Back in the Med!

Hello!!! So it’s been 6 months since my last blog (oops!). But that’s pretty much how busy the season has been. I vow to writte more often (and much shorter posts!) from now on. After a crazy few months in the Caribbean (which I will come back to) we set sail towards Europe in April:

Atlantic crossing number 3

It got off to a bumpy start and then got better and I managed to get in quite a few gymming and tanning days. But after about day 9- of the same motion, the same people (who seemed to get more and more annoying each day), the same view (nothing) and the same routine of “eat, work, sleep, repeat” I was really starting to get the blues. It got to the stage where life felt so depressing, I was seriously contemplating “accidently” setting off the fire alarm once again, grabbing a SART (search and rescue transponder), shoving all my crew out of the way and leaping SART first into a life raft on my own, to pray for immediate recue and extrication from the sea by helicopter. Yes, I was land sick.

I was due to take my one month’s leave as soon as we reached our destination- Spain; but after the physically and emotionally draining season we’d had, I actually couldn’t wait another minute, or I might have seriously, actually strangled one of my crew. After coming up with a teensy weensy white lie about having to fly home sooner than expected due to flight disasters, I booked a flight straight out of Gibraltar. I was clothed and suitcase ready on the main deck aft as we pulled into the re fuelling dock and didn’t even wait for the passerail (gangway) to fully extend to land, before I bounded off and hugged the nearest non-moving object id seen in 13 days (which happened to be a pole). After what seemed like an endless taxi ride and a gin and tonic infueled plane ride, I touched down in the glorious motherland for a month of peace (well, excluding AfrikaBurn of course, which I wouldn’t exactly describe as peaceful. More like a mind blowing, magical adventure).

Sadly my holiday went by far too quickly and I found it really hard to leave this time. I miss being on my own time, not being governed by what time I have to eat and where I can go when. I miss freedom and independence. I feel like a worker bee in a hive. Constantly busy, working towards the greater good of the commune! You don’t get an opinion. You just do as you’re told. Hardest thing I’m still learning- “to be seen and not heard”. For someone who always has an opinion about EVERYTHING, I am definitely in the wrong industry. The thing I am told most by my (mostly male and senior) colleagues is

Colleague: “Tiffany! This is not a discussion!”

Me: “But I just think that…” (cut off mid sentence byJ

Colleague: “No! Don’t think, just do as you’re told”

Me: “But I….” (cut off again)

Colleague: “Tiffany this conversation is over”

 

Back on the boat: First charter of Med Season

Wow. What a start to the season. So by day 6, we’d had a guest take a dump in a bathtub (yes. Literally), another wet the bed, a cappuccino go flying onto the cream carpet, children climbing all over glass coffee tables and a crazy guest walking around in a dressing gown all day with electrified hair, goggly glasses and big DJ earphones hanging out her pocket. The guests consisted of a royal family of mum and dad and two very young, undisciplined children who each came with their own nanny, a PA, a personal trainer and 2 friends.

So our one guest was a little odd. A nice person, just a bit odd. “Away with the fairies”” one would say. She spent most days walking around in a dressing gown with big, dj type earphones and was always coming into the crew areas unannounced to see what we were up to. She’d wander through into the pantries and the galley and was often in the bridge, just to “say hello” and see what we were up to “behind the scenes”. Even though “behind the scenes” can often be slightly chaotic and a bit untidy in the pantries during busy service hours. This usually wouldn’t be a big problem, but we got the feeling sometimes that she was spying.  Poking her nose in every cupboard, reading our notes and quizzing our chef. She proceeded to pop in un announced a few times a day, and I was once caught, red handed, scoffing down a custard bun (leftover from guest breakfast) which she seemed horrified at. “Is that from our BREAKFAST?” she asked. “Ah you know, no point in leftovers going to waste”. I tried a small, fake laugh, but just ended up spluttering crumbs everywhere. Oops.

It was in this guest’s bathroom, that my friend Ash was unfortunate enough to find the present that one of the room inhabitants had left behind in the bath after a shower. The radio conversation went something like this:

Ash: “Interior, interior, Ash”

Chief Stew: “Go ahead Ash”

Ash: “We’ve got a bit of a shitty situation here in the Port Forward guest cabin”

Chief Stew: “Well what it is?”

Ash: “I think you need to come and take a look”

Chief Stew goes down to the cabin and there in the bathtub, stuck around the plughole, where someone had obviously tried to ram it down the drain, was a chocolaty treat, left behind for the girls to clean up. Our chief stew, being the legend she is, said we aren’t paid enough to have to deal with shit like that (no pun intended) and proceeded to clear up the mess. We still don’t know the reason behind this small gift, but our bets are on our slightly batty guest who might have mistaken the bathtub for a giant bday.

