One of the ways I have previously mentioned I save money while traveling is by doing Workaways. I have worked at some hostels, a meditation center, and a couple of farms. One of the most interesting experiences I have had was working on a farm in the surrounding areas of Chiang Mai, Thailand. The farm dueled as a gallery, Makok Art Space, and workspace. While I got to help in the gallery a little, I mostly worked in the fields.
My alarm goes off at 7:30 am, and the fear of disappointing my hosts keeps me from clicking snooze.
I climb out from under my mosquito net, hop down from my twin-size bed, and onto the bamboo floor of my 5 by 10 feet stilted jungle house. The house is nothing luxurious but considering my host, Udom, built it himself, it is impressive. At the very least, it is enough to protect me from critters—except for the colony of ants I mistakenly lured in with snacks.
My farm attire is what you would expect from a girl in her 20s who came to Thailand not expecting to work the land—jean shorts riding up my butt and a dirty crop top. I get suited up, then take a short walk to the kitchen across the field from my dwelling. On the way, I try to avoid the chickens that chase after my feet and admire Udom’s various sculptures sprinkled around the property. Udom isn’t just a farmer but a professor, and a great artist. The kitchen is closed in, but the dining room is essentially outside. Udom sits at an extremely long picnic table scrolling on his iPad. He looks up for a second, and we half-smile at each other before I help his wife, Suthanee, finish breakfast. We bring out toast with peanut butter, banana, jam, and avocado. Suthanee pours us all coffee, and I am thankful they support my caffeine habits.
After breakfast, Udom hands me a hoe and tells me to wack at the weeds surrounding the papaya trees.
My only experience hoeing is in the club (jokes), and Udom can clearly tell. He looks at me with disdain and begins a demonstration. It reminds me of when I stayed at a Buddhist monastery, and a monk told me my sweeping was shit. I am only half paying attention to Udom’s lesson. I have already been working long enough that the area between my thumb and pointer finger is bleeding, and I am pretty sure I will have a heat stroke if I carry on. I hear the lunch bell and throw the hoe to the ground with force, muttering, “dumb hoe.”
I have discovered that manual labor makes your food taste better.
Or maybe homemade Thai food is just disturbingly delicious. I am positive both things are true. I nearly inhale my rice, vibrant blue butterfly pea flowers, and the various spicy vegetables piled high on my plate. Unlike at home where I spend my days stationary, I feel zero guilt bingeing my meal because I know I need the fuel. It occurs to me that this is why people go to the gym. Although a gym membership might be cheaper than a plane ticket to Thailand, I think this is more exciting.
My afternoon is spent doing more of the same: hoeing, sweating, and crying over the broken skin on my delicate suburban girl hands. (For the record, I did not actually cry—I am saying that for dramatic effect.) At the end of my work day, I sprint to the shower. I am too scared to figure out how to make the water hot because the last time I messed with an electric shower was in Ecuador when I was electrocuted. I take cold showers every day until my last when I finally decide that I would rather die than take one more cold shower.
After my shower, it is only six o’clock, but I have been awake for too long and am ready for bed.
I sleepwalk through dinner, laughing at Udom and Suthanee’s stories—even the parts I don’t understand due to the language barrier. My hosts always seem alarmed but hopefully not offended at how quickly I clean up and go to bed every night, but a young farmer needs her beauty sleep. Despite my desperate need for my head on a pillow, I take a moment to check under the bed because I will not risk sleeping with a lizard. The next day I wake up and do it all again.
