Unexpected Life Lessons at a Winery Paradise Prison
There’s a revolutionary exercise craze sweeping Europe! It’s a total body workout — equally taxing on physical stamina as it is upon the pillars of emotional wellbeing. It’s called Farming. Have you heard of it? Farming has roots dating back to the dawn of humankind; it is, in essence, a lifestyle and livelihood harvested through agricultural husbandry. I’m 5 days in and already so swole, bro. This shit works. Remember, dear reader, you heard it here first.
Despite growing up in Petaluma, CA, a mecca of all things Clover, Strauss, and Butter and Eggs Day, I’ve seldom experienced farm life. Instead, I was raised to coo over the bounty of world class wines that Sonoma County is famous for. So it makes sense that I’d find an organic winery in the South of France for my first WWOOF (Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms) trip. WWOOF is a work exchange program where you receive free room & board in exchange for helping independent farmers. Pretty cool, right? As mentioned, also a great workout.
Winemaking: Scientific & Laborious
In theory, WWOOFing is a rewarding way to experience a foreign culture for free. You can make friends and try on a new way of greeting ‘everyday life.’ WWOOFers aren’t supposed to work more than 5 hours/day, but we’re averaging 7–12. Don’t call the Labor Board just yet — it’s harvest season so we knew days would be longer. In exchange for receiving the fruits of our labor, the winemaker lets us help with the entire production process — harvesting the vines, destemming and pressing the grapes, measuring the fermentation processes, and beyond. Pretty incredible, and tremendously laborious. My favorite part so far involves pairing either dawn or dusk with 3–6 hours of harvesting on a rolling hillside. I enjoy diligently collecting grapes and stumbling through small talk with the hired Moroccan men and women crouching beside me beneath the vines.
Imprisoned in Paradise: A Jaded Winemaker and his Wife
I really wasn’t expecting this. Long days, blistered palms, sore muscles, yes, absolutely. I was looking forward to that part — the intimacy of reconnecting with earth through honest, manual labor. What I did not expect is a Type A bipolar winemaker who detests his career choice as much as he loathes France itself. I’m not exaggerating when I say he and his wife are two of the most cynical people I’ve ever met. I laughed to myself after the first 15 minutes of listening to them complain about the pretentiousness of French people, the corrupt calamity that is the French government, the ghastly French people that soured their Airbnb host experience enough to pull their listing in a huff. And my personal favorite: their collective repulsion by our flagrant use of the word ‘awesome.’
But get this, they’re not French. The man, we’ll call him Charles, is British. The woman, we’ll call her Gina, is American. They moved just outside Montpellier, France in 1993 hoping to “get in before this area boomed.” Despite considerable commercial success in the global market, things didn’t go quite as planned. In short, they pretty much don’t sell their wine in France. Whether that’s by prideful choice or the result of an unreceptive market is debatable. But it’s clear to us WWOOFers that they act like (and seem to be) oddball rejects in the French wine world. He kind of reminds me of the Phantom from Phantom of the Opera; unloved and cast away from society, he resigns to a life rooted in pain and hurting others before he himself gets hurt, once again. Gina, although by no means warm, is better. Equally negative, but operates with a broader worldview and seems to have a little spirit left inside.
Charles yells at us. He demands expert-level work and has no problem dishing out insults if things aren’t done his particular way. But he doesn’t only yell — one time he was so angry, he picked up a broom and launched it across the winery. One time he grabbed Gina’s shoulders and shook them. All this after working us 2–3x normal WWOOF hours. When his temper flares, Gina scurries off to the market and brings us chocolate croissants. This, my friends, is called emotional abuse. Always look out for this type of behavior. Pay attention if someone makes you feel fear, guilt, insecurity, or unworthiness. Especially pay attention if that person, or their counterpart, follows up with saccharine kindness and forced gestures of apology.
So far, I’ve navigated these crazy waters rather unscathed, probably because I have experience dealing with hotheads and ego management. It’s frustrating because Charles embodies a great deal of what I left back in San Francisco. Impulsive decision making based on outer perception and personal ego. “Oh great,” I thought after his first blow up, “Here we go again. These people are everywhere!” Well you know what, yeah. They are everywhere. Shitty people are everywhere. You can’t run away from them, and a big part of growing up is learning how to deal with, and in some ways understand, these characters. Managing up is a tactical skill that’s critical to career growth, but also applies to normal life. Like now! Long story short, I’m cutting my stay by a few days, and will continue my trip on October 1st.
Learn How to Live From People Who Actually Live
I came here to learn how to make wine. I didn’t realize I’d be studying how to achieve higher quality life. My WWOOF friends are remarkable people. Despite our diverse cultural backgrounds, they seek out common threads to build a universal language of elaborate family meals, adventures to the Mediterranean Sea, and the ritualistic swapping of funny stories from home.
There’s an interesting juxtaposition between the emptiness I felt in San Francisco, the confusing tragedy of Charles and Gina’s paradise prison, and the open-hearted kindness I’ve felt from my new friends. If you’ve spent time with me IRL, you know I float the social spectrum of loud to quiet. I can be a firecracker or a sponge, soaking up newness like nobody’s business. Here, I am a sponge. I am listening. I’m marveling over the sheer number of hobbies, interests, and opinions these people have. I noticed when I share stories, I often talk about work, tech, and how busy I was all the time back home — as if it’s a perverted token of pride or something. Um, embarrassing much? In their spare time, they bake bread. They perfect recipes. They make jam. They give a little part of themselves in the food they share. They don’t post the finished product on Instagram. I am in awe of their authentic engagement with life.
I came here to escape my fast-paced lifestyle and get closer to the earth — to get some dirt under my nails and reset my life. It becomes clearer with every day and meal we share, that maybe I didn’t need to go anywhere after all.
