By Lucy

I tossed and turned all night. What to pack, what if I forgot something, all the things I would have done if I had known I’d be gone for the week, like laundry. I only had one pair of clean pants and 2 clean shirts, although thankfully I had 5 pairs of clean underwear. I dragged myself out of bed at 7:12, exhausted, and tried to eat a bowl of cereal while throwing stuff intp my motorcycle helmet bag. I tidied up my room and threw the nice sheets over my bed. Knowing Simo, she’d come in here to straighten it up while I was gone, so there was no real concern in making it perfect, just not embarrassing.

At 7:39 I heard movement outside, so I grabbed my bag and stepped out.

Gary was loading up the blue truck. “Ready?”

“Yup!”

“Hop in, then.”

Where are we going? Are we paying for our own food, or are you cooking somehow, or treating us out? How long are we working for? What am I being paid? I swallowed all these questions down, threw my bag in the back seat and got into the front. Just another day of a strange man driving me someplace with the promise of money at the end, although out of all of them Gary is the one I’d say has the least ulterior motives.

Gary is always in such a rush to go that he puts the car in gear and lets off the break before I’ve even closed the door behind me.

First he drove us down to the shop to grab a handful of tools, and to hook up the trailer with the concrete forms on it.

Then we stopped in Hororata. I pieced this together by myself; this was a house Regan was selling, and he needed a couple pieces of flashing along the roof. That took no time at all to throw up, and then Regan had to wait ’til 10:30 for the council inspector to sign off on the house. After, Regan would drive up with the tool truck.

As me and Gary pulled out of the driveway, Ethan ran over. “Can I come with you?”

“Sure, hop in the back.”

Another false start; Ethan forgot something and we had to go back. By 9 we were finally on our way.

Akaroa is a long drive, partially because there is no direct route there. You have to head towards Christchurch, then weave through the peninsula. We crossed the Canterbury plains, watching the familiar mountains recede behind me, and drove up towards the large mountain I had noticed near Christchurch.

The Banks Peninsula, as it is called, is actually two extinct volcanos. You can see it clearly from any overhead map, how there are two craters that now form natural harbors. It’s part of the reason for the formation of the island; silt and gravel ran off the Southern Alps and into the sea, but collected against the volcano and started forming a flat plain.

We stopped at a grocery store. The one in Akaroa is small and has limited selection, so Gary wanted to load up here. I was unsure if we were being released to fend for ourselves, but Gary directed me to grab a cart and push it behind him as he loaded it up. He’s cooking dinner for us.

Ethan disappeared and caught up with us at the cash register – he found a hot sauce that claimed to have Carolina Reapers in it.

The road cuts towards a brackish lake called Lake Ellesmere. A strong ocean current washed sand into a spit, which has blocked the lagoon and stopped it from being just another bay of the ocean. It is the second most polluted lake in New Zealand, suffering frequent algae blooms due to the run-off from the farms.

After that, the road starts winding its way into the mountains. Akaroa is scenic and a holiday town, full of campgrounds, boutique motels, and restaurants. Curiously, it was also settled by the French before the English, so all the roads have French names and everything is coloured for the French Tricolour.

I noted that the hills here aren’t taller than the ones in Northern Ontario, but they seem more imposing. I decided it must be because these hills are all windswept and bare, covered with brown grasses and nothing else. It makes them seem harsh and hostile.

The rest of the trip took my breath away. Once you’re into the peninsula proper, it’s lush and verdant. The podocarp trees, the green grass dotted with sheep, the way a break in the trees reveals a picture perfect view of the valley below! The crowning moment is when you crest the hill to go down into Akaroa harbor, and you can see the gem-blue bay below, the sides of the hills dotted with quaint seaside houses in the usual wide array of colours!

We wove our way through the little seaside holiday town, up the hill to the property at the end of a cul-de-sac.

They have a small pre-fab cottage on the property with running water, a small kitchenette, and two beds, which explains where Ethan was while Gary was away.

The house’s current state was a slab of concrete in the ground, although it was in 2 tiers.

First thing’s first; unpack the truck. Put the groceries away, back the truck in and take the concrete forms off the trailer. Gary took the bucket off the digger and used a round sling to lift the forms. Ethan threw himself into it with all the gusto of a 22 year old who thinks he is immortal, and quickly got the round sling tangled and trapped under the pile of forms on the slab while I was trying to stack them neatly on dunnage to avoid that very occurrence. We started sweating immediately; there was not a cloud in the sky and the temperature was higher than it has even been in Hororata, at least 30 if not higher!

Then we couldn’t do anything else without the tool truck, so we sat in the cottage for a cup of tea.

