WWOOF-ing 101

It’s been almost a year since I got back from Europe and I’m still receiving e-mails from people who want to try WWOOF-ing.  A lot of people want to know the name of that WWOOF #5 (I’ll never tell, so stop asking).  But most people want to know how it works and what to expect.  And so, I’ve written this post, “WWOOF-ing 101” for anyone who’s curious about WWOOFing.

So let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

What is WWOOF-ing?

If the description on the official website (click here) wasn’t descriptive enough, here it is again!

WWOOF is an exchange – In return for volunteer help, WWOOF hosts offer food, accommodation and opportunities to learn about organic lifestyles.

If that’s still not registering, here’s the simplest possible description:  you (prospective WWOOFer) will go work on a farm in exchange for food and housing.  You will sleep in their homes (or their garages/chicken coops/tents/ caravans/ kid’s room/ home offices).  You eat their delicious/disgusting/bland/culturally-typical food.  You will learn about life, love and yourself.  (Okay, I’m stretching it with that last bit, but it’s not far off…)

Working in the vines in Italy

But please, here are some guidelines…

In my travels, I came across some mixed reviews about WWOOF-ing.  I’ve lived my share of bad experiences and heard some more.  But most bad experiences can be avoided if you (the prospective WWOOFer) follow these guidelines.

1.  Expect the unexpected.

No matter how many details are listed in the WWOOF postings, the farms you will go to will never be anything like what you were expecting.  This can be good and this can be bad.  But don’t fret!  WWOOF-ing is about adventure!  So you’re shacking up in a rotting cabin with hundreds of mosquitos.  It’s all part of the fun!  If you can rough it, it’ll make for an interesting story later on.  If you can’t, go find yourself a five-star, Michelin-rated bungalow and stop complaining!

True story: I worked on a farm in France and the farmer asked me to translate an e-mail he had received from a couple in New York.  The e-mail read like an e-Harmony questionnaire.  They wanted to know how far from Toulouse the farm was situated (in miles and in hours by train), what the accommodation was like, what they’d be eating, when they’d be working, what kind of work was expected, if they’d get days off, etc.  Midway through translation, the French farmer stopped me.  He asked to reply to their e-mail.  He was rejecting them because of their lack of adventure.  While these were all valid questions to ask, I had to agree with the farmer’s position on the matter.  These people clearly were expecting one thing for their summer vacation.  And if they didn’t get it (which they probably weren’t), they wouldn’t be happy.  And neither would the French farmer.  I digress.

It’s normal for you to be excited and nervous about your first WWOOF experience, and that’s okay.  As you go on and work more farms, you’ll learn to loosen up and take whatever is coming your way with a positive and adventurous attitude.  It makes for very attractive personality traits as well.

Be open to surprises.  They can be good.  They can be bad.  They can be surprisingly awesome!

2. Be a good house-guest.

If I had to choose two words to describe a WWOOF-er, they’d be: laborer and house-guest.  While the earlier is a given, the latter isn’t always so obvious.  But being a good house-guest is just as important, if not more, to maintaining a good relationship between WWOOFer and host.

After receiving strangers in their homes week-in and week-out, many hosts have certain expectations of their WWOOF-ers.  There’s the obvious: don’t hog the couch/shower/food/whatever; be polite; pick-up after yourself.  Also, on all of the farms I’ve worked on, I was asked to do the dishes after dinner.  These are all expected of you as a house-guest, so don’t whine about their house rules.  They did make you dinner after all!

But it’s not just about chores.   Be social!  I’ll admit that on my first ever WWOOF, I was a complete anti-social brat.  After dinner, I’d do the dishes then head straight to the caravan (my accommodation) and watch Planet Earth with the headphones on.  Big no-no.  Stay and chat!  My favorite memories of WWOOF-ing are the post-dinner political chats, cultural teachings and all around celebrations of life.  Don’t be shy!  Make friends!  Be social!

3. Work

This is obvious.

Because there is no exchange of money, WWOOF (as in the organization) has set up guidelines for both workers and hosts to follow.  Hosts may ask their WWOOFers to work a maximum of six hours of labor per day, six days a week.

For many big-city westerners, working in the country may sound bucolic, but it’s a lot harder than many imagine.  But if the hosts are accommodating you nicely and feeding you full every night, you have to do your part.  Fair is fair.  If you don’t meet their working expectations, they may speak up.  If they do, this makes for awkward dinner conversation.

Working away in France

Not only that, but most of the farms posted depend on WWOOFers to make ends meat.  This may be your vacation, but it’s their work (and their life) you’re helping support.

In short: don’t be a freeloading traveler and put in your hours!