Our principal guest, His Highness, was absolutely lovely. Appreciating every small thing we did, that was standard for that level of service. Always thanking us and telling us not to make a fuss. For a royal family, they were very polite and undemanding (bar the hyperactive, glass-coffee table climbing, pear eating and smearing on sofas, screaming if they didn’t get their own way, grubby handprints everywhere, children) and ate dinner off the boat every evening, which was a bonus for us. They did however, stay up all night and only went to bed at 6am. Luckily for me I wasn’t on late shift this trip!

Even though he was married with kids though, I was adamant that he batted for the other side. The way he spoke and his amazing style, how polite and caring and down to earth he was, but mostly the way he spoke and his little mannerisms. This hypothesis was answered in my mind, when he called me in on his last day to help choose his leaving outfit for the following day. He had a pair of dark green shorts lying on the bed, with about 8 shirts surrounding it, one of which was checked purple and about 3 in different shades of green. We had a discussion about each option:

HRH: “Yes can you help me please, I’m not sure what to do”

Me: “Yes of course, your highness, what can I assist you with?” (Assuming it was to do with packing his suitcase, bringing him a drink or helping him work the AV system).

HRH: “I don’t know what to wear tomorrow”. He said, staring at the array of clothing laid out on the master bed, right forefinger pressed to his lip with a furrowed brow, looking concerned

“I like this green one” he said, waving his arm at a pale, lime green shirt.

“But I think if I wear green and green, I’ll look too much like a tree”. He said, turning to me for my opinion.

Me (looking pensive): “Yes maybe a bit your highness.  What about this lovely purple checked one? Purple is the colour of royalty is it not?”

We finally narrowed it down to 3, where he asked me to choose the one I liked best and this was the one he wore when we waved good bye and saw them off on the tender. So I can now say that I helped dress a prince!

The Leprechaun

 So sadly we’ve had some crew leave and some new crew arrive. One of which is a stew masseuse who I affectionately call “the leprechaun” as she is Irish. Short, with shoulder length red hair and big blue eyes, she was to become my newest partner in crime. We share a great sense of humor and are both either always talking too much, or on facebook too much or giggling too much in the pantries “Shhhhhhhh! The guests can hear you, you know!”. She has brought endless laughter to my days as we always have a bit of banter- especially when we’re doing one of the not so glamorous stew jobs.

My leprechaun friend was the laundry girl during our first charter and the aircon had decided to shit the nest. It was so hot, it was at least 32 degrees inside, unless you managed to wedge the door open with a shoe. Each time I opened the door to drop something off and asked how things were going, she would reply, dripping from head to toe with sweat in the 40 degree sauna, “Ah, you know, living the dream! Absolutely living the dream, I mean when I was kid and I saw my life in 10 years’ time, this is exactly how I saw myself- sweating in a laundry and cleaning other people’s dirty underwear. Literally living the dream!”

“Yes”, I replied. “We are living the dream. I’ve just spent the last 15mins using a toothbrush to try and get some cemented poo off one of the guest toilet bowls. Our friends at home would be jealous! Better not tell them or they’ll all be wanting a job as a stew! “And then we’d keel over laughing. And this would become our motto from then on. Every time one of us is given a not so pleasant task, we just tell each other it’s all part of living the dream.

This saying came about because in yachting, your non yachtie friends back home only ever see your “day off” photos on Facebook- sightseeing in foreign cities, lying on Caribbean beaches sipping on cocktails, meeting famous celebrities. And all we hear if we sometimes vent about the long hours, exhausting work or difficult guests is “Oh but you’re living the dream! You get to cruise around on a beautiful yacht and go to all these amazing places, AND you’re getting paid for it!” But my favourite comment is “You must have the BEST tan!”. Uhhhhh when? Do you think I get to leave the interior of the boat at ALL during a busy charter? I say Nay…

Everyone forgets that your AWESOME photos depict your ONE day off that only happens every 6 weeks or so. No one posts photos of their day to day yacht life- scrubbing toilets bowls, siphoning poo out of bathplugs, cleaning wee out of a wardrobe which a drunk guest has mistaken for the bathroom, fishing clotted, rotting hairballs out of shower drains, re making beds and re wiping down showers 2-3 times a day. But still, the days off really do make up for it.

