Feeling 14 in Australia

When I was growing up I lived in a small town in the heart of the North Yorkshire country side. It was a beautiful life, playing in fields and walking freely. I had a job all through high school and collage and lived as close to a free life as a school girl probably could. Having my own money meant I could buy anything I wanted (within reason) without really having to ask for permission from my parents. And when I passed my driving test and bought my 1^st car, I was away! There was no stopping me. Given this you can imagine the feelings of constriction that wwoofing brought.

Super Gram and I needed to find a way for me to gain my 88 days for second year visa as quickly and cheaply as possible. Wwoofing promised the perfect answer, a way to travel the country very cheaply with free accommodation and food whilst the days on farms could count towards that precious second year visa. The reality proved to be quite different.

Our first hosts were based in far north Queensland and we loved it there. The hosts were lovely. We finished our 4 hours a day and then enjoyed downtime with the family and friends, exploring the area and being taken to local beaches and attractions. The evenings were often filled with wine and cheerful chatter about the exciting places they had visited on their own travels. We thought we had found the perfect answer to travelling around this expensive country on the cheap.

Our time here soon came to an end and we set off with a spring in our step to our next hosts near Cairns. Our reality soon changed, and the experiene of wwoofing changed with it. It became clear that these hosts thought of their wwoofers as cheap labour and had little interest in cultural exchange. After working for 5 hours we would then be expected to take care of the 2 young children whilst the parents were at work, for free and out of our own time as this was not considered to be work. When a parent arrived home we would return to the servants quarters at the end of the garden. To be fair the cabin was lovely and gave a really pleasant atmosphere through the day. An evening however had an eerie feel, and the lack of any power and minimal lighting didn't aid this.

This family had no interest in taking us to any local attractions or anywhere in the local area. We felt like naughty teenagers having to beg to go to the shops and keep quiet unless spoken to. The total lack of freedom was a complete shock to me. Never before had I felt so constricted. And when that was teamed with a total lack of thanks for any of our work or free child care.

Its a one off, we told each other, other hosts enjoy the company of wwoofers and the cultural exchange that comes with it. So off we went to our next hosts in the Northern Territory. Here we were fortunate enough to stay with other wwoofers. A pair of French girls were working on the mango orchard over their summer break from university, wwoofing offering a student budget friendly way to see the far north of Australia. Once again we found our host, a grumpy man with black teeth a huge amount of self interest and not enough time with other people, to be utterly uninterested in any cultural exchange.

Again we found ourselves miles from civilisation with no form of transport. We managed to beg a lift into Darwin for a day so we could rent a car between the 4 of us to see the national park. Our host obliged and the 5 of us set off in utter silence the for the painfully long 40 minute drive. Again, we spent our time here tiptoeing around our host and hoping not to upset him.

Our saving grace came in the form of an email from a host up the road in desperate need of a couple of wwoofers that would finish up the last 4 days of my 88. The days after receiving the email they came and picked us up from the farm. We sighed a huge breath of release as we climbed into the car and waved the mango orchard goodbye. Our next 4 days were wonderful, we worked hard and enjoyed some fantastic company. Here we were made to feel welcome and appreciated and were really quite sad when our time came to an end.

I chalked up a total of 54 days of wwoofing, with the rest made up from working on apple and strawberry farms in Tasmania, and staying with more hosts than I've shared here. Whist 2 of the many hosts we stayed with were warm and welcoming we found the majority to be cold simply looking for a form of cheap labour. For the 1^st time in my life I understood the pain teenagers face through being trapped.

I think the main trouble we faced was not having our own transport. If we had a car we wouldn't have stayed with the less inviting hosts for as long as we did. We would have had the freedom to explore in our free time and could have left whenever we liked.

Through my travels in Australia I met plenty of backpackers that had spent some time wwoofing and they all had at least 1 horror story, from working 10 hours a day to being locked outside the whole day with no access to water. But they also had a wonderful experience elsewhere to balance it.

My advise to anyone hoping to spend time wwoofing in Australia would be to ask lots of questions in advance: what are the hours; what does the work include; what is the accommodation like; is there public transport available; how many wwoofers have you had and how long did they stay, and so on. Wwoofing can be an amazing experience and a chance to see parts of the country you might not have otherwise.

The most important thing is to work hard during your agreed hours and if you feel uncomfortable leave. With the time available for travellers in Australia being so limited its important to get what you want from that time. It is an exchange, so as long as you are putting in your part if you feel you aren't getting enough back there is no reason to stick around and leave with bad memories.

Hostel Review – Pickled Frog, Hobart

Standing close to the top of the hill on Liverpool Street is a large green building, impossible to walk passed without giving it a second glance. This is The Pickled Frog Hostel. Walk in through the main entrance and you will be greeted by a cosy reception room with communal computers, comfy sofas, a small bar, the reception desk and, in winter, a roaring open fire. This is where I found myself after 10 days working on a dairy farm in Wodonga, torn between wanting to spend some time not working and needing to find a job before winter crept in.

I was greeted by a chirpy Tasmanian girl, who gave me my key and sheets to set up my bed for the night and pointed me in the direction of the local farmers market. If you are confronted by a very large husky with dark brows and an grumpy face, don't worry, that's Blue. He is the hostels dog and is very friendly!