That said, I have worked on a farm where the host has juiced me for more than my WWOOF-ing hours worth.  If this happens to you, speak up to your host first.  Tell him/her that you’ve worked over six hours today.  If they nod but continue to work you overtime day after day, report them (HONESTLY* and OBJECTIVELY*) to WWOOF.org.

* One WWOOF host I worked for contacted me a year later to act as a witness on his behalf.  Apparently, one WWOOFer he hosted barely put in her hours and he confronted her about it.  She left the farm the next day.  A few weeks later, his WWOOF Host membership was revoked because of false claims this lazy WWOOFer had made about him.  Because of an injury he had suffered while I was there, he can’t do farm work alone.  Not only that, but he depends on WWOOFers to help maintain his farm and his crop. Luckily, previous WWOOFers, who are now good friends of his, have decided to help him out.  *

Why WWOOF-ing?

1. It’s cheap!  No kidding.  As a (lazy) student traveller on a budget, WWOOF-ing was perfect for me.  I’d stay put (geographically speaking) for two weeks at a time and not spend a dime.  Jumping from hostel-to-hostel was, in my opinion, way more exhausting than hard labour in the (picturesque) field.

2.  You’re totally immersed in the culture.  I learned way more about Italy living with an Italian family, speaking Italian, eating Italian food, watching Italian television than I ever would in my Italian hotel room reading my Italian guidebook with my non-Italian travel buddies.

3. It’s so much fun!  The hosts are awesome!  You eat amazing food.  There are other WWOOFers on the same farm; you make friends.  You watch a baby deer being born.  You go for a hike in the nearby woods.  You play with the house cat.  You make wine! You go to the market.  Sell some jams.  Buy some pattiseries.  You take pictures.  Show your family.  What’s not to love?!

Bonus: street cred.  “So you took cooking lessons taught by Jamie Oliver?  Pst! I was taught by Italian gypsies in a 12th-Century shack in the Tuscan countryside how to make real Italian sugo di pomodoro fresco al basilico, senza electrical devices.”

Hopefully, this answered all your questions you may have had about WWOOF-ing.  But from the bottom of my heart, I think it’s something everyone who loves a good adventure should try.

Safe travels!

🙂 Julie

Europe in Review

Considering I’ve been gone for four months and I’m leaving today, I figured a good ol’ farewell/review post should be in order.  Here are some of my favourite and/or most memorable part of Europe.

La Rambla, in Barcelona. On either side, cars and busses are whistling by.  In the middle, locals are dressed in all sorts of bizarre costumes to make a buck.  For some reason, street performers are really popular.  The first day or two, you’ll stare.  After, you totally ignore them.  But there are some weird costumes…

Cinque Terre.  The only bit of exercise I got in Europe!  While the five towns of the Cinque Terre were completely overrun by tourists, you could sometimes escape them on the trails.  Actually, the trails were favourite part of my four days there.  Invigorating and breathtaking, you can stop at any given town and take a dip to cool off.  Come in the shoulder season though.  While you may not notice a difference between shoulder and high season in the bigger cities, in smaller destinations like Cinque Terre, it gets annoying really fast.

Croatia was one highlight that stands out simply because I wasn’t in the city and I wasn’t in the country.  I  booked a week in Croatia because I thought I should at least step out of the EU for a little while, so it looks like I’m trying to reset my 90-day clock.  Whether it will work for me is still a mystery.  But what a way to do it!  Croatia was breathtaking to say the least, but sooo chilled out.  Because I didn’t speak Croatian and because there weren’t many English-speaking tourists, I was in the minority again.  No one hassles and everyone’s laid back.  The locals are so warm.  It was also great to share this someone else, MAdeline from White Rock, BC.

In Amsterdam. Amsterdam isn’t a complicated city, but when you’ve sampled the local specialities, it can turn into the Twilight Zone. Take riding in the country for example, we spent four hours just trying to locate ourselves so we could go home, which then took another two hours.  Didn’t help that the entire time I had Radiohead playing in my iPod.

While I’m firm believer in looking up local festivals and planning a trip around those festivals, I arrived in Paris (only for one day on my way back to Rome) on the last day of the Tour de France.  Best coincidence ever.

I had an amazing time in Paris. An absolutely magical day!  From left: Australia, South Africa, Irish, Canada and Australia.  Photo: Andy “Australia”.

On my way back to Croatia, I ran into four Australian boys.  After spending four hours in a French town between two trains, they had convinced me to join them in Rome for a few days.  But, who decides to join four strangers to a foreign city in a matter of a few hours?!  I figured, though, that if I didn’t go see Rome with them, I probably wouldn’t do it on my own.  What a way to see Rome, though.  I very fun few days!!

