Grape Expectations

Before I started teaching yoga and getting paid for it, I was the queen of dubious jobs.

The worst of these was picking grapes in a town called Robinvale in middle of nowhere Victoria. Flat, dry, beige country. After leaving Byron in 2012, Rach and I set off on our ‘travelling round Australia’ mission. We got 2 hours down the coast to a place called Woopi (actually called Woolgoolga but no one can pronounce that) and promptly fell in love. 

I met Jimmy at the Seaview Tavern. We’d met his friend Eli a few days before at a reggae bar in Coffs. His car had broke down and we’d agreed to drive him back to Woopi and he’d invited us to a party at his friends house. We had nothing better to do and we thought he was cute so of course we went. Meet me at the Seaview he said. We arrived just as the bar had seemingly closed. We stood there feeling awkward for a few minutes before a tall, skinny guy with bright blue eyes and what looked like a huge weed leaf tattooed on his neck came bouncing over. I rolled my eyes. Here we go.

‘Hi!’

‘We’re waiting for someone.’

‘Who you waiting for?’

‘Eli.’

‘Oh great, I’m waiting for Eli too’ (internal groan). ‘I’ll buy you a drink.’

‘You can’t. The bars closed.’

‘Not for me its not! ‘

At that point he leaped nimbly over the bar and started pouring beer into jugs. We happily accepted our schooners with froth sloshing from the sides and went to sit down on a sticky picnic beach style table as the sun went down. Jimmy and I sat next to each other and my  world changed forever.

I realised I’d completely misjudged him. He was articulate, generous and full of joyful, childlike optimism. The weed leaf was actually a palm tree. I was smitten. Jimmy is the reason I’m lying on my floor in Broulee at 5am writing this. He’s the reason I’ll be heading to Council chambers in a couple of weeks to swear under oath to love Australia and become a citizen.

Rach and I were ecstatic. We floated in the perfect crystal ocean day after day marvelling at our luck. She was in love with Jimmy’s best friend.  We would get married, live in Woopi for the rest of our lives with our perfect relationships and deepening tans and live happily ever after. The end.

On day 8 Rach and her new boyfriend started arguing. Jimmy and I were still madly in love. In that phase when all you do is stare gooey-ly (not a word) into each others eyes and tell each other how great you are. 

The day after we met he invited me to his cousins wedding in Sydney - a 6 hour drive down the coast. At the time it seemed like a completely natural thing to do. Rach thought I’d lost the plot but we both clambered into his old Jeep and set off. Long car rides with someone you’ve just fallen in love with go by like the wind.  There is a never ending stream of things to discover about each other. As the day drew to night and we were almost at his Mum’s house in the Sutherland Shire I had a change of heart. ‘I’m so nervous.’ I whispered. ‘What will they think of me? I dont even have any shoes. I live in my car!’

He laughed and I relaxed. We arrived at his Mum’s house and everyone was completely lovely and didn’t blink an eye.  The next day at the wedding there was lots of curiosity from Jimmy’s entire extended family about who I was and where I came from. After living out of a backpack for the best part of 3 years I hardly knew myself. ‘Hi! You’re Jimmy’s new girlfriend! So nice to meet you! Where do you live?’ ‘I live in my car with my best friend Rach’ 

‘And when did you and Jimmy meet?’ They’d ask, eyes wide. ‘Oh 2 days ago’ I’d smile back.  And that was it. Surprisingly or not, I felt very comfortable with all his family and everyone was totally accepting of this slightly unusual scenario. 

On the way back we started planning how I could stay in Australia forever. We talked about joint bank accounts and registering our relationship. We’d decided we’d be together forever.

Back in Woopi Rach was ready to leave. Come on, we cant get trapped here. We’ve only travelled 2 hours. Lets make some cash and have more adventures. We can’t wait around in some tiny town for these boys. She’d found a job on Gumtree - picking grapes in Robinvale, Victoria. 1700kms away.  It sounded appealing. I had romantic visions of us waltzing around in white dresses, sampling wine, maybe picking the odd grape or two but mostly lounging around in the afternoon sun writing stories of our travels. I didn’t really want to leave, but then I was still committed to the travelling life. I wanted to experience everything. I wanted adventure and I craved the unknown and Woopi only had 2 streets and I’d walked them both multiple times.  I also loved Rach so much and wanted to continue travelling with her. And we only had one car. 

Jimmy and I shared a teary ‘this is not goodbye it’s see you later’ and we drove off into the sunset.

