A day in the life of a Grape Picker

Many people have a romantic image of grape picking: fuelled by holiday packages grape in Southern France, sun soaked paintings of pickers at dawn and Russell Crowe movies. Even Mendoza's Vendimia festival gives the impression that the harvest is somewhat glamorous. But beauty queens (who rarely visit a vineyard), parades and cocktail parties are a mile apart from the tough reality of grape picking... Hours are long, conditions are difficult and payment is poor.

Most cosechadores are from northern Argentina or illegal workers from Bolivia and they just about make a living travelling around doing fruit and vegetable harvests of different seasons.

Here is my 'a day in the life of a grape picker' compiled through interviews with grape pickers, vineyard managers, winery owners, other associated professionals and a rather feeble day of grape picking in last year's harvest. A hard, but honest day's work.

6.58am

In a squalid, run down rented house in Lujan de Cuyo there is a musty smell of stale sweat as 17 grape pickers sleep precariously in four shambolic rooms. Some lie on mattresses, others on floor mats and three in hammocks erected in the corners. Squeezed in together, sleeping head to toe, this band of grape pickers will live in this delapidated house as they see out the season (February to May) picking in the vineyards.
The travelling group come from a small village in Southern Bolivia and have been picking in Mendoza for 8 years, which they combine with picking different fruit and vegetable harvests during the rest of the year in Argentina. They keep together, knowing that as 17 experienced black market pickers they have more power as a group than individually. Aucapoma (who uses a more 'Spanish' name, Marcelo, in the vineyard) is the group ringleader and constantly reminds them of their collective power – grape pickers could hold a vineyard owner to ransom if they strike for better payment the morning of a pick. Harvest time is precious and many vineyard owners might just agree to pay. But Marcelo and the others know that cosechadores are one a penny. And this year four of them have been asked to do the prestigious night pick again. It is too much work to risk losing.

7am
The alarm clock sounds next to Marcelo's heaving body. He swipes it with his arm, grunts and barks at the others to wake up. Obediently everyone gets up and there's some chatter among the four women as they peel apples and heat the coffee and tortitas for breakfast. Marcelo jostles people awake in a busy-body fashion, relishing in his role as leader. He is not in charge for any particular leadership qualities but rather because he was the first person with a minivan – a precious and essential commodity for travelling harvesters - and so naturally this became his clan some 10 years ago when he inherited the van from his ill brother. The group has another rundown minivan – collectively bought – which is how they travel the country. Often they might camp but as the vendimia (grape harvest) is almost 4 months long, they rent Snr Velazquez's rundown finca house for 300 pesos a month which includes water for the 1 flushing toilet, basic shower and gas for the hob.

7.15am
Everyone piles into the minibuses heading to the vineyard. They arrive 8 minutes early and wait to follow the bodega truck to the vines.

7.30am
Picking starts. Catunta (aka Carlos) and his wife Mahala (aka Maria) work in pairs: Maria picks, Carlos runs the buckets to the truck. Today they are picking grapes for wine that retail at $20 US. Carrying three empty 18 kg crates, Carlos and Maria both start picking their row. Bent over the vines with the crate directly below, Maria finds the stalk and chops it with a pair of scissors, dropping it into the crate careful not to take any leaves or bad bunches with it. You are paid per crate – so they pick as fast as they can. It takes them 7 minutes to fill a crate and then Carlos hauls one on his right shoulder and runs it to the truck to stack it on the back and collect a ficha or token (worth $1.40 AR) in exchange. He puts the token in his belt bag and runs for the next crate.

10am
Cut. Drop. Cut. Drop. Cut. Drop. It's starting to get hot and Maria's lower back is aching from the crouching. She keeps cutting.

12pm
35*C and Carlos is pouring sweat as he runs with loaded, heavy buckets to the van. At 56 it takes him longer than it used to. Maria's hands are caked with sugary juice from the grapes. It's starting to irritate the cut on her forefinger from a late Chardonnay harvest two weeks ago. She should wash her hands and leave it a few days to heal but she keeps going – its only 1 hour until lunch break. Cut. Drop. Cut. Drop. Carlos pauses for a slug of warm coke, Maria catches his eye. He puts the coke down and pulls out his scissors. Cut. Drop. Cut. Drop.