Moving from the reception space through to the communal area, there are sofas and tabled booths offering plenty of space to sit with friends or on your own and offers more warming fires. There is also a pool table and a large TV with a great collection of DVDs, there's almost always a group sat round enjoying a movie or two. The room is filled with charming cubby holes and comfy furniture to offer enough space for everyone.

The kitchen is just off of the communal area. It's not huge, but it does have enough pots, pans, plates, bowls, knifes and forks to go around. The hobs are a little, erm, quirky, but they get the job done and there's always someone around to help you out if you're struggling. The trick is that the hobs work using magnets, if it doesn't detect a pan on top it won't turn on, unfortunately it doesn't detect all of them. Most importantly, the kitchen is always clean. I don't think I sore any dirty plates left out at all.

The rooms were nice, standard hostel rooms; bunk beds, a couple of tables, one of the rooms I stayed in had a big wardrobe and full length mirror, which was a real treat! They also get cleaned daily, which is nice.

The bathroom may be the only negative thing I have to say about this place. There were only 5 showers for all the girls in the hostel, which meant there were often queues in the morning. Trying to avoid the queues I decided to have an afternoon shower instead but left the bathroom still dirty and now shivering, thanks to freezing cold water. I'm sure this isn't usually a problem, but you might want to consider getting up a little early instead. The toilets were clean though, so ups and downs there!

One of the really nice things about the hostel is they offer a number of free trips on different days. I took the free shuttle to the top of Mt. Wellington on Monday morning, which gave you a guided tour to the top and then the option to walk back or stay on the bus. I was on quite a budget so being able to go for a free day out was great – I chose to walk down so it took until early afternoon to get back into town. There are also yoga classes available and a few other bits and pieces.

I really enjoyed my stay here: the place was clean, the staff friendly, and the bar's pretty cheap. Located just a short walk from Hobart centre this is a great place to stay when exploring the city.

A tractor is not a car...

They have four wheels, like a car. Two wing mirrors, like a car. A steering wheel and a gear stick, like a car. Six hydraulic levers, like a...hold on a second! 

Whilst in Australia I plan to work on a farm, like so many others entering the country on a working holiday visa. Doing this is important for two reasons: To save more travel money and to enable a second year down under. Both are pretty good reasons in my opinion.

After a little research into harvest times and wages I learnt I could earn much more by getting a tractor driving job. Brilliant I thought to myself I grew up on a farm, of course I can drive a tractor, hell, I've been driving tractors since I was 5!

Over Christmas I went up to The Farm to visit the family. One not so exciting day my dad and uncle got one of the tractors out to fix a couple of fences.  Here's my chance for a little brush up course before I go.

With not too much persuasion I convinced my dad to take me out for a quick lesson before lunch. I heaved myself up the three huge steps and into the cockpit, the first difference between a tractor and a car, and sat myself in the driving seat, my feet swinging freely as I couldn't touch the floor. 

As I looked around I could see an abundance of levers, switches, pedals and dials. No, this certainly would not be like driving a car, and no, I certainly had not been able to drive a tractor since I was 5. I had sat on my dad’s knee and steered. Much to my surprise, I was about to find out driving and steering are very different.

"So I suppose we best start you in a field. Pop it in't gear and let’s be off down lane". I looked at the levers in front of me, pushed my foot as hard as I could into the clutch and tried to move what I had determined must be the gear stick. Dad looked at the clutch which, despite my best efforts, hadn't really moved, pulled his phone out and made a call back to the house "hold off on lunch, I think we might be a while".

It didn't really get all that much better from here. We drove very slowly up the lane to an empty field where my dad instructed me to stop so he could open the gate. "Stop here. Just here is fine. Now, Charlie! THE BREAK!" This is when I realised I could just do an emergency stop and hit the neutral button, unlike a car in which the break is applied slowly. Hindsight would say this was a bad moment to let dad know I hadn’t driven any motorised vehicle since 2010, asides from a gokart which I crashed and broke my ankle.

Slowly but surely my dad, who is slow to anger and rarely raises his voice, got more and more frustrated as I drove the tractor through the field, mildly avoiding ditches and hedge ways coming within inches of their lives.  

Just 10 minutes after entering the field I went over a sizeable mole hill at a speed and my dad was bumped out of his seat! I quickly stopped and helped him off the floor of the cabin apologising profusely. After a few minutes of awkward silence I went to set off again before my dad quickly interrupted “think it might be best if I take it from ‘ere”.  We were then left with the awkward act of trying to swap seats in the tiny cabin. I quickly decided it might be best for me to just walk home, and climbed down the steps, stumbling on the last one, jumping to the floor and slipping in the mud – “I’m fine!” I shouted up to my dad as the tractor door shut and he set off home.

When I eventually got back to the house – I took my time on the short walk in an attempt to avoid some embarrassment that was inevitable – I found the family sat around the kitchen table eating a ploughman’s lunch. I shuck my muddy boots to the corner and avoided eye contact with anyone until my aunt tried to point out some mud on my forehead and they exploded into floods of laughter, including my dad.

The conclusion of this nightmare? No, I don’t know how to drive a tractor. No, I won’t be getting a tractor driving job in Australia. And no, I do not make a very good farm girl.