It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than to make an escape from Gerda's farm.

Last Wednesday amidst the falling rain and boot-high horse muck, Trisha and I decided that the time had come to bid “auf wiedersehen” to our farm-stay and host Gerda. The straw that broke the camel’s back turned out not to be the camel and horse muck cleanup as one might expect, although that was a big factor. I think the tide really began to turn after we first arrived on the farm. Yes, it wasn’t the most fun work in the world, and like the city-girl wrote in her last blog, early mornings in muck and slogging again in the late afternoon were not all that savory. The real culprit though was not the muck, but our host who was the antithesis of calm, level-headedness and patience. If her behavior had been different, we might have preserved to the end (which was actually only three additional days). To highlight her bizarre and generally unpalatable behavior, this little story of how we made our escape from the farm should paint a clearer picture.

It was in the afternoon and Trisha and I had finished our morning work and were wearing our only-partially dirty clothes (clothes that you don’t work in, but put on after work knowing that its pointless to put on clean ones since you will be out with all the animals soon enough and why shower). This day our host Gerda actually did give us a rare heads-up as to what our afternoon schedule entailed, and we were happy to agree to her suggestion that Trisha and I tour the local monastery for a few hours on our own. Yeah, freedom!

The monastery was beautiful and should have been a wonderful outing. However both Trisha and I had a sick feeling in the pits of stomach during our visit. During the tour we kept thinking that the prospect of three more days of this farmstay, and working with Gerda was about the worst sounding thing in the world. We debated the pros and cons of leaving early and found ourselves leaning more toward the pros, especially as we noticed a train leaving from the Melk rail station from our view at the top of the monastery. Our unspoken longing to be on that train away from our current situation was more that illuminating for us.

From that view-point we decided that yes, it was time to go. Quickly we began brainstorming the best way to break the news to Gerda. We also checked out watches to see if we could make a quick break to the tourist office for city/accommodation recommendations before Gerda came to pick us up. As we were walking out of the monastery the cell phone that Gerda gave us at the beginning of our stay so she could always contact us rang. “Are you veady to go?” That dreaded phone, which rang our first morning at 5:40 a..m. to tell us we were beginning our day earlier that originally planned, once again made our blood boil. We told her no, we were not ready and needed a few more minutes to tour the monastery. We actually needed a few minutes to get to the tourist office.

After an unsuccessful visit to the tourist office (they only do Melk), it was decided that I would break the news to Gerda on the ride home from the monastery, regardless of our lack of success. As we waited on the corner in the center of the city, scenarios of how to tell the news to this slightly intimidating character were running though my mind. When she finally arrived, the first thing she said when we got into the car was “Vhy vern’t you ready vhen I called?” Yeah, fuel for the fire. This was going to be easy! I broke the news immediately. And that’s when it got interesting.

The first thing that happened when I explained respectfully to Gerda that Trisha and I were going to be leaving in the morning was total and complete surprise. She seemed shocked that we might not be enjoying working in the rain twice a day mucking horse crap for a woman who constantly kept us in the dark about our schedule, had us connected to her via cell phone, and who grew short, rude, and impatient when something with the horses and camels wasn’t done to her liking (even though she often gave vague instructions and left for long periods of time after giving them). “Vhy? Vhy do you want to leave?” Well, didn’t I just tell you nicely why? “We’re not enjoying our experience and since we only have a short time left on our year, we thought leaving a few days early might be better for us.”

After her initial shock, she took a self-depreciating turn and began blaming herself as we were driving in the rain back to her farm. “It is my fault. I am a terrible a person. I thought maybe you would be a perfect fit. It vas vorking.” I tried to be encouraging, as did Trisha on the ride home and we hoped she would process this info and that would be that. About 10 minutes outside of Melk into the countryside she pulled the car over, turned off the engine, and sat there wanting to talk this thing out. Of course I’m thinking, she probably has a gun in the glove compartment and this is it….we’re going to end up like those other missing Help X volunteers (don’t worry mom, there aren’t any).

Our parked conversation was a rehashing of her original denial; self-blaming, telling us we should just stay, lots of self-loathing, stories about how hard her life is and that no one likes her camels except her…etc. This went on for at least 20 minutes. Sitting in the countryside, in her red VW van, having a conversation that turned into a therapy session and thinking to myself “holy smokes, this lady is wacko.” I actually pitied her more than anything, as her persistence was just sad, not aggravating.