In Venice, a sign pointing to la Piazza San Marco.  Venice is lots of things.  It can be a seaside town, like Vancouver, with a boardwalk and waves splashing onto the sidewalk.  It can be a canal city, like Amsterdam, quiet and serene.  Or, it can be a corn maze.  Getting lost in Venice is an experience in itself. If you play safe and don’t wander off-course, you’ll see the postcard.  Take the alleyways and stray off a bit.  Hopefully, there are tiny signs like this to guide you when you’re totally lost.

Special shout out to Karen, Lee and Rohan Wood; Mike the Vancourite I met in Barcelona; Oscar from Barcelona; Phoebe and Ellie, the Irish wwoofers; Bernard; Bernard’s friend; my roommate in Genoa; that couple from San Diego I met in the Cinque Terre; Pierangelo and Cristina from Vetriceto; Mattia Marella; Jilly, the canadian chick who worked at the hostel in Split; Madeline from Croatia; Kevin Kennett; Emmett “Irish”, Julia “Australia”, Andy “Australia”, “Holland”, “South Africa”; Will, Simon, Tommy, Harry and Ed for an amazing time in Rome; Dario, Barbara and Rocco from Lolmaia; Dafne the Countess and Doughie from Certaldo; Warren and Dana, the Texans; and huge shout out to everyone from WWOOF#5: Yael Julie “YJ” Fischer; AnnaLisa; Sian; Sophie; Cris; Martina; Moris; Daviday and Louise; Mauro the chef; Patti the chef; Theodora; Lititsia; Benjamin; Pushpa; Beatrice; Benjamin; Tess; and Michael Moritz (I suppose). I know I’m forgetting people, so thanks to all those I met in Europe!

Most of all thanks to Mom, Dad, Hugo and Simon who all supported me doing this even though I was kind of a crazy idea… Can’t wait to get back home!!!

Signing out

🙂 Julie

two (last) days in Paris

PAris was first and is my one, true European lover.

I was first introduced to Paris on my sixteenth birthday.  My parents had arranged a house exchange with a family that lived in the 20th.  For two weeks, it dazzled me with les Champs Élysées, le Louvre, le Quartier LAtin, le Jardin du Luxembourg, and the list goes on.  When I got home, I fell into a deep depression.  I longed to see Paris again.

Change would have it: in my senior year of high school, the school board arranged a trip with my senior class and other senior classes from around the province.  I wasn’t as thrilled as the first trip; we were visiting all of the places I had already seen.  The exceptions being Versailles and la Normandie.  It wasn’t really a parisian experience, per say, like my first one.  This was more of a two-week long field trip.

I chose Paris as my landing-in and flying-out city for my European trip this summer mostly because it was the only European city I knew and because I spoke the language, a gift I would later be very thankful fort.  But when I landed, I wasn’t interested in seeing Paris.  I was going to be spending the next four months in Europe.  I had already seen Paris twice, now it was time for something new.  Besides, who has time for just one European lover.

Barcelona seduced me with its vivacity and colours.  In comparison, Paris seemed dead.  The French Riviera had me drooling and dreaming of summer vacations by the beach.  The water was so blue and clear, it reminded me of those blue ice-stick tubes you eat in the summer.  Genoa was an interesting lover.  It uninterested me at first.  I thought: this city has complexity problems.  But then, I let it in and genuinely began to like it.  Florence will be my Italian lover, for sure.  Unfortunately for Florence, I’m more of a French Baroque kind of girl, not a medieval kind of girl.  Rome was so popular, I felt like it had barely anytime for me at all.  I felt neglected, alone.  I learned I could love Rome, but only in the company of others.  But even then, Paris would never do that to me.  Croatia wasn’t particularly individual.  Croatia was a one-night-stand.  An amazing one-night-stand, but Croatia could’ve been anywhere.  There was nothing really croatian about Croatia.  Amsterdam was a trip, but I don’t think we could ever be.  Venice was everything Daviday, from WWOOF#5, told me it would be: brilliant and magical.

But still, nothing compares to Paris.  Paris may not be hot and sexy like Barcelona, but it sure is romantic.  Paris may not have sandy, pebble or rock beaches like the Riviera, but it has la Seine.  Paris may not have been the birthplace of the Renaissance like Florence, but it sure as hell was the birthplace or home of some of the most influential artists of the 19th and 20th Century.  Paris may be popular like Rome, but it’s modest for a big city.  It’s ashamed of its popularity and the fact that it exploits itself, which I find endearing.

