I came into this plane of existence from the spirit realm several years ago, taking the usual route through my mothers vagina. By that stage, some white colonialists had pretty much taken over the place. On some islands in the Pacific they were busy chopping down trees to plant marshmallows on the hills. They left a few trees standing so that they could pack tourists onto buses and show them how many trees they still had standing. Agriculture flourished as precious foreign currency was milked from the tourists wallets and they jumped off bridges into quasi-suicidal joyous oblivion, only to be caught by a rubber band and sprung back up to be milked again another day.

Some of the less milkable tourists were put to work in the vineyards, producing precious booze for the colonialists. They talked about the size of the locals cellphones and the sameness of all people, seeing only themselves reflected in everybody that they met. These tourists of the world were given rather a raw deal from dodgey contractors who would take on far too many of them in order to fill contracts they couldnt afford and then lay them off at random when work ran low.

The more fortunate tourists worked in the orchards picking cherries to be sold in Japan for a buck each. They worked under much more favourable conditions since they worked directly for an orchard owner. This gave the added benefit of discounted onsite accommodation in many cases.

The tourists almost without exception drove around in poorly running and occasionally dangerous vans which they bought in Auckland for way too much money. This gave them something else to talk about besides when each of their visas would run out and how ignorant and old-fashioned the locals were. These vans could be seen parked at most rest areas except perhaps in the small hamlet of Alexandra, where ignorant and old-fashioned locals would write obscene messages of hatred on the windows for no particular reason. Alexandra is what happens when you take a white-picket-fence suburb and leave it out in the desert for twenty years. Deprived of their mall, the residents turn on each other in oft-repeated drunken brawls and attempt to impress girls they are probably related to. This results in a town with one cop per square inch of scorched earth and a river of shitass boyracer cars that meanders through the KFC drive-thru every weekend.

So in summary, try and work on orchards and not vineyards if possible (or else as a bartender or waitress if youre pretty), NEVER work for contractors, dont go to Alex and remember that travel does not constitute a meaningful personal experience, no matter how long the flight was. This requires independent thought processes and self-actualisation to avoid acting out a TV show or walking around with a mirror infront of your face.