learned to do. I work my ass off during harvest to make a little money, and it rapidly disappears. I am currently down in Argentina, working for 300 pesos a week, which is roughly 80 dollars a week, or $1.50 an hour. Yeah, no joke. So this isn't exactly funding any travels, let along paying for my time here...
No doubt, I am gaining valuable experience, mastering my trade, practicing my Spanish, and having some fun. Working too much to have too much fun, but the harvest will be over before long, and I will be able to enjoy myself more fully. It's about halfway through, and I have earned the respect of my coworkers with my knowledge and work ethic, which keeps my morale up, but god harvest wears a man out. It's not just the hours of work...that I enjoy in a twisted workaholic sort of way...but your mind gets twisted, because you are with the same people all the time, and when you have time off, you are so physically tired from shoveling and pushing and pulling and handling grapes and machinery that you don't have the energy to do anything. Life becomes an odd warp, and your mind gets fucked. This whole situation basically altered/fucked-up my life path a year back. Then in Oregon, where my coworkers became amazing friends, this same situation was one of the best times of my life. It's a strong force. Ever stayed up all night, then done stuff the next day? That haze, the dreamy, surreal quality of life, is exactly how I feel during harvest. At times I am sharp as hell, and I haul ass at work, but it's still a glazed reality. Then when harvest ends, the feeling is amazing. It's the well-earned exhausted relaxation like after a five-hour session of basketball, or long bike-ride, when you just sprawl out on the couch, maybe lean over for some juice or a beer...
So emotions are both muted and powerful at times like these. I find myself bitterly drinking myself to sleep at times because of some fuck-up at the winery, or because some lazy bastard coworker just sits on a forklift all day and never gets in the shit and works a shovel. Other times, a glance at facebook or an old memory or depressed alt-country song on my ipod sends me into some moody spiral. Other times, days go by without much of a thought of anything significant.
So this being a travel blog of sorts, I'll mention what I've been up to in my travels...I've been eating excellently, they have great cheap meat and veggies and I've been eating lots of beets and steak sandwiches and stuff. Plus I have met a few local folks, gone out a few times and danced myself to shame... I am failing horribly at seducing Argentinas (the hottest girl I have met told me that I reminded her of someone from a movie...turned out it was the son from Beverly Hill Billies...the next hottest girl suggested we got out, then stood me up...) but I am comforted by the fact that my roommates are doing about as horribly...the Andes provide a beautiful backdrop to my morning yoga...I went for a 5-hour bikeride up towards those same Andes, it was really fun, this place is a total desert but the view is great. I have Sunday off and I think I might go hiking with a coworker, that should be fun. Other than that, I am currently exhausted and think I'm going to go to sleep now.
No doubt, I am gaining valuable experience, mastering my trade, practicing my Spanish, and having some fun. Working too much to have too much fun, but the harvest will be over before long, and I will be able to enjoy myself more fully. It's about halfway through, and I have earned the respect of my coworkers with my knowledge and work ethic, which keeps my morale up, but god harvest wears a man out. It's not just the hours of work...that I enjoy in a twisted workaholic sort of way...but your mind gets twisted, because you are with the same people all the time, and when you have time off, you are so physically tired from shoveling and pushing and pulling and handling grapes and machinery that you don't have the energy to do anything. Life becomes an odd warp, and your mind gets fucked. This whole situation basically altered/fucked-up my life path a year back. Then in Oregon, where my coworkers became amazing friends, this same situation was one of the best times of my life. It's a strong force. Ever stayed up all night, then done stuff the next day? That haze, the dreamy, surreal quality of life, is exactly how I feel during harvest. At times I am sharp as hell, and I haul ass at work, but it's still a glazed reality. Then when harvest ends, the feeling is amazing. It's the well-earned exhausted relaxation like after a five-hour session of basketball, or long bike-ride, when you just sprawl out on the couch, maybe lean over for some juice or a beer...
So emotions are both muted and powerful at times like these. I find myself bitterly drinking myself to sleep at times because of some fuck-up at the winery, or because some lazy bastard coworker just sits on a forklift all day and never gets in the shit and works a shovel. Other times, a glance at facebook or an old memory or depressed alt-country song on my ipod sends me into some moody spiral. Other times, days go by without much of a thought of anything significant.
