Description
Since I arrived in Te Puke to work in the kiwi orchards, my nightmare has truly begun. Today, we’re talking about broken backs, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that’s born when all you’ve got left to keep you going are beers and music.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Since arriving in Teppuki to work in the kiwi orchard, my nightmare has truly begun. Today we're talking about broken bags, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that's born when all you've got left to keep you going are beers and music. Chapter 5 Kiwi Hell
Triple to single
I'm going to explode I've heard that command every single day for almost a week. Kiwi buds grow in clusters of three. You have to pluck the two smallest ones and leave only one. Hence the famous triple to single rule. Its hard wire into my brain has the number one rule of thinning. No one escapes it, not even me. Despite having told them a dozen times, I think I've got it. I had been promised that I would finally be surrounded by other backpackers, but my contractor Kumar clearly hadn't found anyone else. Several members of his family were for him. acting as his eyes and ears, reporting every problem or mishap directly to the boss. The family isn't the only group working for Kumar. Plenty of other Indians workers are there too. Some try to strike up a conversation, but I've noticed the questions are always the same. Most of them are breaking their bags in the orchard while balancing business school or commerce degrees. Money seems to be the central, almost vital element in their life choices. They talk about it constantly. Is it a hunger for success, a drive to escape poverty, a duty to support family back home, or simply a need to prove they've made it? The answers aren't simple, but one thing is clear, productivity and profit are what drive them. Kumar is competitive in his field, and the orchard owners know it. I was working 7 days a week, 10 hours a day, with barely an hour's break for the entire shift. I spent all my time with my head tilted back, hunting for buds that would eventually become flowers and fruit. The work was essentially the same as in Pukekohe. But the orchards here were even bigger. Sometimes those endless rows gave me the blues. I knew perfectly well that by the end of the day, I wouldn't even see the finish line. It's frustrating and demoralizing. You feel like you aren't making any progress. The repetition became even more mind-numbing when we switched orchards. Because some owners wanted us to keep as much fruit as possible, others were less picky. Some demanded a very specific number of gold kiwis or a minimum size to keep. These shifting rules were enough to drive anyone crazy. Kumar is the ultimate stereotype of a boss. He wears a heavy gold chain and sunglasses, showing up to inspect the work in an Armani shirt and jacket, and he mostly manages to misunderstand everything. He does the opposite of what he says, and then claims he said the opposite of what he did. Here's the character that's impossible to pin down. Some days, I found him cool. Other days, I hated him. The same goes for his wife, Taraj. I couldn't stand her. She was overbearing, constantly complaining and worked by leaning against branches in the shade while playing favorites with the other Indian women. Whenever there was a problem, I was the target.
Not good, this one is flat. Pay attention, Sebastian, you aren't listening.
She would bark every time she found the flat kiwi still hanging. I was reaching my breaking point, only the music on my phone saved me, allowing to escape into my own world while performing my robotic task. But even with music after 10 hours, I was done. A week later, another traveler finally arrived. Then more followed, and we were relocated to a house 10 kilometers away from Teppuki. It was a much better building than my previous spot, but it was eerily empty. Two chairs, one table, a kitchen, but no pots, no coterie, no beds, and no mattresses. Yet we were charged 110 New Zealand dollars a week in rent. It was a steep fine for zero comfort. Thanks to my powers of persuasion, I managed to negotiate my rent down to $40 by claiming I was sleeping in my van and only using the facilities, means shower, kitchen and Wi-Fi. Since I got along great with my housemates, they told me I could just crash in one of the rooms and they wouldn't say a word to Kumar. Bingo All the ingredients were there to save a maximum amount of money. After finding a storage room full of mattresses and other supplies, we organized the house and made it livable. I quickly took charge of organizing things, movie nights, game, work schedule, pizza days. For once, I wanted to build a real bond with my partners in crime. I was going to spend three months with them. I might as well make our time outside the orchard peaceful and interesting for everyone. After a few weeks, they all started calling me Papa. I was the oldest after all. Most of them were just starting their 20s. Life followed a rhythm, repetitive as hell. But as the day passed, the house filled up. Sometimes to an unimaginable degree. We were 10 people living in a three-bedroom house with one bathroom, two toilets and barely two pots to cook with. Organization was our mantra. But the mornings were pure chaos. Between the late sleeper, the shower line and people trying to make breakfast, what a mess. I was the designated driver until the others bought their own cars. It was a routine that eventually wore me down. In the evening, we would polish our ears during heated discussion or while watching movies and series. That was the only thing that kept me from going insane in that dismal house. From 8am to 6pm, we were working. By the time we got home and started cooking, it was often 10pm before everyone had finished their meal. Everyone had their own ritual. Journaling, working hard, playing guitar, drinking, smoking, running... Everyone found a way to decompress after a long day of boredom, back pain and the boss's constant remarks. Sometimes our work was interrupted so they could spray the rolls with pesticide. Sometimes they used big machinery, and sometimes just small pump while we worked right alongside them. The sheer volume of chemicals was staggering. Roundup, a weed killer highly dangerous to both humans and the environment, is still widely used in New Zealand. While it's banned or heavily restricted in Belgium and other European countries, New Zealand has used it since 1976. There are no official figures for the total volume used, but there are 94 registered products containing the ingredient. When it comes to ecology, New Zealand isn't exactly the utopia it promised to be. I will come to realize this more and more as my journey continued.
