Thursday, November 15, 2007

Day 40 - We Hate Agriculture

The final day of olive picking - at last.

There was a thunderstorm last night and some of the olives have been struck from the trees by hailstones. We can still get the olives but it means picking them out of the mud rather than off a branch. Michael says, "Now I know how the poor farmers feel when their crop is ruined by the weather."

We point out that it's a matter of a couple of kilos of olives and seeing as how this is his hobby rather than anything remotely resembling a livelihood, he probably still has a way to go to understand the pain of being wiped out by the elements.

Meanwhile, we now have the tiniest understanding of the pain of the farm labourer. That's seven days in the field, taking a sniff at the world of agriculture and neither of us likes it. We are tired and we are bored. Where is the art? Where is the glamour? The moment the last olive is picked, we pack up and leave immediately - there are no happy songs to celebrate the end of harvest, we just want to get the hell out of there.

So, while Michael hoses off the dirt from the last olives that had to plucked from the mud, we turn our backs on the plantation and troop off back to town, trying to forget fields and trying to remember cafes and conversations, heavy traffic and shopping, and other city-style comforts.

The countryside: it's nice for a day trip...


7 days

3 labourers

300 kilos picked

60 litres of oil (expected)


Anonymous said...

Just think. Instead of picking olives you could have been sitting in Left Bank, in our usual seat at the bar, drinking red wine and gossiping outrageously about all and sundrie. Passing comment on all the other clientele with ill fitting clothes and horrible girlfriends. What a life! However the thought of living on a semi remote greek island has its upsides (when its warm of course).
Write soon. G

Paul and Nicole said...

Ah... the sweet memories of inner city living with a smorgasbord of gossip to dine on. Here it's more West Bank than Left Bank with my lippy and perfume gathering dust in the drawers, and the tittle-tattle mostly undecipherable in the rapid local tongue.

Missing you! X

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