We arrived one freezing afternoon after a 3 day drive that was pretty uneventful apart from when we were so desperate to swim we tried to drive through a farm to a ‘lake’ (puddle), got bogged and almost attacked by an emu, then rescued by some incredulous farmer who probably still tells the story to this day.

The ‘free accommodation’ was a shipping container with 2 mattresses on the floor. The communal kitchen was a slightly larger shipping container. We walked in and were greeted with cold stares by lots of miserable looking backpackers. Everyone was stuck here. so desperate to get their second year visa they couldn’t leave. We dumped our food in despair then escaped to the nearest pub. We walked in and walked straight back out again. That was a depth of hell that even we weren’t prepared to stay in. 

We climbed into this freezing metal box exhausted and miserable. All I could think was ‘why did we leave paradise. Why did I leave the love of my life for this’. I called Jimmy every night. Hour long conversations that ended in ‘you hang up, no you hang up, no you hang up’ whilst Rachel rolled her eyes. 

The next morning we awoke to more bad news. The foreman of the grape picking set up who was about 15 years old came bouncing round. Ok, so you know the job I told you about on the phone? That pays by the hour? Well there’s no more of these jobs left. so I’ll start you on the picking. You get paid per box. If you stick around someone might leave and you’ll get the good job. Next morning you start at 5am. Dont be late.’

The next morning freezing cold and smelly we jumped into a car with one of the farmers who started his day drinking cans of VB. Something we’d learn was pretty common in these parts. We were driven to the vines. Not a white dress or a glass of red in site. 

‘Its the end of the season and these are the eating grapes, not the drinking ones, so they have to be perfect condition. There’s a lot of mouldy ones. Whatever you do, don’t put mouldy ones in your box or the whole thing is ruined. ‘

‘How much do we get paid per box?’ we asked, but he’d already sped off. 

Most of the people on the vines were experts. They were filling maybe 6 boxes for each of our one. After an hour everything hurt. My fingers were blistered from holding the scissors and my back was sore from folding over.

‘I wonder how much we get paid’ we kept saying but no one seemed to understand us. Either that or they didn’t want to break our hearts.  It was taking us half an hour to fill a box.  At the end of the day we found out. 80 cents per box. We’d just made $1.60 per hour. So much for our get rich quick scheme.

That afternoon we found the foreman. ‘Ok, look, we just drove here for 3 days because you promised us a job and we’re getting paid $1.60 per hour this is beyond ridiculous. You have to sort this out.’

‘Well you’re in luck! A job has come up pulling the plastic covers off the vines. The best news is, you get paid by the hour $15 per hour!’

It was the end of Autumn and some mornings below zero. As always we were woefully unprepared for any other weather apart from hot and sunny. Our only purpose in life was to be as tanned as possible so we’d packed about 10 bikinis, a couple of white dresses and not much else. There was a team of maybe 8 backpackers, mostly from Italy, Germany and England. Again, we’d pile into the back of the Utes with the drunk farmers and drive wildly to the picking sites. As a team we’d walk the length of the grape vines and pull out each individual from the plastic wrapping. Every time we’d reach up to pull the nail out, icy cold water would flow down our sleeves, soaking our clothes. We’d pull out nails for maybe an hour, fingers icy and numb, before together pulling the cover off. Huge huntsmen spiders, which I actually loved would skitter out and most people would scream and run away whilst I’d be trying to pet them. ‘Arango, Arango’ the Italian backpackers would cry. I’ve never forgotten the Italian for spider and who knows when that will come in handy.

After a few hours of this we’d get dropped back at our ‘accommodation’. There was really nothing to do. No beaches to explore. No walks to go on. we were desperately trying to save money for our next trip so didn’t even want to use petrol or buy coffee and sit in cafes. We spent the afternoons learning to skate on Rach’s longboard and writing lists of all the possible next steps we could take pros and cons. Going back to Woopi wasn’t an option for Rach but I knew I had to see Jimmy again.

A few weeks in I’d decided. ‘Ok’ I announced one day. ‘I have to go back. I’ll drive to Woopi, see Jimmy, work out how I feel, then I’ll drive back here and me and you can keep travelling.’ If we’re still in love then I’ll go back again after a few months and leave you the car. If not, I’ll come back and we’ll drive through the middle of Australia, up to Broome.’ We met 3 German friends who had the same plan. We can all go together. We liked this idea. They were extremely practical, efficient and organised, everything we weren’t and we thought we could benefit from some of their discipline.