I was glad I had my leather shoes, if only for the fact that I was one not struggling to find purchase on the loose clay that made up the hill. In another way, the fact that my shoes were not work boots made me quite anxious that I would step on a nail or something else sharp, cuz tradies just throw such things to the ground with no concern at all.

I was also glad for my impulsive hike up Peak Hill, as I was now perfectly conditioned for carrying gear up and down the grade.

When Regan finally showed up, it was determined that we were short some rebar, so he took the blue truck down to Christchurch to get some. He brought with him some syrup, which was good because I was just kicking myself for not buying Gatorade in this ridiculous heat. It was quite good too, lots of orange juice in it, and some barley for some reason. Barley is very good for me, lots of iron and folate.

Ethan didn’t understand what the syrup was (it’s to be diluted with water, 1 part syrup to 6 parts water), poured himself a glass, and drank it straight before I could catch him!

We had to drill some holes in the poured concrete and cut some wood, and you could see the difference of experience vs strength. I’ve drilled a lot of holes in concrete; when I first signed up with the union, I ended up doing a lot of work with a company that installs pre-fab insulated panels, so it was second nature. You gotta pull the drill up every once in a while to clear the dust from the threads, which Ethan didn’t know. I might not be gung-ho about using the saw, but at least I know not to lean on it or force it. At one point he noted the impact gun was sparking and Gary pointed out it’s because he threw it into the dust while it was still spinning so it pulled dust into the intake for the engine.

There is a triple language barrier. Firstly, Gary’s accent, which turned basic words like “trowel” into “tray”, but also just the different names. For example, what we call channel locks, he calls a slip-jaw. The third is that they use metric when Canada uses imperial, so he’d ask for some 2 by 4 lumber, but he meant 2 by 4 centimeters, not inches.

We had to wire up the rebar where it would sit inside the form before we put the forms up, which was the rest of the day. Me and Ethan chatted and worked away while Gary sat in the cottage, making important phone calls. The council had to inspect the forms before we could pour the concrete, which seems silly. That was booked on Thursday, and the concrete pour booked for Friday.

Around 5, we were done and Gary released us. Ethan drove us to the hotel in the tool truck and checked us in. We were given keys for rooms 1,3, and 5.

I can’t tell if this is a hotel or a hostel. The sign outside says hotel; the signs inside say hostel. We ended up with private rooms, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a dorm room somewhere.

Room 3 and 5 have double beds. Room 3 is the “best”. it looks nicer and it has a desk. Room 1 had a single bed, is on the exterior wall and across from the toilet room, but it’s quite sparse. There was literally just the bed, the chair with a towel, and a sink that did not have running water. When I tried to look under it to see if it was even hooked up, the door fell off the cabinet and I decided not to touch it anymore.

I decided to take Room 1. Ethan immediately professed to feeling guilty and tried to talk me out of it, but I kind of like it. I find that accommodations in Canada tend to race to the top, always renovating and advertising themselves as “luxurious”. All I want is to spend 30 bucks on a bed for the night, not 200 for a “luxury”, why is that too much to expect? Mike’s been making Bukowski jokes again and it seems very Bukowski, the room barely more than a closet, located above the kitchen in a bar.

The view from the window was worth a million bucks, we are a stone’s throw from the water. I love the smell of the sea and I realized that I’m so used to living by the water that I don’t feel quite settled if I can’t smell it. How ironic that I picked one of the few places in New Zealand that’s the furthest from the water!

I noted the sign on the wall for help and Ethan said they had similar terms here to what Simonetta has offered me. I wish I had known about it sooner, a week or two here would have been nice. When I come back in February it will be well into backpacker season and they probably won’t be hurting for help.

Turns out Regan had taken off with my bag still in the truck, so I spent the better part of 2 hours sitting in the lobby because I didn’t want to sit on the bed in my dirty work clothes!

Finally he showed up. “Once you’re sorted out, we’ll see you down in the bar!” He said, handing me the keys to the truck.

I wasn’t sure how after work would go. Regan is quite gregarious, so I was willing to bet that he would want to hang out at the bar and drink, but Ethan usually just disappears to his room ’til dinner.

The shower room is little more than 3 waterproof walls, a shower curtain, a place the water comes in and a place the water goes out, but then that’s all it needs to be. I definitely had a sunburn on my nose and the top of my head, so I had a quick cool shower and changed into my single pair of afterwork clothes before heading downstairs.

Both Regan and Ethan had beers. I was amused to notice the bar was running a promo for Canadian club; win a trip to Canada! It’s weird to think of my homeland as some exotic, foreign place. It’s weird to think of having a homeland. I always just viewed Canada as the country I was born, but the barriers to travel have shrunken the world for me.