Description
Since I arrived in Te Puke to work in the kiwi orchards, my nightmare has truly begun. Today, we’re talking about broken backs, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that’s born when all you’ve got left to keep you going are beers and music.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Since arriving in Teppuki to work in the kiwi orchard, my nightmare has truly begun. Today we're talking about broken bags, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that's born when all you've got left to keep you going are beers and music. Chapter 5 Kiwi Hell
Triple to single
I'm going to explode I've heard that command every single day for almost a week. Kiwi buds grow in clusters of three. You have to pluck the two smallest ones and leave only one. Hence the famous triple to single rule. Its hard wire into my brain has the number one rule of thinning. No one escapes it, not even me. Despite having told them a dozen times, I think I've got it. I had been promised that I would finally be surrounded by other backpackers, but my contractor Kumar clearly hadn't found anyone else. Several members of his family were for him. acting as his eyes and ears, reporting every problem or mishap directly to the boss. The family isn't the only group working for Kumar. Plenty of other Indians workers are there too. Some try to strike up a conversation, but I've noticed the questions are always the same. Most of them are breaking their bags in the orchard while balancing business school or commerce degrees. Money seems to be the central, almost vital element in their life choices. They talk about it constantly. Is it a hunger for success, a drive to escape poverty, a duty to support family back home, or simply a need to prove they've made it? The answers aren't simple, but one thing is clear, productivity and profit are what drive them. Kumar is competitive in his field, and the orchard owners know it. I was working 7 days a week, 10 hours a day, with barely an hour's break for the entire shift. I spent all my time with my head tilted back, hunting for buds that would eventually become flowers and fruit. The work was essentially the same as in Pukekohe. But the orchards here were even bigger. Sometimes those endless rows gave me the blues. I knew perfectly well that by the end of the day, I wouldn't even see the finish line. It's frustrating and demoralizing. You feel like you aren't making any progress. The repetition became even more mind-numbing when we switched orchards. Because some owners wanted us to keep as much fruit as possible, others were less picky. Some demanded a very specific number of gold kiwis or a minimum size to keep. These shifting rules were enough to drive anyone crazy. Kumar is the ultimate stereotype of a boss. He wears a heavy gold chain and sunglasses, showing up to inspect the work in an Armani shirt and jacket, and he mostly manages to misunderstand everything. He does the opposite of what he says, and then claims he said the opposite of what he did. Here's the character that's impossible to pin down. Some days, I found him cool. Other days, I hated him. The same goes for his wife, Taraj. I couldn't stand her. She was overbearing, constantly complaining and worked by leaning against branches in the shade while playing favorites with the other Indian women. Whenever there was a problem, I was the target.
Not good, this one is flat. Pay attention, Sebastian, you aren't listening.