So this being a travel blog of sorts, I'll mention what I've been up to in my travels...I've been eating excellently, they have great cheap meat and veggies and I've been eating lots of beets and steak sandwiches and stuff. Plus I have met a few local folks, gone out a few times and danced myself to shame... I am failing horribly at seducing Argentinas (the hottest girl I have met told me that I reminded her of someone from a movie...turned out it was the son from Beverly Hill Billies...the next hottest girl suggested we got out, then stood me up...) but I am comforted by the fact that my roommates are doing about as horribly...the Andes provide a beautiful backdrop to my morning yoga...I went for a 5-hour bikeride up towards those same Andes, it was really fun, this place is a total desert but the view is great. I have Sunday off and I think I might go hiking with a coworker, that should be fun. Other than that, I am currently exhausted and think I'm going to go to sleep now.
Friday, March 13, 2009
New friends, challenges, elation and boredom
The challenge of adapting to this new culture and language has been exhausting but amazing, and I have been impressed with my improvement, but constantly frustrated by being unable to communicate properly. It is difficult to explain how immensely annoying it is to have a simple thought to express to your friend, but to be unable to say it for lack of words. You have to explain around the idea, using the words you do know, until the person figures out what you are getting at, and tells you the proper word in Spanish. Sometimes, after minutes of struggling, you cannot even find the word or explain the idea. And if you can, by the time you've figured it out, you cannot remember your original reason for needing the word. Other times, the comedic timing is completely ruined. My jokes fucking suck right now, even worse than they do in English. And by the way, when you think something is funny in Spanish, you say jajaja, not hahaha. Think about it. Fucking hilarious.
Anyways, so that's been rough but fun. I joined a language school and they had difficulty placing me because I was able to communicate, but didn't know any grammar or verb conjugations (past, future, etc). They straightened me out on a lot of that shit, and I made mierda-loads of progress in my months in Uruguay. But my progress in communication was mostly due to evenings spent hanging out with my Uruguayan friends, rather than at the school. I ended up staying with two guys, Pablo y Guille, for almost a month, and man they were freaking cool. After a couple of days I was going to leave, but they insisted I stay. Out of a sense of honor I cooked big dinners and cleaned a bunch, and it seemed like a good arrangement. We all got along so good that it felt like we were old friends, or perhaps brothers. They're friends are amazing as well. We spent many evenings hanging around in the park (they like in a park that has 15-story-apartment complexes scattered around...they live on the 15th floor with an amazing view of the city) drinking mate, beer, and smoking a little bit, but mostly just talking and shooting the mierda. They can hang out like no other people I have ever seen, with an amazing capacity for holding marathon conversations. One night we played Risk until 5AM, which was kinda surreal. Other nights we moved it back to the apartment and turned it up a notch, throwing on the music and intensifying the inbibing. The stereotypes are true by the way; they can all dance excellently. I suck at dancing by US standards, and here it is just a joke. Every single person at a party can tango and salsa at least a little, and every single one has some sense of rythym. The good ones are amazing. I hope to learn to salsa or tango while I'm in South America, but I'm so busy who knows if I'll be able to make it happen. And another night, they plugged in their guitar and bass, and starting playing songs they wrote themselves (they have a band, called Buen Pregunta, or Good Question) which are absolutely amazing. Sort of in the Sublime/Rancid ska-punk realm. A lot of the music here has that sort of things going on, with definite fusion of many styles, almost always punk, ska, metal, and some latin influence.
On that note, I went to a concert on the beach the other day, this famous band that does the above described style, but with a heavy circus-music influence, and a pixies-like male/female double lead vocals. They were dressed up in orange insane-asylum outfits, it was pretty nuts. Oh, and their mosh-pits are like a formal dinner practically, so freaking polite and gentle. It was more like a gentle massage than the angry free-for-all that I am used to. But still very energetic and fun. That's a good microcosm to give a sense for Uruguay...musical, friendly, polite, and fun.