But, there’s just something about Paris that makes me weak in the knees, that almost brings tears to my eyes when I walk through its streets, that gives me a little bit of a skip in my step.

Le Marché des Fleurs et des Oiseaux.  I stumbled on this by accident.  I first came here with my senior class a few years back.  I nice way to start the morning off.

Across la Seine, le Palais de Justice and la Conciergerie, where MArie Antoinette was kept captive during the last few months of her life.

La Pyramide at the Louvre.  Not really found of the pyramid itself.  I like the old parts of the palace.

Les Jardins des Tuileries. In the back, you see l’Obélisque.  And behind that, if you look closely, you’ll see l’Arc de Triomphe.

It’s only Paris if you see the Eiffel Tower!  …so some people say.  I will admit, though, that I get a little twinge, a good twinge, whenever I see it.  It’s like a little reminder that, hey: you’re in PAris!

La Place de la Sorbone. It reminded me of Sophie.  I sat on the steps in front of the Panthéon to eat lunch.  Super casual.  Paris has to be the only city in which it’s perfectly acceptable to people watch.  In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the local pass-time.

Day two: Versailles

I was really excited about Versailles.  That is until I got there: the line-up was absurdly long! I waited in line for about 45 minutes until I decided to give-up and go back to Paris.  Right as I was leaving, they announced on the speakers that if you only want to go to the gardens, you can go straight to garden entrance.  YES!!  I wasn’t that interested in the castle part anyhow.  I pulled an “I’m a student” and got in for one euro less than regular.

Oh Versailles!  For some reason, I feel like it’s a guilty pleasure to enjoy going to Versailles, because, I thought, no parisian would willingly go to Versailles on their day off.

LOVE IT!!  I took my earphones out because I realized there was music playing.  I heard someone say it was Mozart because he was one of Marie-Antoinette’s favourites.

This part of Versailles actually doesn’t require a pass, which I thought was funny.  I desperately wanted to go somewhere where I was allowed to sit on the grass.  Turns out I didn’t need to pay for that at all.  I ended up taking a nice little nap here.

Magnificent!  Seriously, if there are people who live in castles like this, I’m marrying into that family.  No argument.  It’s been decided.

Le Bassin du Miroir. One of my favourite places in Versailles.  There is classical music playing and the fountain is synced to it.  I have a video which better demonstrates what I mean, but I don’t know how to load it onto this blog.  To view the video on my youtube page, click here.

L’Orangerie.  I desperately wanted to pick an orange as a souvenir.  Pretty sure it’s been done before and that it’s sourly frowned upon.

LE Château.  In comparison to the gardens and all of Versailles itself, le château isn’t that big.  But then you see it and think: “well if this is small in comparison to the rest of Versailles, Versailles is HUGE!”

I had a marvellous two days in Paris.  And while Paris is my favourite European city, I’m not sad about leaving.  For some reason, I have a strange feeling I’ll be back in a few short years.

À la prochaine, mon amour, mon cher Paris!

🙂 Julie


I skipped out on Lake Como to stay a little longer at WWOOF#5, but everyone at WWOOF#5  told me not to skip out on Venice.  And I’m glad I didn’t.

Alberto, one of the more permanent wwoofers at WWOOF#5, was heading to Vicenza, about an hour’s North-West of Venice.  He offered me a ride to Padova.  I usually like road trips, but MY GOD the highways in Italy ARE HORRIBLE.  Side note about Italian politics: most italians are communists on a local level, but nationalist on a federal level.  Consequently, no one takes care of the highways.  Pot holes everywhere.  Not a smooth ride.

Alberto dropped me off at the train station in Padova.  From there, it was a pretty straight forward.  Took the train to Santa Lucia Station, then a boat to Giudecca.  From the “boat”stop, it was only a 50m walk to the hostel.  Oh yeah: there aren’t any busses; only boats.  Seems pretty straightforward, but you won’t believe until you see it:  Venice is on water!

La Basilica di San Marco in the morning.  Crowded and beautiful!  The Venetians were crazy on details. I’m used to the simpleness of the Etruscan/Roman/Tuscan designs on Tuscany.  Amazing!

Canals everywhere!! The annoying thing is that unlike a street, you can’t cross a canal until you a reach a bridge.  Often, you hit dead ends.

Looking down the Grand Canal on il Ponte di Rialto.

Looking down along the side of Dorsoduro, the Southern-most island of Venice.  On the other side of the Canal, on the left, is Giudecca, where I was staying.

La Galleria dell’Academia. On the tip of the Dorsoduro island, facing Piazza San Marco.  Getting to Piazza San Marco is a totally different story.

Beautiful details!  And to think this was built on an island!