She would bark every time she found the flat kiwi still hanging. I was reaching my breaking point, only the music on my phone saved me, allowing to escape into my own world while performing my robotic task. But even with music after 10 hours, I was done. A week later, another traveler finally arrived. Then more followed, and we were relocated to a house 10 kilometers away from Teppuki. It was a much better building than my previous spot, but it was eerily empty. Two chairs, one table, a kitchen, but no pots, no coterie, no beds, and no mattresses. Yet we were charged 110 New Zealand dollars a week in rent. It was a steep fine for zero comfort. Thanks to my powers of persuasion, I managed to negotiate my rent down to $40 by claiming I was sleeping in my van and only using the facilities, means shower, kitchen and Wi-Fi. Since I got along great with my housemates, they told me I could just crash in one of the rooms and they wouldn't say a word to Kumar. Bingo All the ingredients were there to save a maximum amount of money. After finding a storage room full of mattresses and other supplies, we organized the house and made it livable. I quickly took charge of organizing things, movie nights, game, work schedule, pizza days. For once, I wanted to build a real bond with my partners in crime. I was going to spend three months with them. I might as well make our time outside the orchard peaceful and interesting for everyone. After a few weeks, they all started calling me Papa. I was the oldest after all. Most of them were just starting their 20s. Life followed a rhythm, repetitive as hell. But as the day passed, the house filled up. Sometimes to an unimaginable degree. We were 10 people living in a three-bedroom house with one bathroom, two toilets and barely two pots to cook with. Organization was our mantra. But the mornings were pure chaos. Between the late sleeper, the shower line and people trying to make breakfast, what a mess. I was the designated driver until the others bought their own cars. It was a routine that eventually wore me down. In the evening, we would polish our ears during heated discussion or while watching movies and series. That was the only thing that kept me from going insane in that dismal house. From 8am to 6pm, we were working. By the time we got home and started cooking, it was often 10pm before everyone had finished their meal. Everyone had their own ritual. Journaling, working hard, playing guitar, drinking, smoking, running... Everyone found a way to decompress after a long day of boredom, back pain and the boss's constant remarks. Sometimes our work was interrupted so they could spray the rolls with pesticide. Sometimes they used big machinery, and sometimes just small pump while we worked right alongside them. The sheer volume of chemicals was staggering. Roundup, a weed killer highly dangerous to both humans and the environment, is still widely used in New Zealand. While it's banned or heavily restricted in Belgium and other European countries, New Zealand has used it since 1976. There are no official figures for the total volume used, but there are 94 registered products containing the ingredient. When it comes to ecology, New Zealand isn't exactly the utopia it promised to be. I will come to realize this more and more as my journey continued.
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Description
Since I arrived in Te Puke to work in the kiwi orchards, my nightmare has truly begun. Today, we’re talking about broken backs, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that’s born when all you’ve got left to keep you going are beers and music.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Since arriving in Teppuki to work in the kiwi orchard, my nightmare has truly begun. Today we're talking about broken bags, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that's born when all you've got left to keep you going are beers and music. Chapter 5 Kiwi Hell
Triple to single
I'm going to explode I've heard that command every single day for almost a week. Kiwi buds grow in clusters of three. You have to pluck the two smallest ones and leave only one. Hence the famous triple to single rule. Its hard wire into my brain has the number one rule of thinning. No one escapes it, not even me. Despite having told them a dozen times, I think I've got it. I had been promised that I would finally be surrounded by other backpackers, but my contractor Kumar clearly hadn't found anyone else. Several members of his family were for him. acting as his eyes and ears, reporting every problem or mishap directly to the boss. The family isn't the only group working for Kumar. Plenty of other Indians workers are there too. Some try to strike up a conversation, but I've noticed the questions are always the same. Most of them are breaking their bags in the orchard while balancing business school or commerce degrees. Money seems to be the central, almost vital element in their life choices. They talk about it constantly. Is it a hunger for success, a drive to escape poverty, a duty to support family back home, or simply a need to prove they've made it? The answers aren't simple, but one thing is clear, productivity and profit are what drive them. Kumar is competitive in his field, and the orchard owners know it. I was working 7 days a week, 10 hours a day, with barely an hour's break for the entire shift. I spent all my time with my head tilted back, hunting for buds that would eventually become flowers and fruit. The work was essentially the same as in Pukekohe. But the orchards here were even bigger. Sometimes those endless rows gave me the blues. I knew perfectly well that by the end of the day, I wouldn't even see the finish line. It's frustrating and demoralizing. You feel like you aren't making any progress. The repetition became even more mind-numbing when we switched orchards. Because some owners wanted us to keep as much fruit as possible, others were less picky. Some demanded a very specific number of gold kiwis or a minimum size to keep. These shifting rules were enough to drive anyone crazy. Kumar is the ultimate stereotype of a boss. He wears a heavy gold chain and sunglasses, showing up to inspect the work in an Armani shirt and jacket, and he mostly manages to misunderstand everything. He does the opposite of what he says, and then claims he said the opposite of what he did. Here's the character that's impossible to pin down. Some days, I found him cool. Other days, I hated him. The same goes for his wife, Taraj. I couldn't stand her. She was overbearing, constantly complaining and worked by leaning against branches in the shade while playing favorites with the other Indian women. Whenever there was a problem, I was the target.