I’ll see you soon Rach, I promise. She looked forlorn as I left early in the morning. I set off by myself to do the 1700 km drive. I was on a mission. The first day I drove 800 kms and was about to pull over and sleep when I climbed a hill, turned a corner and had a head on collision with a kangaroo. It was dark so I didn’t even see the unfortunate animal. The whole front of the car caved in. I jumped out in shock, couldn’t see the kangaroo, hoped it was ok or had at least died quickly. The car was smoking. I looked at my little Nokia phone. I had no reception. I was in the middle of absolutely nowhere.There was nowhere to pull over. The only thing I could think to do was to try and keep driving until I had reception. The car lurched along for a few more terrifying kilometres before there was a huge bang and I veered into a hedge and that was it. 

I got out in shock and reassessed my situation. Still my phone signal. An exploded engine. I couldn’t sleep in the car because I felt like the whole thing was about to burst into flames. They was smoke everywhere. I hadn’t seen another car for hours. I stood on the side of the road. I wanted to say I prayed but I knew I didn’t do that back then. I just stood there, fear starting to consume me. I saw the headlights of an approaching car. My heart jumped. I stood in the road and waved the car down but they didn’t stop. They drove right past me. Shit. I started to cry.

A few minutes or hours later, who knows, a second car drove by. This time they stopped. They were angels. An elderly couple on their way back from the theatre in gunnedah. They were very wary at first. As soon as they saw I was by myself and how scared I was there demeanour changed. They thought I was much much younger than my 27 years. Why are you out here by yourself?? When I explained I’d driven from Robinvale and I was heading to Woolgoolga to see a boy I’d fallen in love with they laughed and gave me a lift back to their house. They told me about a common scheme, maybe an urban myth, who knows, where a young girl will stand on the side of the road, pretend to be stranded. The car would stop and highway robbers would jump out from behind the hedge and rob the car. I wasn’t sure whether to believe this story but it explained why the first car didn’t stop.

This beautiful couple literally saved my life. They drove me 30 minutes back to their house. The man called up his old mate, lets call him John. Hey John do you still have your tow truck mate? There’s a young girl out here in a bit of trouble. At 11pm they both towed my car all the way back to the Gunnedah wreckers whilst I sat in a beautiful kitchen eating pasta and drinking wine with his wife. I stayed the night at their house. Do you have anyone to call they asked?

That night I called Jimmy. Hey! I was going to surprise you in a different way, but surprise! I’m stranded in Gunnedah the car has blown up can you come get me? 

Being madly in love means you do slightly mad things. Like driving 1700 kilometres to see someone you’ve just met. Because he was madly in love with me too he seemed pretty thrilled at the prospect of driving who knows how many hours inland to rescue me. We met in the sunshine, thanked my saviours profusely, said goodbye to my totally trashed car and drove back to Woopi. On the way back I called Rach and broke the difficult news about the car. In a way that kangaroo sealed my fate.

If I hadn’t crashed, I might not have stayed in Woopi. Jimmy and I might not have stayed together for the next four years. My holiday visa would have expired in a few short months and I may have returned to England. The kangaroo made my decision for me. Rachel and I are still great friends to this day. She travelled with the German guys we’d met in Robinvale. They had an incredible trip through the desert to Broome. She then sailed (sailed!) down the West coast with someone she’d met at a backpackers, before heading back to England and creating a beautiful life and family. 

It’s important to remember that we never know what’s ahead. We never know what is ‘good’ and what is ‘bad’. We never know where a crash, whether physical or metaphorical will lead us. 

So I’m grateful for it all. I’m grateful for the freezing hands and the $1.80 per hour. I’m grateful for travelling around on such a tiny budget I was forced to be inventive. I’m grateful for the heartbreaks and the dopamine hits and the accidents and my mistakes. My mistakes are always my greatest teachers. 

There’s not one way to do something. There’s not a set path. As Carl Jung wrote, “If the path before you is clear, you're probably on someone else's.“ I had absolutely no idea I’d end up teaching yoga, let alone owning a business that actually employs people and supports the community. I had no idea I’d land here, on this sacred initiation land. So, whatever you love, do that. Trust in the great mystery. Allow it to unfold before you. Learn to make a plan, but also learn how to break it. 

I love you. Thank you for reading my story. I hope it inspires you to write stories of your own.