Prequel to Working Holiday in Canada
A year. That’s how long I lasted without traveling. But I figured I couldn’t keep spending 5–8 grand on a thru-hike every year. I needed a more self-sufficient plan. And the best plans always come to you on thru-hikes. Or toilets, to be fair—but as romantic as the first version sounds, this plan came to me while I was in New Zealand, hiking Te Araroa.
Before I even set foot on the trail, I met loads of backpackers on Working Holiday visas telling me how they worked on farms to fund their onward travels. Where was I when I was in my 20s? Now I was too old for a Working Holiday visa—most countries cap it at 30. Until I found out one country had a limit of 35. Canada, baby!
So, out of a mix of harmless jealousy, the fact that the film industry back home (where I usually work) was struggling and jobs were scarce, and a sheer longing for adventure again—I applied for a Working Holiday visa. Did I research it properly before applying? Of course not. That resulted in a very costly visa process (which wouldn’t have been as bad if I didn’t live in a small country far, far away)—but that’s a story for another time.
I finally got the visa. Then I was offered a film job that would finish in July 2025. That was fine—I could enter Canada until mid-July.
I was absolutely certain I would go plant trees. Not because I’m super green (though I’m a bit greenish). Those trees are mostly planted for silviculture and future logging anyway. What really drew me in was the idea of being a dirtbag again. I missed that feeling—being so filthy you feel like you're just part of a gravel road. One with the universe, if you want it to sound more profound and less practical.
Did I research the planting seasons enough? Again—of course not. Turns out that by the time my film ends and I enter Canada in July, most of the planting season is already over. I still managed to find a crew in Ontario, but they took ages to send me an English contract instead of French. Eventually, I started to doubt they even wanted me, so I found another job.
By then, the man I had dated for a while—who’d gone off to Australia—decided to come back, officially become my boyfriend, and join me in Canada. So, finding a job for the two of us became the goal.
As always, Facebook turned out to be very useful. I saw a post from a couple looking for cherry pickers to join their orchards. After a short interview, we were in. I rented out my flat back home and left for Canada.