The organic farm shop is a paradise for wealthy Germans. Behind the scenes, we pick and chop vegetables until we’re on the point of collapse
I’m lying in a clean bed. There are two triple bunks in the room; six beds. I try to sleep, but it’s quite warm, and through the wall next to my head there is a huge TV blaring in Polish, which no one is watching but is probably never turned off. Still, now I’m finally here, a lot of stress has lifted.
Earlier I reached the farm after a long train journey and a lift from the station. I was greeted by the boss, Edyta, whose husband, Marcus, owns the farm. Edyta took my heavy suitcase – full of food – and carried it upstairs to the living quarters, under the roof of a large barn.
