With the monotonous schedule of picking (stressing the
monotonous: get up, pick, shop for dinner, cook, sleep), every week-day flies
by. After a week straight of mindless picking, an escape is more than necessary.
It’s where this escape comes from that matters most. Our escape arrived in the
shape of a beat-up, green van.
Picture three guys slumped in the seats of their Kombie, in
the pitch dark, at their humble rest area home. They are exhausted from a full
day of shambling around their small farm town, work cancelled due to rain. They
have barely been working enough to afford beers, so the pub is not even option
to curb their boredom. It’s Saturday night to boot and the three have no plans
other than to sulk in their lonesomeness. They have but a shitty dinner and a
box of wine to drown away their sorrows: Enter the aforementioned green van.
Out jumps the inhabitants of the green van: 4 sexy German girls. These poor,
down-and-out lads, understanding how pathetic they look sitting in the dark,
realize the opportunity that just careened down upon them. They begin to
scramble out of their van like criminals fleeing a stolen vehicle after a
high-speed chase. After emerging from the van, the criminals transform into a
pit crew, unloading the van, our wine, and trying to set up dinner. Conversation
ensues over dinner, trust familiarity is established, and the three are invited
to a house party later that night. Later that night, over joints and glasses of
goon, trust is established and friendships forged. Overall it is a successful first
Saturday night in Gayndah, setting the stage for many other days and nights to follow.
Ronja, Luna, Charlotte (Lotti), and Nina are their names.
They have made it almost all the way around Australia in their green van, dubbed
“The Green Machine.” They worked at the fruit packing shed in town, called
GayPak, six days a week.
Sunday was their one consistent day off. Often times as fruit
pickers we would go weeks without a break, and almost never an employer-forced
day off. Coincidentally, Sunday quickly became the one day a week we would tell
our bosses that we were not going to work – it’s impossible to pick fruit and
pray at church simultaneously. The girls eventually started renting a garage
that was “converted” into a one room studio. Basically it was a shed with walls
and a concrete floor. With two beds on the ground it was an amazing place to
watch a movie, take a nap, or kill a hangover. The walls were barely thick
enough to hold back the wind and were not sealed to the roof or floor. So with
seven or more of us getting ready for a night out on the town, we seemed to
easily upset the grumpy, old, drunken landlord. About 9:30 every night seemed
to be quiet hour and he always felt compelled to come let us know.
Usually he would warn in a drunken grumble/scream that could hardly pass as
English. One night we showed up to the shed and he popped out of his house with
a full-sized whip. Either this was his method of showing dominance or he liked
real kinky sex. Needless to say, he was a real weird guy with some anger
issues.
The girls happened to get us our second job in Gayndah
working for a guy named Paul Slack. They had worked for him before their Gaypak
job. So when he needed more pickers, they gave us his number and we were on. He
said that “they [the Germans] turned a lot of heads out here.” We were eager to
work for a guy whom came so highly recommended. The girls said he was so nice
and attentive, coming come by to check on them every 30 minutes to make sure
they were alright. For some reason with us, after the first day or work with
Paul, he came by only once when we arrived and once at the end of the day. Paul
was indeed as the girls said, very nice; a truly decent guy who was constantly
making sure we were happy. It was a joy to work for him.
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| Kyle and Nick at Paul Slack's farm |
After our first Saturday night in Gayndah with the girls, we
made plans for “parties” (party must be said with a German accent, long on the
‘a’). At one point we had a plan for every day off for a month. We had a Hair Party
to cut my hair. There was a Bumper Party to install a replacement bumper on
their van. They bought us some falafel on a trip to a big city (falafel is not
sold at the one grocery in Gayndah), so we had a Falafel Party, where we cooked
dinner for them. In the end, we just started partying whenever we could and
stopped making plans.
When not hanging out with our four beautiful German friends, we had to occupy our time with other things. For example, we toured the town for their symbolic icons and experienced some of the good eats.
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| Golden Gaytimes are the best! |
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| Gay Dan is his name... He is the keeper of the Giant Orange |
The girls were truly our saving angels of Gayndah. I like to
compare the three pathetic schmucks slumped in their van to the guys giving late
night driving lessons in order to help illuminate the type of change these girls brought
to our time in Gayndah.
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(Note: this is not common practice. But, when you are in a
town where the only two cops are on leave and have no replacements and the not even
wild animals stir on the streets, you take advantage of the opportunity.)
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Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Paul
Slack, as good an employer as he was, had a 3-4 week break between varieties of
mandarins, so we were left unemployed in one of the worst places on earth to be
unemployed in. We had a lead on a grape pruning job in St. George, Qld, some
700 km to the south. Our last night together was bittersweet. The girls made us
a traditional German meal of meatballs in a gravy sauce with potatoes. We went
out for one last rambunctious night, took our only group photo at the Giant Orange, and shut down the bars. The next afternoon we met the girls during their lunch break for
a final goodbye. They had packed us individual sandwiches, each wrapped and
inscribed with our name and hearts. It was as sad a goodbye as they come and driving away broke our hearts.
