Europe 2003 - Part 13: Grape-picking in Beaujolais

Tomorrow is our last day, Gaz had his first yesterday.

**** ME! We are living in an ancient house about 300 years old, and at the farmhouse we get meals. Pierre Blanche (the farm) is maintained by Jean Trouche, almost retired and working on the farm since the age of 10. There is about 12-15 of us, all kinds of people. A few days ago, I caught a cold and I’ve been put on an antibiotic and a wierd steroid and feeling like a zombie, my knees are in pain and my hands are cut up everywhere. This hard manual labour has taught me the hard way the qualities of persistence and humility. The work is to cut grapes using the aid of secateurs into a bucket, all day. We all sing and talk on the fields to pass the time, but is very hard labour. My lower back and hamstrings were first to be in agonising pain. And the damn drugs I was taking didn’t help the situation at all.

The working day starts at 5:30am. when Vincent claps us all awake. I have to say Vincent was always the most good-humored and cheerful man I ever met, even at 5:30am in the morning. Sometimes I also pick up the guitar at this time and sing Abu awake with the ABU song really loud since he never wakes up. We are bundled into a van, smelling like pants, secateurs ready, I wear the same clothes since they are so filthy there’s no reason to change. Breakfast is rudimentary - coffee or tea and bread, then we’re off in the cool of the dark morning. Buckets in hand, going on and on and on. By lunchtime we are dead, and lunch comes, the biggest meal of 3 courses, usually very filling. Then it’s a quick nap and we’re back to work in the vineyards until 6 p.m. in the evening. In high spirits at the end of the day, all the boys attack the front door to try and get to the shower, it’s a daily battle. 2 days ago our toilet broke and leaked everywhere (so we have no toilet) and during a lightning storm, bits of plaster fell into our room off the roof. About the toilet, there is a picture of Mark pooing outside and unfortunately some of me pooing outside also. For fear of the roof collapsing, we rapidly moved our beds out. I remember how utterly incredible the storm was.

Massive lightning sparks would light the sky every few seconds. We (me, Jeremy, Kunal, Gaz and Mark) went to the top of a hill to see them. The wine is nice and the grapes are not for eating but still tasty to nibble. People:

• Abu - clearly the coolest grape picker in France. A thin, wiry, laid back and very silly man from the Comoros Islands. Many a time we have screamed “ABOOOOOO” while working just for the hell of it. But the one phrase which us English will remember him for - “Don’t problem, Happy Birthday!” LOLOLOLOLOL!!!!!!
• Mark, Gaz, Kunal - My two friends from university and my brother, whom I convinced to share this nightmare with me. The language barrier is an annoying problem, and I often felt isolated since I didn’t speak French.
• Fred and Jean-Luc - two Frenchmen, Fred hyper-intellectually studying sculpture in Milan and Jean-Luc a rugged horse from Normandy whose hair put David Bowie and other front wavy-hair exhibitors to shame. Jean-Luc’s car had his whole house packed inside and I used to drive up to a church with him lunchtimes and his music was very random.
• Mummy Maud, Xavier the troll, Rashid, David the weed. Xavier was usually the suspect when it came to antics like emptying Abu’s shaving cream bottle onto Mark’s bed. We told David the meaning of gay properly and then called him gay all the time. The inside of Xavier’s mouth was a war zone, as teeth battled with other teeth and grew from everywhere, even from under his tongue.
• Jeremy - French, black, American? English speaking. His firm belief that everything was down to Jesus Christ formed the bulk of our conversations. Even asking him for the time went off into a Jesus tangent. Jeremy was reliable, friendly and straightforward, and I admired him much. And cool - a former rap lover converted to Christianity 6 years ago.
• There was a girl on the last day who was very interesting since she was exactly like the central character in the book I’m trying to write at the moment. She taught circus skills, was fairly hippy and a calm serene kind that must have had some amazing things to say if given the chance.

I have never worked harder in my whole life, not that I can remember. I have been taught to bow to the earth in this job, literally. A truly different “holiday”.

[Photo omitted - Caption: Amit Playing His Guitar Outside The Mansion]

[Photo omitted - Caption: Kunal, Mark, David, Amit and Abu in the van]

[Photo omitted - Caption: Mark and Amit]

[Photo omitted - Caption: Mark, Abu, Farmer Jean, Amit and Kunal]

[Photo omitted - Caption: Amit in the Van]

[Photo omitted - Caption: Mark, Gaz, Kunal and Amit at the vineyard]

[Photo omitted - Caption: All of us without Jean (and me). There’s a little hill behind us with a village built on its slopes and a church on top of it.]