Looking North from Dorsoduro, to Piazza San Marco.  I sat on the steps on la Galleria dell’Acamedia to eat lunch and read a little.

Looking down the Grand Canal from il Ponte dell’Academia, the newest of the three main bridges on the Grand Canal.  Ohhhh Venice…. They should make a movie called Venezia, mi piace. I’d watch it…

Oh WHAT?!?  Piazza San Marco is flooded!! So gross!  Tourists were happily willing to walk barefoot and, at some points, knee-high in canal water.  Polluted and full of centuries worth of human excrements. EEEWWWW… I avoided the water as much as I could, until…

FFUuuudge...  should’ve seen this coming.  Great..  EEWWWWwww…. (I hate to admit it, but it was kind of refreshing…)

Beautiful Day!  Venice is such a tease because the sun is so hot, you just want to jump in the water, but you know you’d die out of disgust if you did…  too bad.

The quiet life on Giudecca, the largest island facing Piazza San Marco.  I really like that the hostel is on Giudecca.  It’s two boat stops away from la Piazza S.M., which makes it central in Venice and yet, because it’s on the other side of the canal, there are no tourists.  Quiet and serene… ahhhh…

Sadly, today marks the nineth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.  So sad.

Ho solo una notte in Venezia.  Domani, prendo il treno per Parigi per due notte.  Dopo prendo l’aeroplane per Seattle.

A dopo!

🙂 Julie

WWOOF#5 in Review

A lot has happened since my last post.

girls’ day morning out

Sophie, AnnaLisa, Martina and I all managed to pull off a free morning on Saturday.  AnnaLisa and I only work in the afternoon and at night.  Sophie had to book time off.  Martina just got really luck.

Hitchhiking (or autostop): the only way to get around Tuscany.  After about ten cars, a handsome young fellow stopped.  Not bad.  From left: me, Sophie and AnnaLisa.

In Volterra, we strolled through the market, stopped for cappuccini (that’s many cappuccino), and biscotti, and did a little shopping.  Soooo refreshing to get out of WWOOF#5 for a little and to have some good old fashioned girl time.  Sophie was especially happy: she had just finished a 4000-word essay on Becket’s works, was free of Rumi (a two-year-old devil of a child) and other au pair duties.

Big purchase of the day: green Ray-Ban knock-offs.  Cost me 5€, they did.  Photo: Sophie.

Empty Villa

Having the villa totally rented out sucks. Everything is off-limits and you can’t even go near it if you’re not working.  So when the guests finally left, the villa was completely empty (free of guests!) for two nights.  It felt like we were little kids running around in a giant masion, all to ourselves.  We watched Star Trek in the theatre room, soaked up the sun by the pool, explored the “forbidden” parts of WWOOF#5 (including a secret costume room up on the top floor) , skimmed through books in the library, went fig and blackberry picking, ate dinner in the backyard at sunset.  We were even contemplating playing sardines at night.

Sian on the look-out. Sian, the last wwoofer to arrive during my stay at WWOOF#5, and I got bored one day and explored the villa.  We took off our sandals and tip-toed up to the top floors of the villa.  Up there, we found these stairs leading to a look-out room, no bigger than a single bed.  There are two balconies on either side of the look-out room.  The view from up there has been tattooed in my brain; it was breathtaking.

Lunch in the courtyard. Another bonus of having the villa completely empty was that we could eat in the courtyard.  Kids running everywhere.  Every lunch felt like one big family gathering.

Me in the pool. I’m pretty sure my age drops 15 years when I go swimming.  Every time I went down to the pool, I looked for something to toss in so I could go dive and get it…

Chillin’ by the pool. It killed me how impossible it was for me to figure out the time travel-ness in Star Trek.  Sian and I spent our out-of-the-water time coming up with possible theories.  We came to the conclusion that there exist two parallel realities, existing 50 years apart, and Nero effs it up.

Dinner with a view. Sophie, left, and AnnaLisa, right, enjoying dinner and wine on the backyard terrace.

Girls’ (and Daviday’s) Night Out in Florence

On my second to last night in WWOOF#5, Daviday and Louise invited AnnaLisa, Sian, Sophie and I to come out with them in Florence.  They were meeting friends for dinner.  With Daviday driving and Louise in the passenger seat, the four of us squished in the back for almost two hours.  Good thing Louise has amazing taste in music.

Sophie and I in front of the Duomo.  Sian and Sophie had never been to Florence.  “Better see it drunk first; everything looks bigger,”  we advised to them.

Sophie and me.  One thing I will miss about Europe is the public drinking.  Bars overflow, so city regulations allow patrons to hang-out in a nearby park or in the streets.

