My adventures in Portugal were exciting, but unfortunately, it was time to move on. Before I left the UK, I had arranged some work on a farm in Galicia, Spain, through workaway. I’ve worked with computers almost my entire working life, so as you can imagine, a farm with limited internet and electricity is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum of my normality.
From Porto, I took a bus to Vigo, though I didn’t stay too long. I just had dinner and took a blablacars to Ourense, where I stayed the night.
Galicia is far more green than Madrid. The countryside is truly beautiful and there are a fair few pilgrims traveling the roads.
I awoke the next day. I had breakfast and I planned my route to the small town in Galicia, Spain, where I planned to spend the next two weeks or more working on a farm.
On my way to the bus station, I saw someone about a hundred yards ahead, who looked like he may be heading to a farm, although he was traveling real light. He only carried a small backpack and a pair of boots.
He did turn out to be my fellow workaway companion and we met in the ticket queue for the bus.
I normally click with someone in the first 30 seconds of meeting someone. I didn’t click with Azul. I knew at this point that it would be hard to spark a friendship.
I tried to make conversation and suggested a beer, whilst we waited three hours for the bus to depart. He declined, in favour of reading his book.
I would rather get to know someone and build comradeship if I was going to spend two, potentially more weeks working and sharing a bedroom together, but he wanted to read his book and so I let him read his book.
We finally arrived at the small village, where the couple who owned the farm would pick us up. In four hours, Azul and I had less than small talk between us.
The couple picked us up, and they seemed nice and friendly. They were Dutch and I have had good experience with the Dutch. Three of my best pals are from Rotterdam.
Upon arriving at the farm, I was in awe at the landmass they owned and the views they had available all day, every day. It was beautiful.
They didn’t want any pictures taken, so I don’t have any to share.
The husband took us on a tour of the farm. Although they owned a whole load of land, they only actually managed a small part of it for now. Six years prior they had taken on a thirty-year abandoned farm. They had worked the land with an incredibly small budget and lived horrendously at the beginning of their project.
There still wasn’t a working toilet or shower for volunteers, although their comfortable-looking house had all of the basic modern living necessities.
The cabin provided for us to sleep in was comfortable and warm. It had a beautiful view over the rolling hills and dense forests.
We had dinner that evening, and I can’t really remember what we had, but there was bare minimum meat. The couple also announced they would have to leave us alone for our first day as a new shop had opened in town and had substantial discounts on all items, and so left us with a task to clear some land.
I went to sleep early that night. I didn’t know how well I’d sleep in the cabin and I wanted to be well-rested for the physical work.
I slept well and woke early. I was full of energy. I started the day with some press-ups on the cabin porch, in the warmth of the farm’s sunrise.
Breakfast was porridge mixed with nuts and fruit. We made porridge ourselves that morning, however, we had the same breakfast every morning.
Occasionally we had a mid-morning snack – chocolate cake and homemade peach syrup, diluted with water.
Lunches were the same every day too; tomato soup (water with some tomatoes), a slice of ham and cheese, either a tiny tin of tuna between four people or one boiled egg each and finally four slices of fried toast each.
Dinners were slightly varied vegetable stir-fries, with either chickpeas or rice. We had like a little bit of chicken or chorizo stirred-in, on some evenings.
The food actually tasted good, but boy did I feel bloated every minute of every day. I was shitting like 3-4 times a day. I thought a couple who owned an off-grid farm, against government taxes and thieving insurance companies would have taken more care of their diet, but we ate like paupers… and I felt like a bloated pauper, especially shitting in a bucket multiple times a day and emptying it afterward.
Still, the farm work was rewarding. Seeing your work once you’d completed it gives you a real sense of success. The husband would show us how to use his tools before we worked, as we were both rookies.
“Have you used a hoe before?”
I bit back my response. Farming potatoes with a hoe was fun. With each lump of soil I dug up, there was a possibility to find those little glorious potatoes.
We also helped plaster a swimming pool they wanted to complete before Winter. Which really got me thinking.
Why the fuck were we building a swimming pool before the volunteers had a working shower and toilet?
The farm owners lived in a fully functional house, whilst we slept in a wooden cabin, ate poor food, showered with a hosepipe and shat in a bucket. Not to mention, we only had a small solar panel available, barely able to charge our phones and there wasn’t any wifi.
They had wifi in their house for sure, as they were working on a website and contacted numerous workaway volunteers on a daily basis.
By this point, I’d already had a small run-in with the wife as she’d asked me to carry the breakfast pot to the table, just after I had shit in the bucket. I told her I wanted to wash my hands before handling any food pots, but she threw a tantrum regardless.
Azul was no comfort. I think I could have persevered if I had a good friend to fall back on, but he never responded to me.
Tom & Jerry style, or Sideshow Bob style, I’d also stepped on a rake and my jaw hurt – true story. The cartoon’s don’t lie. It hurts.
My muscles hurt, my back hurt, I was coming down with a fever, I didn’t like the way the couple had started to speak to me and so my first day off that I had, I told them I was leaving. I’d had enough.
It was a shame because I enjoyed the work, but I wasn’t just there for the work.
I was there for the experience. Preferably a good experience.
I wasn’t enjoying this experience.
So as I was packing my bags, I was deciding what I wanted to do.
Should I travel the coasts of Portugal and Spain?
But Autumn was already upon us and I really didn’t want to travel through poor weather conditions, carrying my bag. My plans had always been to settle in Germany for the winter.
When an idea struck me. An event that I’ve always wanted to attend, and it was finishing soon, though I perhaps had time…
I would attempt to make it in time for… Oktoberfest.
Destination: Munich, Germany