Not good, this one is flat. Pay attention, Sebastian, you aren't listening.
She would bark every time she found the flat kiwi still hanging. I was reaching my breaking point, only the music on my phone saved me, allowing to escape into my own world while performing my robotic task. But even with music after 10 hours, I was done. A week later, another traveler finally arrived. Then more followed, and we were relocated to a house 10 kilometers away from Teppuki. It was a much better building than my previous spot, but it was eerily empty. Two chairs, one table, a kitchen, but no pots, no coterie, no beds, and no mattresses. Yet we were charged 110 New Zealand dollars a week in rent. It was a steep fine for zero comfort. Thanks to my powers of persuasion, I managed to negotiate my rent down to $40 by claiming I was sleeping in my van and only using the facilities, means shower, kitchen and Wi-Fi. Since I got along great with my housemates, they told me I could just crash in one of the rooms and they wouldn't say a word to Kumar. Bingo All the ingredients were there to save a maximum amount of money. After finding a storage room full of mattresses and other supplies, we organized the house and made it livable. I quickly took charge of organizing things, movie nights, game, work schedule, pizza days. For once, I wanted to build a real bond with my partners in crime. I was going to spend three months with them. I might as well make our time outside the orchard peaceful and interesting for everyone. After a few weeks, they all started calling me Papa. I was the oldest after all. Most of them were just starting their 20s. Life followed a rhythm, repetitive as hell. But as the day passed, the house filled up. Sometimes to an unimaginable degree. We were 10 people living in a three-bedroom house with one bathroom, two toilets and barely two pots to cook with. Organization was our mantra. But the mornings were pure chaos. Between the late sleeper, the shower line and people trying to make breakfast, what a mess. I was the designated driver until the others bought their own cars. It was a routine that eventually wore me down. In the evening, we would polish our ears during heated discussion or while watching movies and series. That was the only thing that kept me from going insane in that dismal house. From 8am to 6pm, we were working. By the time we got home and started cooking, it was often 10pm before everyone had finished their meal. Everyone had their own ritual. Journaling, working hard, playing guitar, drinking, smoking, running... Everyone found a way to decompress after a long day of boredom, back pain and the boss's constant remarks. Sometimes our work was interrupted so they could spray the rolls with pesticide. Sometimes they used big machinery, and sometimes just small pump while we worked right alongside them. The sheer volume of chemicals was staggering. Roundup, a weed killer highly dangerous to both humans and the environment, is still widely used in New Zealand. While it's banned or heavily restricted in Belgium and other European countries, New Zealand has used it since 1976. There are no official figures for the total volume used, but there are 94 registered products containing the ingredient. When it comes to ecology, New Zealand isn't exactly the utopia it promised to be. I will come to realize this more and more as my journey continued.
Description
Since I arrived in Te Puke to work in the kiwi orchards, my nightmare has truly begun. Today, we’re talking about broken backs, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that’s born when all you’ve got left to keep you going are beers and music.
Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.