Honestly, I fell in love with Montevideo and Uruguay. I will go back and explore more. It was such a livable and lovely city, perhaps my favorite yet in the world, neck in neck with Portland, with Melbourne trailing a little behind the two. They are an amazing city and people, with so much culture. But it is all very understated, humble yet proud. It is a quiet pride that is held close rather than bragged about; if pushed, they will talk about how they are only a small country, overshadowed by neighboring giants Brazil and Argentina. This inferiority complex is misplaced, as their culture is distinct and easily on level with these other countries. They are certainly influenced by both...more of the beach culture of Brazil, some of the African culture from Brazil, the mate and wine of Argentina, the Catalan Spanish of Argentina, they hot girls of both...they have a relaxed and carefree approach to things that reminds me of Fiji in many ways, but they are not lacking in a sense of hard-work, punctuality, or dedication by any means. Buses run regularly, lines are formed, but no one taps their fingers or acts frustrated if things go slowly. People are helpful and patient, efficient but not manic or obsessed with time.
So it should be obvious now that I was sad to leave. I felt a need to see something else in Uruguay, the better to know the country and other parts of her, so I visited a small beach town, Punta Del Diablo, for a couple of days. It was a couple of days well spent, in a beautiful little town with an amazing beach with scattered sun-bathers and gigantic waves. I spent my time practicing my Spanish with an Uruguayan-born Portena (Argentine from Buenes Aires) named Julieta, who told me that Argentina is amazing, but will never hold a candle to Uruguay.
So, with that in mind, I had to hop on the bus and come to Mendoza, Argentina, to begin my seasonal work at the winery Vina Cobos. They have gotten amazing reviews from the American wine press, but are relatively new and unknown in their own country, as it turns out. Upon showing up I found out that the winery is still in construction, and harvest has already kicked in. I started almost immediately, and was working 12 hours straight off the bat. Since my Spanish is only passable, and I don't yet know the wine-related words, it has been really difficult to take any level of responsibility as would be fitting to my abilities in a winery. So while it has been long hours and physically exhausting (lots of heavy lifting and alwasy standing), it has been mentally relaxing, compared to my time in Uruguay, where learning Spanish was a very intense job.
As for my coworkers, the Argentineans are very cool. Several are interns themselves, either studying wine or recently graduated and looking for a full-time position. Others are experienced hands. They have a rougher sense of humor and are more intense than the Uruguayans, but very likable in their own way. But they talk way faster and do not enunciate their words very clearly, so I am having a hell of a time understanding them.
Meanwhile I am living with 6 other foreign interns, 6 of us from the USA. We all speak basic or in some cases no Spanish, and are at able the same position at work. At home, we live in tiny houses in the middle of nowhere, with shit-all to do and only one car to share. I share a room with two other guys. We have a tiny kitchen, and tiny dining room. But at least there is a pool, and a beautiful view of the distant mountains. Currently, we are struggling to figure out how to have a social life of anything outside of work. We are very isolated out here, and on our days off get a bit stir-crazy. I have been going on walks through the scarcely-populated countryside when I am not too exhausted from work. It is very beautiful, and I am at my happiest when able to slip into their culture a bit and observe their daily life, with kids playing in the streets and adults sitting around chatting and watching soccer on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Anyways, so that's been rough but fun. I joined a language school and they had difficulty placing me because I was able to communicate, but didn't know any grammar or verb conjugations (past, future, etc). They straightened me out on a lot of that shit, and I made mierda-loads of progress in my months in Uruguay. But my progress in communication was mostly due to evenings spent hanging out with my Uruguayan friends, rather than at the school. I ended up staying with two guys, Pablo y Guille, for almost a month, and man they were freaking cool. After a couple of days I was going to leave, but they insisted I stay. Out of a sense of honor I cooked big dinners and cleaned a bunch, and it seemed like a good arrangement. We all got along so good that it felt like we were old friends, or perhaps brothers. They're friends are amazing as well. We spent many evenings hanging around in the park (they like in a park that has 15-story-apartment complexes scattered around...they live on the 15th floor with an amazing view of the city) drinking mate, beer, and smoking a little bit, but mostly just talking and shooting the mierda. They can hang out like no other people I have ever seen, with an amazing capacity for holding marathon conversations. One night we played Risk until 5AM, which was kinda surreal. Other nights we moved it back to the apartment and turned it up a notch, throwing on the music and intensifying the inbibing. The stereotypes are true by the way; they can all dance excellently. I suck at dancing by US standards, and here it is just a joke. Every single person at a party can tango and salsa at least a little, and every single one has some sense of rythym. The good ones are amazing. I hope to learn to salsa or tango while I'm in South America, but I'm so busy who knows if I'll be able to make it happen. And another night, they plugged in their guitar and bass, and starting playing songs they wrote themselves (they have a band, called Buen Pregunta, or Good Question) which are absolutely amazing. Sort of in the Sublime/Rancid ska-punk realm. A lot of the music here has that sort of things going on, with definite fusion of many styles, almost always punk, ska, metal, and some latin influence.
