DAY 2
A ferry to Belle-Ile...
Jacob and Julie, who are a couple like us, resort to mutual domestic abuse within hours of our arrival. They are having a discussion about where the put the cooler or something on a similar level when the conversation becomes heated, they start calling each other fuckers/whores/etc., and Angela and I hear hitting/slapping sounds and someone falling or being pushed into the tent (we are inside our tent so we don't really see what's going on).
We let this pass and the afternoon quiet returns. Our team supervisor Romu (for lack of a better word) comes by to say he needs "the boys" to help him lift some shit at the garage where our ice cream is stored. I am miffed by his sexism and conscious of the fact that this being a job where I am paid on commission, I will not be paid for this labor. We lift four huge freezers out of a U-Haul van and put them in a garage, afterwards he has the grace to offer us a soft drink at least. Jacob is your average clean-cut meathead French guy, nice enough as long as he's not talking to his girlfriend, it would seem. Romu is small, dark-haired and unshaven, talks fast and doesn't make adjustments for the fact that I am a foreigner who doesn't speak French as my native language. Eating, sleeping.
We check into a decent campground next to Le Palais, the main town on the island. There are lots of trees in the campground and we are given a camp spot with no shade whatsoever; upon discussing with the lady at reception that seeing as we will be living there for a month it kind of busts our balls to have a spot which leaves our tent uninhabitable for half the day due to sun exposure, we are told that since we are seasonal workers and our tariff is lower than the other campers, we have no choice and that "it has been decided" by the powers that be that it should be like this.
Merci beaucoup madame, bonne journée.
Jacob and Julie, who are a couple like us, resort to mutual domestic abuse within hours of our arrival. They are having a discussion about where the put the cooler or something on a similar level when the conversation becomes heated, they start calling each other fuckers/whores/etc., and Angela and I hear hitting/slapping sounds and someone falling or being pushed into the tent (we are inside our tent so we don't really see what's going on).
We let this pass and the afternoon quiet returns. Our team supervisor Romu (for lack of a better word) comes by to say he needs "the boys" to help him lift some shit at the garage where our ice cream is stored. I am miffed by his sexism and conscious of the fact that this being a job where I am paid on commission, I will not be paid for this labor. We lift four huge freezers out of a U-Haul van and put them in a garage, afterwards he has the grace to offer us a soft drink at least. Jacob is your average clean-cut meathead French guy, nice enough as long as he's not talking to his girlfriend, it would seem. Romu is small, dark-haired and unshaven, talks fast and doesn't make adjustments for the fact that I am a foreigner who doesn't speak French as my native language. Eating, sleeping.
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