Transcription
Since arriving in Teppuki to work in the kiwi orchard, my nightmare has truly begun. Today we're talking about broken bags, banned pesticides, but also that incredible solidarity that's born when all you've got left to keep you going are beers and music. Chapter 5 Kiwi Hell
Triple to single
I'm going to explode I've heard that command every single day for almost a week. Kiwi buds grow in clusters of three. You have to pluck the two smallest ones and leave only one. Hence the famous triple to single rule. Its hard wire into my brain has the number one rule of thinning. No one escapes it, not even me. Despite having told them a dozen times, I think I've got it. I had been promised that I would finally be surrounded by other backpackers, but my contractor Kumar clearly hadn't found anyone else. Several members of his family were for him. acting as his eyes and ears, reporting every problem or mishap directly to the boss. The family isn't the only group working for Kumar. Plenty of other Indians workers are there too. Some try to strike up a conversation, but I've noticed the questions are always the same. Most of them are breaking their bags in the orchard while balancing business school or commerce degrees. Money seems to be the central, almost vital element in their life choices. They talk about it constantly. Is it a hunger for success, a drive to escape poverty, a duty to support family back home, or simply a need to prove they've made it? The answers aren't simple, but one thing is clear, productivity and profit are what drive them. Kumar is competitive in his field, and the orchard owners know it. I was working 7 days a week, 10 hours a day, with barely an hour's break for the entire shift. I spent all my time with my head tilted back, hunting for buds that would eventually become flowers and fruit. The work was essentially the same as in Pukekohe. But the orchards here were even bigger. Sometimes those endless rows gave me the blues. I knew perfectly well that by the end of the day, I wouldn't even see the finish line. It's frustrating and demoralizing. You feel like you aren't making any progress. The repetition became even more mind-numbing when we switched orchards. Because some owners wanted us to keep as much fruit as possible, others were less picky. Some demanded a very specific number of gold kiwis or a minimum size to keep. These shifting rules were enough to drive anyone crazy. Kumar is the ultimate stereotype of a boss. He wears a heavy gold chain and sunglasses, showing up to inspect the work in an Armani shirt and jacket, and he mostly manages to misunderstand everything. He does the opposite of what he says, and then claims he said the opposite of what he did. Here's the character that's impossible to pin down. Some days, I found him cool. Other days, I hated him. The same goes for his wife, Taraj. I couldn't stand her. She was overbearing, constantly complaining and worked by leaning against branches in the shade while playing favorites with the other Indian women. Whenever there was a problem, I was the target.
Not good, this one is flat. Pay attention, Sebastian, you aren't listening.
She would bark every time she found the flat kiwi still hanging. I was reaching my breaking point, only the music on my phone saved me, allowing to escape into my own world while performing my robotic task. But even with music after 10 hours, I was done. A week later, another traveler finally arrived. Then more followed, and we were relocated to a house 10 kilometers away from Teppuki. It was a much better building than my previous spot, but it was eerily empty. Two chairs, one table, a kitchen, but no pots, no coterie, no beds, and no mattresses. Yet we were charged 110 New Zealand dollars a week in rent. It was a steep fine for zero comfort. Thanks to my powers of persuasion, I managed to negotiate my rent down to $40 by claiming I was sleeping in my van and only using the facilities, means shower, kitchen and Wi-Fi. Since I got along great with my housemates, they told me I could just crash in one of the rooms and they wouldn't say a word to Kumar. Bingo All the ingredients were there to save a maximum amount of money. After finding a storage room full of mattresses and other supplies, we organized the house and made it livable. I quickly took charge of organizing things, movie nights, game, work schedule, pizza days. For once, I wanted to build a real bond with my partners in crime. I was going to spend three months with them. I might as well make our time outside the orchard peaceful and interesting for everyone. After a few weeks, they all started calling me Papa. I was the oldest after all. Most of them were just starting their 20s. Life followed a rhythm, repetitive as hell. But as the day passed, the house filled up. Sometimes to an unimaginable degree. We were 10 people living in a three-bedroom house with one bathroom, two toilets and barely two pots to cook with. Organization was our mantra. But the mornings were pure chaos. Between the late sleeper, the shower line and people trying to make breakfast, what a mess. I was the designated driver until the others bought their own cars. It was a routine that eventually wore me down. In the evening, we would polish our ears during heated discussion or while watching movies and series. That was the only thing that kept me from going insane in that dismal house. From 8am to 6pm, we were working. By the time we got home and started cooking, it was often 10pm before everyone had finished their meal. Everyone had their own ritual. Journaling, working hard, playing guitar, drinking, smoking, running... Everyone found a way to decompress after a long day of boredom, back pain and the boss's constant remarks. Sometimes our work was interrupted so they could spray the rolls with pesticide. Sometimes they used big machinery, and sometimes just small pump while we worked right alongside them. The sheer volume of chemicals was staggering. Roundup, a weed killer highly dangerous to both humans and the environment, is still widely used in New Zealand. While it's banned or heavily restricted in Belgium and other European countries, New Zealand has used it since 1976. There are no official figures for the total volume used, but there are 94 registered products containing the ingredient. When it comes to ecology, New Zealand isn't exactly the utopia it promised to be. I will come to realize this more and more as my journey continued.
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