On that note, I went to a concert on the beach the other day, this famous band that does the above described style, but with a heavy circus-music influence, and a pixies-like male/female double lead vocals. They were dressed up in orange insane-asylum outfits, it was pretty nuts. Oh, and their mosh-pits are like a formal dinner practically, so freaking polite and gentle. It was more like a gentle massage than the angry free-for-all that I am used to. But still very energetic and fun. That's a good microcosm to give a sense for Uruguay...musical, friendly, polite, and fun.
Honestly, I fell in love with Montevideo and Uruguay. I will go back and explore more. It was such a livable and lovely city, perhaps my favorite yet in the world, neck in neck with Portland, with Melbourne trailing a little behind the two. They are an amazing city and people, with so much culture. But it is all very understated, humble yet proud. It is a quiet pride that is held close rather than bragged about; if pushed, they will talk about how they are only a small country, overshadowed by neighboring giants Brazil and Argentina. This inferiority complex is misplaced, as their culture is distinct and easily on level with these other countries. They are certainly influenced by both...more of the beach culture of Brazil, some of the African culture from Brazil, the mate and wine of Argentina, the Catalan Spanish of Argentina, they hot girls of both...they have a relaxed and carefree approach to things that reminds me of Fiji in many ways, but they are not lacking in a sense of hard-work, punctuality, or dedication by any means. Buses run regularly, lines are formed, but no one taps their fingers or acts frustrated if things go slowly. People are helpful and patient, efficient but not manic or obsessed with time.
So it should be obvious now that I was sad to leave. I felt a need to see something else in Uruguay, the better to know the country and other parts of her, so I visited a small beach town, Punta Del Diablo, for a couple of days. It was a couple of days well spent, in a beautiful little town with an amazing beach with scattered sun-bathers and gigantic waves. I spent my time practicing my Spanish with an Uruguayan-born Portena (Argentine from Buenes Aires) named Julieta, who told me that Argentina is amazing, but will never hold a candle to Uruguay.
So, with that in mind, I had to hop on the bus and come to Mendoza, Argentina, to begin my seasonal work at the winery Vina Cobos. They have gotten amazing reviews from the American wine press, but are relatively new and unknown in their own country, as it turns out. Upon showing up I found out that the winery is still in construction, and harvest has already kicked in. I started almost immediately, and was working 12 hours straight off the bat. Since my Spanish is only passable, and I don't yet know the wine-related words, it has been really difficult to take any level of responsibility as would be fitting to my abilities in a winery. So while it has been long hours and physically exhausting (lots of heavy lifting and alwasy standing), it has been mentally relaxing, compared to my time in Uruguay, where learning Spanish was a very intense job.
As for my coworkers, the Argentineans are very cool. Several are interns themselves, either studying wine or recently graduated and looking for a full-time position. Others are experienced hands. They have a rougher sense of humor and are more intense than the Uruguayans, but very likable in their own way. But they talk way faster and do not enunciate their words very clearly, so I am having a hell of a time understanding them.
Meanwhile I am living with 6 other foreign interns, 6 of us from the USA. We all speak basic or in some cases no Spanish, and are at able the same position at work. At home, we live in tiny houses in the middle of nowhere, with shit-all to do and only one car to share. I share a room with two other guys. We have a tiny kitchen, and tiny dining room. But at least there is a pool, and a beautiful view of the distant mountains. Currently, we are struggling to figure out how to have a social life of anything outside of work. We are very isolated out here, and on our days off get a bit stir-crazy. I have been going on walks through the scarcely-populated countryside when I am not too exhausted from work. It is very beautiful, and I am at my happiest when able to slip into their culture a bit and observe their daily life, with kids playing in the streets and adults sitting around chatting and watching soccer on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)