I glanced at the menu, then the wall behind the bar. They had some mixers. I remembered one of the nights on the Circle Tour when the Vagabond had tried to order a Caesar, but they don’t have them in the US.

“What kind of cocktails do you do?” I asked.

The man behind the bar shrugged. “We don’t really do that here, but ask and I can check.” He said, holding up his phone meaningfully.

I mean, you have cocktail mixers like Angostura bitters, so you obviously do a bit. Maybe that’s front of house stuff; there’s an upscale restaurant in front of the hostel/ grimy bar portion. “Long Island Iced Tea?”

He punched it in. “Yup, I can do that.”

Well, yeah, it’s just 4 different shots and a splash of Sprite. He rang it up on the till; 20 bucks! That’s 17 Canadian, which is expensive for one of those, and I should know cuz it’s my go-to drink.

Once I was seated at a bar table with Ethan, Regan and my outrageously expensive drink, I realized I only had half an hour ’til dinner and drank it rather quickly. With the dehydration of being in the sun all day and my stomach being empty, plus my tolerance is low after 2 months of not really drinking, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

At 7:30 we drove back up to the worksite. Dinner was 2 tiny lambchops and a heap of mashed potatoes. There was meant to be peas but Gary burned them (somehow).

Then we went back to the bar and had a couple more drinks. There’s a couple of slot machines, and Regan hopped on one, won 500 dollars immediately and bought us all another round. I had a couple doubles of Baileys and I was drunker than I had been even with the bottle of whiskey at my disposal, but then I had been trying to pace myself. Regan threw a fit and insisted the Grande is better, so we walked down there but it was closed. When we got back to where we were staying, they had also closed (probably cuz their only customers – us – left). So we went up to the hangout room, where Regan broke out a case of beer and a bottle of wine he had brought with him.

Regan was right liquored up and loose lips sink ships. He immediately started spilling all sorts of gossip that I won’t repeat here. I had a couple glasses of the cheap wine that Regan had, and him and Ethan polished off a crate of Heineken. We all sat around drinking and gossiping until 10:30, at which point I decided I aught to head to bed.

Aaaah, I love this though. Travelling, feeling the moisture in the air, a good day’s hard work and a drink afterwards, at the bar with mates. The smell of sawdust, the satisfying feeling of a hot shower washing away the grime. This is my perfect day!

I had packed a tea cup and my chamomile because I had anticipated spending the evening alone in my room, but it seemed like we would be out carousing every night.

I woke at 7 feeling well rested. It is a curious dichotomy that I miss Simonetta, my cabin and the routine of the work, but I love being out here getting my hands dirty again and drinking at night. We have breakfast at Gary’s cabin, then off to work.

Tuesday was our first full day of work. It was cloudy all day and not as brutally hot, perfect carpentry weather. This day, I learn formwork.

Formwork is simple in theory. You put up the rebar, put up the forms, then pour the concrete and let it set. In practice, it can be a little fiddly, because any flaws in the forms become a flaw in the expensive chunk of rock you now have. Measure many times, pour once is very much a mantra here.

The first thing I was told to do was grab a grinder and a pair of safety glasses and cut off the ends of the rebar that were too long. Love starting my day with a shower of hot steel shards. I find I end up using the grinder a lot and I don’t think I have a particular skill with it; I think journeymen just hate using it, and I can’t say I blame them. My arms were protected by my sleeves, but my hands were not, and the metal isn’t enough to penetrate your skin but it doesn’t stop it from hurting as the white hot metal pings off it. Soon my hands were covered in black scorch marks.

Gary hopped in the digger and used it to lift the heavy forms into place. Ethan and Regan maneuvered the form around and set the clamps on it. I had to do all the odd jobs, staying one step ahead of them preparing stuff, or running to the truck to grab things. Whoever had used the forms before us has left chunks of concrete stuck to them, which had to be chipped off before it could be oiled and lifted into position. It took a surprising amount of fiddling to make sure it was level and straight.

Eventually the boys didn’t want to get between the form and the clay wall dugout, which was my time to shine. I might not be as strong or as experienced as some of the guys, but just wait until there’s a tight squeeze and all those 6 foot 200 pounds guys are as good as useless.

I will say, the only thing that makes me slightly uncomfortable is the “locker talk”. Turns out, away from home Regan uses the C word and Ethan uses queer and gay as slurs, which are things I didn’t have to contend with back home. I made myself ignore them. There is a certain “what happens on the jobsite” attitude, but I always tell myself, as long as no one’s telling me I don’t belong there or saying I can’t do the work, i don’t care.