12.52pm
"Stop!" calls the vineyard manager – it's their lunch break and no staff member wants to lose one minute of it. Carlos and Maria combine their crates, Maria quickly throws in three more bunches to fill it and Carlos runs to the truck as it pulls away towards the bodega. Someone's brought a bucket of water and they all wash the thick, sticky layer of sugar off their purple hands. Water removes the sugar but the bluish purple staining will last the season, and the dirt is almost permanent. Maria looks at her hands and thinks of the hands of the Vendimia queen in a poster she saw plastered on the road side. She couldn't read what it said beneath but did notice how clean, elegant and white the young lady's hands were. Carlos is rummaging through her woven bag, Maria pushes him out of the way and delves her own hands in to produce their lunch: rice with carrots and onion, a small piece of meat and a tortita each. They eat with their hands whilst sat on the floor by the shade of an olive tree and finish in 5 minutes. They use the remaining 45 minutes to sleep.

2.12pm
The permanent vineyard staff come back after their siesta. The pickers had been complaining that they were running ten minutes late - cutting into their picking time. But as the truck pulls up they run out to the vines and start picking. Carlos puts his hand straight behind a bunch and swears loudly as a wasp stings him. Maria passes him a small onion from her pocket. He digs around for his penknife with his good hand and cuts a small slice of onion, wiping the white juice on his sting. He replaces the peel and keeps the onion in his pocket for dinner, or another sting.

3.45pm
Carlos loads another bucket. The vineyard manager looks in and tells Carlos to take out the leaves. He hollers at all the pickers to pick grapes, not leaves. Carlos runs back to the vines glaring at Maria who he sternly tells is not paying enough attention. Maria, with her head deep in the vines, blushes. Carlos touches her lightly on the back then turns to pick again. Cut. Drop. Cut. Drop.

4.36pm
"Stop! We have enough!" The vineyard manager shouts as the final buckets are loaded on the truck. Carlos collects their last token of the day. Carlos and Maria collected 78 crates, 78 tokens - $109.20 ($54.60 each for 8 hours work). They hold onto the tokens to exchange at the end of the week. Another water bucket is presented - Carlos washes his sucrose soaked hands, minding his sting, and follows the rest to the minivans, then home. Some men are already talking about forging tokens. Carlos raises his eyebrows at Maria – it's all talk, no-one would risk it. Carlos starts to nod off and hopes there's a free mattress at the house.

9.30pm
Carlos reaches over to turn off the alarm and pulls on more clothes – it's cooler now. He goes to the kitchen for some potato and corn stew the women have made. Maria smiles with pride and brings him and the other three night pickers a small bit of ham. Young Cesar (who isn't doing the night pick) grunts at no ham, but understands.

9.50pm
The four park the minivan and report to the vineyard office. They await their instructions – night picking is for expensive wines that retail for $70US on foreign shelves. The vineyard manager makes them each demonstrate the technique: cut the bunch and squat, placing it in the crate. Carlos doesn't fully understand the manager's Spanish but thinks he is telling them (again) how they are investing a lot of trust in them as outside pickers, that they will be paid $100AR per shift (not per bucket) and not to rush and lose any precious juice. Carlos nods anyway and they troop to the floodlit vineyards.

11pm
Cut. Squat. Place. Cut. Squat. Place. Night picking is slower and the cooler weather makes it nicer but working in the dark has its problems: Carlos almost tripped with a full crate not seeing a mound of earth, and he has just nipped his finger with the scissors. He keeps quiet though, it will stop bleeding soon.

11.40pm
A television crew have arrived and are slowing down the process even more. One journalist asks Carlos a question; he stares blankly - unable to decipher the educated Spanish. The vineyard manager cuts in directing the journalist to a picker further down the vine – a trainee oenologist from Mendoza, working fulltime in the bodega. Carlos blushes and keeps picking. His knees click each time he bends to the bucket.

4.20am
The shift is over. They finished picking the vineyard ahead of schedule and the manager is happy. All the staff and the four bolivians walk back to the bodega. A breakfast of coffee, pastries and ham and cheese sandwiches is laid on a table. Marcelo eats three sandwiches. Carlos catches the manager's eye and only takes two. The manager smiles and walks over with their $400AR thanking them. The Bolivians walk back to their minivan to rest before the day pick. The staff at the bodega stay a while longer drinking mate and talking about their plans for their day off in lieu.

4.45am
Carlos enters the house, there are no mattresses left and Maria is sleeping on a hammock. He grabs the last sleeping mat and goes to sleep outside instead.

7am
Carlos hears the alarm clock and Marcelo shouting from inside. The sun is up and it is time to start picking.

An article I wrote for Wine Republic:

http://wine-republic.com/wine/512-a-day-in-the-life-of-a-grape-picker