When we finally returned to the farm, Trisha and I changed back into our work clothes and did our tasks as we promised her we would do in the afternoon and morning before we left. At one point in her “just stay” conversation she told us we could stay and not work and just live there for a while. That sounding as equally unpleasant as returning to that farm after being in the city, was enough tempt us to grab our bags and leave at that moment. But we persisted. Throughout the afternoon work, Gerda made herself more present, unlike other times when she was gone for most of the work. Throughout she would come up to me and try to make a deal on us staying. She had extreme difficulty grasping the concept of our departure. Or maybe she was just lonely.

The evening got even weirder. Similar to our other nights at the farm, Trisha and I cooked dinner for ourselves, not knowing if our timing was correct or if Gerda or her husband would want us to make some for them too. That night as we were sitting down, Gerda came in and was extremely polite to us. We offered her food that she accepted and enjoyed, and she talked about many things other than our departure. At the end of the meal she went into the kitchen and came out with crystal cups full of peanuts and cashews for dessert (this is a lady who doesn’t know how to cook and hadn’t lifted a finger in the kitchen since we arrived). She also cleared and cleaned the dinner plates, which was a first since we had been there. Gerda was definitely trying to butter us up to how good it was to be on her farm.

Near the end of our evening she excused herself and told us to wait in the dining room for a moment. A few minutes later she returned with a six-foot boa constrictor wrapped over her shoulders. Hey, why not? Just what we needed to convince us to stay, a giant reptile! Only slightly shocked that she had a boa constrictor of this size (the biggest I have seen outside of a zoo) in her room, we humored her with our amazement and enjoyment of her cold-blooded friend. Hey this was the funny-farm we were on and why shouldn’t she entice us with a serpent? So after a longer bit of conversation, some snake up-close-and-personal time, a few more … “Vhy? Vhy do you vant to leave.” We called it an evening – only slightly drained.

As I awoke the next day, I knew in my mind that I would be leaving the farm, knew I would be on a train heading to Salzburg, knew I would be away from a place I had grown to distain more than any place I had been this year, and knew that I would be away from Gerda and her constant badgering. But I also knew deep-down that leaving would not be as easy as getting in the van and going. There would be steps involved.

The first step was doing the morning cleaning of the animals. It wasn’t so bad except that Trisha was packing our bags to maximize time, so I was left with all the muck. Second was breakfast, which turned out to be uneventful. Third was finding Gerda and nailing down a time to leave so we could catch a train to Salzburg. We found her, although nailing down an exact time was difficult. Forth was bring all the suitcases downstairs and then having Gerda tell us her mother wanted to have coffee with us before we left. Knowing there were numerous trains to Salzburg helped in the decision to have coffee and delay our exodus, but I knew it was just staling time. We all went to the mother’s side of the farm, and in her kitchen Trisha and I along with Gerda, Heidi the sister, and Jose the Spanish boyfriend of Heidi who slept most of our days there, gathered with Mother around the table.

The coffee time took about 40 minutes and consisted of talking to Jose in Spanish, listening to Heidi tell us about Texas and American things she remembered while she lived there for 30 years, and listening to Mother tell us why Hitler wasn’t that bad when he incorporated Austria into Germany in the 30’s. Gerda just sat and mostly translated.

Finally, we bid Mother goodbye and all piled into the van for the train station. Unbelievable! Gerda drove extra slow compared to her usual break-neck speeds in order to maximize our final time together. I kept waiting for her to pull over again a talk it all out. Fortunately that didn’t happen, but we were hailed with a melange of questions that she said she wanted to fit in before we left. They consisted of everything from American politics to healthcare to the Ku Klux Klan in America. Fun, random questions left to the end!

The drop-off at the station was perfectly anti-climatic. Goodbye, thanks, good luck, and then they were gone and we were alone. And that is the time Trisha and I took the biggest sigh of relief we’ve had all year. On our way to Salzburg, fleeing our farm-stay from hell, with the horse smell still on half our clothes to remind us how much we distained that time, we actually had to laugh at this most bizarre experience. If not for the fabulous material this farmstay provided for our blogs would we even hesitate to answer the question “If you knew last week, what you know now, would you have gotten off the train at the Melk station that late, rainy afternoon late?” What do you think?