The day was constantly threatening rain, and you couldn’t see the hills on the other side of the bay for it, but it never came our way.

We were working ’til past 6 and not back at the hostel ’til 6:30. I showered and went to my room to write. I’m behind on my writing and there isn’t enough hours in the day to catch up on my writing, play Stardew and hang out with the guys. My pockets were so full of sawdust I had to clean out the charging port of my phone before it would charge.

Dinner was a lamb roast that was slightly overdone, baked potatoes, and peas that weren’t burned this time. Regan has nicknamed Gary “Frenchy” and keeps calling the cabin “Frenchy’s cafe”.

The bar was hopping when we got back. A bunch of people were playing poker on the pool table, and the servers were pushing tables together and covering them with white clothes. The bartender told us there was some “American Thanksgiving” event going on, with turkey and pumpkin pie, and we were welcome to join in, but we didn’t. He also informed me an electrician was going to be in my room the next day, to replace my outlet, which is absolutely needed. The springs were shot and I had to rig it to hold my chargers. I had another overpriced Long Island Iced Tea, then we retired upstairs to drink Regan’s beer and wine again.

Wednesday I was tired, sore, and didn’t want to get out of bed. Regan bought some sunscreen, which I used, and I kept my toque on all day for the sunburn on the top of my head.

The first thing Gary did was have us build a wooden scaffold around the form, which I was excited about. We never get to build wooden scaffolds anymore! The forms were about a foot shorter than we needed them to be, so we also had to add some planks to the top and rig them to bring it up to where we needed it. The last thing to do was cap the ends.

Inspired by Regan, I grabbed a piece of paper that was blank on one side, wrote “Frenchy’s Cafe” on it in big letters with Ethan’s marker, and used painter’s tape to attach it to the wall above the sink. I took a picture and sent it to Simo, who loved it. Ethan and Regan thought it was a riot and kept accusing each other of doing it, because no one thought it might have been me! Gary didn’t say anything, but he smiled when he saw it.

Disaster struck. The concrete guy couldn’t come Friday, he could do Monday instead. That threw everything out of whack. We had nothing to do without the concrete poured and set.

I was really at a loss for what to do next week. I wouldn’t be able to come up with them on Monday, as I have my tattoo appointment on Monday. I could come join them on the bike, which also gives me the option of staying after they’ve left and exploring Akaroa a bit on my day off. However, I still haven’t gone to see Arthur’s Pass and Castle Rock, which I should do before I head out. I don’t plan to bring the bike when I come back, and it will be a heck of a time trying to get there without transportation. I could always get out to Akaroa some other way at a later date. I was suddenly very aware that I technically only had 2 weekends left at the estate, but my next two days off were already occupied.

Ethan told me we get paid 200 a day. Well, he gets 200 a day; who knows how much I get. The wine Regan had last night was actually pretty good and only 20$ for a bottle, so I bought one of those instead of wasting my money on overpriced bar drinks. At 7 Gary called and said dinner would be late because he fells asleep and hadn’t started it yet. We tried to convince him to go out for dinner; no dice.

Thursday was a slow day. Gary had me cutting floor joists for Ethan to put on while Regan tidied up as we waited for the inspector to come by.

At 11 the inspector showed up. By noon we had cleaned up everything and left.

We had to stop in Rolleston so he could go to a bank, and he was in there for a while. I noticed a sushi place in the plaza. When was the last time I’d had sushi? Possibly since K took me out for sushi on Mother’s day (by accident), but I feel like it was sooner than that. Still. I ran over and grabbed a couple of trays.

The wind was insane! Presumably a correction of the hot, hot weather we’d been having. And yet, I noticed the loggers by the road doing a controlled burn. In this weather?

When we got back, I went right into my cabin, ate my sushi, and fell asleep. I woke up around 6, and Regan had invited me to go clubbing with him in Christchurch. I couldn’t take the bike out in this weather, though, and I certainly couldn’t drive it back after having drinks. It occurred to me later that Ethan had kept working after we got back and possibly I was expected to as well, but no one said anything to me. Well, whatever, dock my pay one day. 3 days times 200 dollars is fine by me.

Simonetta had indeed been in my cabin; she lined up all the jars neatly again, which made me chuckle.

Turns out Gary went to the pub for dinner, cuz she made a nice pasta dinner. Oh darn, he could have dropped me off at Regan’s. C’est la vie. I told her I was taking Friday off because I was tired and I knew I’d need Monday off, so there was no point in letting her give me the weekend. She asked if I could feed the chickens, with a slight note of desperation.

Back to normal, I guess.