Later that night, we went to this club called “the Blob”.  Weird name, but sick tunes!!! They played 1920’s/1930’s gypsy jazz.  SOO MUCH FUN!!!  When they switched to “newer” music, like James Brown and other 70’s or even 80’s, we requested the DJ go back and play the older stuff.  Also, Louise and I got our a***s handed to us when we got wipped playing fuzeball.

I had the most amazing time at WWOOF#5.  I skipped out on Lake Como to stay a little while longer.  If Venice weren’t a must-see in Italy, I would’ve stayed a little longer even.

Hopefully one day, I’ll come back to WWOOF#5.  Thanks to everyone for an amazing three weeks!!!

🙂 Julie


According to schedule, I should’ve had my day-off on Sunday, but AnnaLisa made the good point that buses don’t run on Sunday.  So, I pushed my day-off to Monday.  I wandered around for a bit and then took the bus back to WWOOF#5.

Volterra is like every other Tuscan province capital.  That isn’t to say it isn’t impressive, but I’m beginning to notice repeating patterns.

For starters, it’s on a hill, at least the old part is.  Tuscany’s glory days really took place during the 13th and even 14th Century, during the Middle Ages.  This is why Arezzo, Siena, Volterra and probably Grossetto too are all Medieval towns: walled cities (the ones mentioned are capital cities of the provinces) built way up on a hilltop, completely surrounded by Tuscan countryside.  This was done for defensive reasons, not aesthetic, obviously.  In the middle of the old town, the City Hall with its bell tower and clock overlook the main square around which most of the tourist life is centred.

il Teatro Romano. Like Arezzo, there are some traces of the Romans’ rule that remain.   Also like Arezzo, when they were building the walled city during the Middle Ages, they didn’t bother to include the Roman ruins in the walled city.

Volterra is great little city to get lost in.  Plug in your iPod, play some Grizzly Bear and go for a stroll.

The Palace.  As per uze, I can’t seem to fit the whole thing in one shot.  Still impressive though.

What almost killed Volterra for me was the fact that Stephanie Meyer refers to Volterra as the vampiric epicentre of the world in her Twilight series.  I’m guessing Meyer has been to Volterra; the way she described Volterra was waaaayy off.  Take the Da Vinci Code for example: the details are extremely specific, so some churches in Paris are either trying to cash in on the fame or avoid it.   Fans of the Code also know exactly where to go and what to look for.  For Twilight, this isn’t the case.  Souvenir shops and the city of Volterra aren’t trying to cash in on the publicity or marketing opportunity because there isn’t one.  Meyer  only mentioned Volterra without actually knowing it all.   Consequently, Volterra ignores this opportunity to shamefully exploit itself.  Instead, Volterra embraces its Medieval and Etruscan roots which I find are far more fascinating.  Still though, you see tourists taking pictures of each other biting one another.  As the Italians would say: “bo.”

Walking down one of the main streets in Volterra.  Pedestrians only.  YES!  The gelato lady screwed up my order and didn’t want to take responsibility for who screwed up…totally ruined my afternoon.  Mint and chocolate makes way more sense than hazelnut and chocolate.  I mean, come on!

And then it started to rain…a lot.  This is the main cathedral.  I wish I knew more about the different periods in Italy’s history so I could talk about the architecture.   It isn’t of the gothic style, though; I can tell you that!

And then it was sunny again!  Looking outwards from the old Volterra down onto the new Volterra and the Tuscan countryside. Like in Croatia, taking the bus to Volterra is part of the experience because you see what the landscape is like.  And like Croatia, it’s absolutely stunning.

Walking from the bus stop back to WWOOF#5.  Again, beautiful countryside.


Tonight, there are no guests in the villa so we’re going to have a pool party!  So excited!!! Most of the rules enforced at WWOOF#5 only apply when guests are eating or staying in the villa.  When no one’s around, everyone gives in to their inner-hippie.  Woooo!

🙂 Julie


Writer’s note: To protect the privacy of those living and working at the fifth farm on which I wwoofed, I will not use the name of either the farm or the owner in this blog.  Instead, I will simply refer to the farm as “WWOOF #5”.

There’s an episode of Sex and the City that perfectly describes how I felt when I first arrived at WWOOF#5, my current and final woof farm.  In the episode, Miranda gets asked out by an amazingly gorgeous man, one she deems out of her league.  She can only justify it as “cosmic karma”: she’s been handed so many bad dates in the past that the stars dealt her a good card for a change, like karma.

