Ch-ch-changes

I arrived to my current farm after a full week of Couchsurfing and fun with three different hosting homes: in Milan, in a small town near Milan called Melzo and in Genova. These were 7 days of bliss, insane heat-wave in the north east of Italy and much-needed live music, drinks, middle of the night junk food (in Italy, mascarpone-filled canoli coated with pistachios is a night snack. In Israel it's more like a pack of M&Ms) and the best company I could have wished for.

True, traveling by train, bus, foot and whatnot in the middle of what felt like hell (35 degrees and terribly humid) took its toll on me, as well as searching for last-minute couches, never knowing where and with who I'll end up and sleeping on couches/folding beds/floor because it was too hot (seriously). Three pairs of my trousers had been cut to shorts by the end of that week. It was clear that I was in need of a more stable place again - where there would be a routine and I could do my laundry and sleep with actual sheets.

After taking a train to a middle-of-nowhere station somewhere near the coast of northern Italy, I took a bus which drove me 400 meters higher in altitude, hoping with all my heart that i was in the right place where my farm owner was supposed to pick me up. The night before, we spoke on the phone about how to reach the farm and it was clear at that point that I was dealing with only-Italian-speakers again. "I hope I understood what she explained to me correctly", I told the guys who I was staying with, and they helped me figure out what I should do using the broken names and bus lines I managed to understand.

Train rides to nowhere

I got picked up by a friendly, smiling man who took me yet ~100 meters more in altitude, through a one-way-two-way winding road (very common in Italy) where you have to honk the horn before every curve in order to avoid dying. When I got to the beautiful farm, a light late lunch and coffee were served to me and then the question - so shall we go outside to work?
But of course we shall! Let's ignore the fact that I'd just traveled for a bazillion hours and hadn't even put my bags in my room yet, and run out to the fields, The Sound of Music soundtrack playing in the background.

In the vegetable garden I met who would prove to be my good friend and ally - an adorable German girl who's been interning at that farm for a week and a half at the time. And so the questions began: when do they eat lunch? It varies. How many hours do you work a day? It varies. They work all the time. When do they eat dinner? Usually around 21:00, could be later. You have got to be kidding me, I smiled at the girl. You can't work outside all day and then eat dinner in the middle of the night. But that's exactly what they do, I found out later while anxiously waiting for the gong to ring, indicating dinner is ready. It was already 20:45, and I was miserably tired, hungry and disorientated. Then I was served a four-course meal I didn't know what to do with.

Picking cherries - our favourite job

It was extremely hard for me to get over my initial shyness and actually start talking. But I know for a fact she speaks Italian! Said the farmer. She spoke perfectly on the phone! (Really?). And so I sat quietly at the table, always listening, almost always feeling more lonely then ever. I don't deal well with chaos, I wanted to shout at her when she told me, after I finally managed to raise the courage to ask, that there were no defined working hours. And chaos it is: it's hot, then there's a thunderstorm. You work on something, and before finishing it are commanded to start something totally different (I will not sleep until I've finished with that asparagus field!). You eat lunch at 13:00, 14:00 or 15:00, try hopelessly to take over the hot mess of a kitchen, work until nightfall and then eat dinner at what feels like the next day already.

While crying on the phone during a precious Internet moment and having the call break again because the whole village uses one router, scratching my many mosquito bites, I suddenly got enlightened: Wwoofing is not for me anymore.
(Having said all of the above, I feel obliged to add a disclaimer stating that the family is more than nice to me, I get fed dishes that I could only dream of getting in top restaurants back home, I'm learning tons of Italian and all about even more alternative and high-end organic agriculture. All in all Wwoofing is a great thing).

So long, picturesque farmhouses

And what a hard realization that was. I, the toughest person in the world (right), am giving up? Am I a lazy loser? Am I, God forbid (take a deep breath for this one), spoiled?????????
No. Maybe. I don't really care. I'm just longing, for the first time in my life, to not work and ONLY be on vacation for a while. After congratulating myself for finally becoming a normal human being, I canceled my last farm, found two couches to cover me for at least a short while after I leave this farm and started contacting some international friends. Long story short, I'm going Couchsurfing and camping on the shore of Italy for an unknown period of time. It will be challenging, interesting, happy and sad, and I can't wait.

Then I realized another thing: for the super-anxious person I keep believing that I am, I'm not behaving all that anxiously. The previous week I even missed a train because I'd lost track of time, and didn't stress on it one bit. So it's true - I don't deal well with chaos, when other people create it for me. It's time to create my own chaos now.
And as I explained to a family how to eat the pita with hummus and shakshuka that I prepared for them - "with your hands, and get as dirty as possible".