When the Best Part of Your Voluntourism Experience is Mutiny, Part 3

Letting go

Rudy the sheep next to the Land Rover

On the second day, after morning chores, I went back to the hotel, ate some lunch, did a bit of work and returned to Pegasus early because I was struck with something like survivor’s guilt. Ashden and Lisa were still down there in the dust, mold and heat.

In addition to our regular morning chores, Becky had asked us to move the slabs of moldy hay to make way for a delivery of new hay she was receiving later that day. Ashden and Lisa were otherwise occupied and so I put a scarf over my face and started moving the moldy hay, which required pulling it apart and loading it onto a wheelbarrow and unloading it about 20 yards away.

Becky then wanted us to help her drag an old mattress out of her bedroom and replace it with a new mattress. I was initially confused because for the past couple of days a moldy mattress had been leaning against a tree in the front yard, so I thought that task had already been done.

But that was her new mattress.

An understanding began to dawn on me. Becky didn’t see anything wrong with the poor accommodations or the flood-prone bathroom with the electrocution-hazard washing machine because her standard of what was acceptable was simply … different. I wondered how much I could fault her for our living conditions.

After replacing Becky’s mattress, Ashden, Lisa and I regrouped. They expressed concern about the arrival of the new hay that evening. I probably had only been half listening when Becky first told us about the delivery but they had been fully engaged and clued in before I was.

We were to unload 250 bales from a truck. That’s 11,000 pounds which works out to about 5.5 tons, or nearly two tons each. Even if we were to spread the work out over the next 10 days, that would mean moving 400 pounds a day each.

For perspective, at the nonprofit Colorado Horse Rescue where I volunteer, we need to be able to lift a 50-pound bale of hay to load the hay truck. But the most we would be required to lift on any one shift would be about 10 bales, or 50 pounds, and always with the assistance of another volunteer. Most of us work one to two shifts a week.

Hay Now

When the hay truck pulled into the compound it was immediately clear that it was too big to make the small turn up a little embankment to the hay storage area. The driver tried, but antennas on the top of the cab caught on high-line wires.

Becky pulled up her van, climbed on the roof and used a large broom to try to push up the wires. I assumed she must have known whether they were live or old telephone lines. And then I realized that maybe she didn’t given other hazardous conditions at Pegasus.

Watching Becky lift wires

She then tried to explain to the driver to go out, turn around and back into the compound instead. He didn’t understand her. That’s because Becky doesn’t speak Spanish despite having lived in Spain for the past 11 years. No wonder she didn’t hire any local workers. Besides having to pay them she would have also had to communicate with them.

By this time, I expressed concern to Becky about the enormity of moving 250 bales of hay.

“Other volunteers have done it,” she snapped. As someone who was relying on free help with almost nothing in return her response struck me as ungrateful.

Ashden was growing increasingly concerned about her mother, who had an ongoing leg injury, potentially hurting herself moving the hay. She was on the verge of tears, angry and disappointed as she saw the holiday with her mother unraveling.

I conveyed Ashden’s concern about Lisa to Becky.

“She can use a wheelbarrow,” she said. Lisa would still have to lift the bale.

“It’s too much,” I said.

“Then I’ll do it myself,” Becky said, which seemed a childish retort.

I looked at the hay piled on the truck. I realized that even kicking one bale of hay off that truck was more help than Becky deserved. I went to the Land Rover and got my things. Lisa an Ashden were already packed.

Before I left I confronted Becky. But she was distracted and on the phone. Could I have waited? Sure. Did I care at that point? No. The hay, instead of being in bales, was delivered in large slabs. It would be almost impossible to move it without a forklift, something I had suggested previously to ease the work. At that point Becky had said no, and now miraculously she was arranging one on the phone.

That was the last bit of evidence I needed. I let go of the stupid challenge.

Guilt Trip

Later, Becky sent me a flurry of emails and WhatsApp messages, mostly defending herself and guilt-tripping me for not being more considerate during her time of high stress.

“My daughter has been looking forward to our Madrid trip for a long time,” she wrote. “I'm very sad about not been able to go with her. We don't get a lot of time together. I’m a good person. I know myself. I don’t need you judging me, I’m pretty sure you’re not perfect.”

No, I’m definitely not but I’m not running a business. As for her potentially scuppered holiday, I suggested she rely on a friend for help at Pegasus while she was away.

It isn’t my intention to demonize Becky. Pegasus has over 100 mostly positive reviews on TripAdvisor, but almost all of these are for the treks she offers. With the treks, customers don’t experience the volunteer aspect. They pay for a service and ride and spend very little time at the stables.

There are a few negative reviews from volunteers, including a particularly revealing one from October 2023 from a 19-year-old woman that also shines a light on how Becky responds to criticism of her business, her cause.

It's personal.