Before WWOOF#5, I was wwoofing on a tiny soya production farm called Lolmaia.  There, I worked 7.5 hours a day, minimum.  I was bunking in a cave with no room for my gear.  We were eating crap food.

WWOOF#5 is the wwoofing equivalent of Brad Pitt.

I don’t really know how to describe WWOOF#5, because it isn’t like any of the other farms I’ve wwoofed on this summer.  It started as a project, a farm and, slowly, transformed itself into a five-star villa resort community.  Most of the residents, people who live and work on WWOOF#5, have been with WWOOF#5 since the very beginning, ten years ago.

La Fonte. This is where most of the wwoofers stay.  It’s hidden about 400m down the road from the villa.  The inside felt very familiar for some reason.  A few days later, it hit me that la Fonte came straight out of Trainspotting;  it looks like a crackhouse.  Spiders and mosquitoes everywhere, mattresses on the floor, paint chipping off the walls, etc.  It doesn’t bother me, though.  I’ve stayed in worse places.

For 15€ an hour, guests or residences can “rent” a horse.  Alberto, a wwoofer who is staying all summer, will guide you and your horse through the woods by the villa.  I’m too broke, but I’ve been considering going for an hour or two on my day off.

The entrance. NO WHERE in the wwoof host list did it mention that the farm is part of a five-star luxury villa.  I imagine that was a precautionary step to avoid getting bombarded with wwoofing requests.  So you can imagine how awed I was when the Fiat pulled up to this.  I was expecting another small, family-run farm that grows just enough produce to sell at the local farm.  Far from it, baby.  Far from it.

The villa. The right (brick) part of the villa is public.  The first floor is the guest living room (off-limits).  The second is the library.  The third floor is the music room.  The left part of the villa are the rooms.  To stay in the cheapest room will set you back 320€ a person.

Guest living room.  No one is ever in here.

Pool table! There is also a ping pong table room, but Annalisa tells me it’s haunted.

The Library. Luckily, it isn’t off-limits because it is my favourite room in the villa.  I come up here everyday for at least an hour or two to read or to nap.  In all the time I’ve spent up in the library, I haven’t seen a single guest or resident in it.

My favourite place in the villa.  Right here.

La Sala Musica.  Another really cool room that no one ever goes into.  It’s on the third (or fourth) floor and it has its own set of stairs.  Most of the time it’s locked, but when it isn’t, I’ll go up for a little nap.  The walls may look a little bare, but they’re planning on redecorating it.  Even its bathroom is ridiculously fancy.  It is off-limits, though, but I’ve been up here a few times.

Indian Night. Pushpa, one of the “higher-ups” at WWOOF#5, organized an Indian Night to celebrate the Full Moon.

Indian Night. I was asked to help wait on the tables, to which I happily obliged…until I found out I was supposed to wear a “traditional” Indian outfit.  Pushpa lent me this “Indian” dress.   I’m obviously stoked on it…

The pool at sunset. During high season, it’s strictly off-limits for woofers, au pairs, residences and anyone else who isn’t a paying guest.  If you want to go for a swim, it has be when the guests aren’t around, so early in the morning, during lunch or dinner, or late at night.  If there are few guests in the villa, it is really easy to sneak in a swim.  Any resident or wwoofer or au pair who stays on WWOOF#5 in March, April, May, June, September and October have the chance of going swimming whenever because guests are few.

The only times I’ve gone swimming are during sunset, when the guests are in the dining room eating and the pool is empty; and at night, when the guests have gone to bed.  It is sooooo nice.

You can’t see it in this picture, but with good eyes, you can see Volterra in this distance.

I’m not going to lie: this doesn’t feel like a wwoof at all.  I work in the (professional) kitchen about three hours a day.  I’ve only worked in the garden two hours since I arrived six days ago.  It feels more like a summer job working at a resort, but I wouldn’t pass it up for anything else.

The people here are so laid-back.  It’s such a bizarre set-up: a five-star luxury villa resort run and maintained by hippies and green activists.  I love it!

🙂 Julie

Fattoria Bassetto

When you’re travelling on a budget, you’ll sleep just about anywhere.  Because I’ve been wwoofing this summer, my array of accommodations is a little more varied than most travellers.  I’ve slept in a camper, in a airport, on the lawn next to a parking lot, in a brick cave, in a private guesthouse, in a few one-star hotels, and in a handful of hostels.

Last week, I stayed at Fattoria Bassetto in Certaldo.  Fattoria Basseto used to be a monastery when it was first built, back in sometime during the 12th Century.  It was bought by some royal family or other and recently made into a hostel and villa.

Colours!  I love Tuscany!  This was taken right front of the villa.

The herb garden. It is maintained by the gardener.  You can pick some rosemary or basil or whatever you need for your dinner.  It’s organic and free!

The villa. Rooms are 70€ a night, which is cheaper than I can say about some shitty two-star hotels in Rome.  Inside is beautiful.

The villa balcony. One night, Dana and Warren from Austin, TX invited us for dinner when they were staying in the villa.  It was very grown-up.  It was nice.

The villa library. There are farm records dating back to 1824, when Bassetto was once a farm producing olive oil and wine.  There are also boxes and boxes of old postcards from the early 1900’s.  There’s a photo of the Duke who once owned this villa sitting next to Lyndon Johnson in the Oval House.

The villa kitchen at night.  Usually, villa guests have cars and drive into old Certaldo for dinner so this kitchen is empty at night.  The guesthouse kitchen is always busy because it’s full of 20-somethings on a budget who can only afford to cook their own dinner.  You have to wait at least thirty minutes to use the guesthouse kitchen.  On my last night, Rocco used the oven in this kitchen to make pizza.

In the basement of the villa, an old basin to make olive oil.

In the basement of the villa. These bottles are about forty years old.  Rocco reckons they probably aren’t very good, though.

The reception area. The potatoes and tomatoes in the basket on the table are organic and from the garden.  Everyday, the gardener puts more into the basket.  They’re free for the guests to eat and enjoy.

Rocco managed to convince Doughie, the Aussie who manages the guesthouse and villa, to let us work at Bassetto for a week in exchange for room and (no) board.  Must have been a convincing argument because we got to stay at Bassetto for three nights free.

Stuffed tomatoes Dafne, the countess, made for us.  She wants me to help her with her computer, to which I happily obliged.  She’s such a character!  I absolutely love her.  Photo: Rocco.

A sparrow that flew into the communal kitchen one day.  Rocco caught it and set it free outside.  Poor thing!

This has to be one of my favourite accommodations in Europe I’ve stayed in.  If you’re in Tuscany and you have the time, check out la Fattoria Bassetto in Certaldo.  Because you’re out of the city and in the country, it’s a little like a summer cottage. It’s very reasonably priced so don’t dismiss it so quickly.

Until next time,

🙂 Julie

Certaldo Alto

Thursday, I took a short trip to Certaldo Alto, which translates to Upper Certaldo.  It refers to the part of Certaldo that is high up on a hill and that overlooks Lower Certaldo.  The difference between the two is that Certaldo Alto is the older, more medieval part of town.  Some of the buildings in Certaldo Alto date back to the 12th Century.

The old road connecting Certaldo Basso to Certaldo Alto.

An old castle, now covered in moss. It reminds me of Hatley Castle at Royal Roads.

The big thing in Certaldo: the old castle, now a museum.  They have a jazz fest going on and some musicians play in front of the castle.

The West side of the Certaldo Alto from the East side.

Italians.  Gotta love ’em.

Anyhow, I’m off to farm in Volterra tomorrow.

🙂 Julie

San Gimignano

Wednesday, I rode a bike from Certaldo to San Gimignano.  San Gimignano is a tourist hot spot.  Busses from Firenze, Siena and Pisa come every hour and dump tourists.  An Irish, Greg, and the two Texans, Dana and Warren, had gone the day before.  All said that San Gimignano itself wasn’t anything special, but the walk/bike ride was very scenic.  San Gimignano is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Greg the Irish took a bike to get there, while the Texans decided to walk.  It’s 9km from Certaldo, mostly uphill.  In the end, I decided to take the bike… with no suspension.

When I first passed through the large stone doors onto la Via San Matteo, there was a funeral procession taking place.  Once they had passed, along came the mob of tourists.  In Italy, there are no shortages of nuns.

Before the black plague, San Gimignano was powerhouse to be reckoned with.  To show off its wealth, 72 towers were built.  Once the plague wiped out most of its population, it plummeted, economically speaking.  There only 14 towers that remain in San Gimignano.

Looking down la Via San Matteo.  Via San Matteo is the main street in San Gimignano.  It is lined with tourist boutiques selling “I (heart) Italia” t-shirts and other random, useless souvenirs.

On my way back to Certaldo, I passed this castle.  I think it’s a hotel.

From afar, San Gimignano and its towers look Manhattan with its skyscrapers.

The bike ride to and from San Gimignano was a well-needed work-out, but also a very beautiful bike ride.  The city itself is jam-packed with tourists and I personally don’t see anything interesting about it.  I only stayed in San Gimignano long enough to buy postcards and eat a slice of pizza.  The most beautiful part of San Gimignano is looking at it from 10km out.

Until next time,

🙂 Julie