In the last 2 weeks I have seen the Acropolis and walked the evening streets of Mykonos and Naxos with their intertwining, cobbled, pedestrian-only streets; eating frozen yoghurt from one of the many little shops that are dotted inbetween the quaint candle lit restaurants playing soft, but lively Greek music. I have spent a night out in crazy Bodrum (Turkey), drinking Raki and bar hopping the packed streets. Restaurants and bars all spill out onto the tight network of pedestrian streets and plazas and it’s just a buzz of loud, rowdy people with the sound of laughter and the smell of barbequed kebabs in the air. I have spent a day on a gorgeous Turkish beach, drinking cocktails, swimming and getting a reflexology foot massage, a day (today actually) at a similar, beautiful Greek beach bar in Athens, drinking my cocktail in the water, whilst sitting on the shallow sea bed and then getting a 45min Ayurveda and Indian head massage on a little stand literally a meter from the water. After a relaxing day like that with a good vitamin D injection, I feel fully refreshed and ready to graft hard this week before our next charter starts J

A new chapter, another new beginning

Well! It’s been about a month since I last spoke to any of you about my adventures and where they have taken me. It’s been quite a whirlwind, hence why I haven’t found time to blog. The last month saw me leave my old boat, then head to Ibiza for my birthday, before going home to SA for 2 weeks and then back to France and now Spain, which is where my new adventure will start J As you may or may not have known, my job on my previous boat was only seasonal, so I had started to look around when what seemed like the perfect job landed in my lap- well not really, it was more put in my lap by my friend Alice, who put me forward for it J Thanks moo!! So tonight I join the boat in Palma and then tomorrow we set sail for Antigua, in the Caribbean, where we will spend the next 6 months before making our way back to the Med. I am very excited and can’t wait to meet my new crew!

I hate leaving things out, so even though the past is past, it always shows how you’ve come to where you are today. So I’m going to go backwards and just fill you in on the last few adventures, although the pics are already on Facebook so put them all up here:

22 Sept Portofino

Portofino. What a gorgeous little town. The little shops and restaurants that house apartments above are an array of warm and earthy colours- orange and yellow hues and palettes of reds and cream. Green shutters and doors and little veranda's with things like "Pizzeria el Portico" written on in typical Italian font. Depending on which cobbled street or pretty alleyway you are ambling along, your nose is either met with smells of pizza, fresh calamari and other seafood delights or rich scents of espresso that waft delectably up to your nose, so that you can almost taste them.

Red and white checked table cloths with candles are the table decoration of choice at most of the characteristic pizzeria's and restaurants. Loud and jolly Italian voices and laughter fill the warm evening air. It’s a lovely atmosphere and I smile to myself as I sit at the little Italian restaurant that I have chosen for the evening. With a hot and stringy salami and mushroom pizza in front of me and a delicious glass of Italian red wine in hand, I feel relaxed as I sit back and watch the world around me.  The streets are busy in the evening and so are the shops; souvenir stores that carry an assortment of curios from colourful fridge magnets and wall decorations to bags, hats and all kinds of kitchen utensils that all display "Portofino". And in contrast, the expensive shops selling Italian leather shoes and jackets, designer handbags, jewellery and cashmere.

The Italian culture is one of relaxing, celebrating and socialising with family and friends, which usually takes place over a meal at home or in a restaurant. Italians have a passion for eating, but also for talking and as you walk in the streets or stop at a café, you will notice Italians of all ages engaged in intense and animated discussions. A love for food and talking- and often at the same time. Sounds exactly like me! Even though I sit at my little table of 1, I don't feel alone at all, I can't help feeling completely at home at a place I have only just arrived at. The more places I see in Italy, the more I fall in love. I feel so content just sitting, and watching the world go by, immersed in the laid back, relaxing and passionate Italian culture. I would love to stay, but my journey doesn't end here and there are things to do and places to be; more little towns waiting for me to visit and fall in love with. I feel the same way as I think the narrator does in one of my favourite poems by Robert Browning. It’s called Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.

It’s such a beautiful poem that always gives me goosebumps and a warm fuzzy feeling. The narrator is content and happy to sit and observe the scene in front of him, not wanting to leave. I think he feels peaceful. But then he is reminded that he has things to do and places to be, so he cannot stay. It’s just how I feel sitting here in Portofino. Here is the poem- please have a read:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

 

05 Oct Ibiza

After the Russian charter, our boat headed to Ibiza where we would be meeting our owners. As a now experienced seafarer, I was pretty much 100% sure that I no longer got seasick. Well apparently not.

Whilst underway, Nicoletta and I still needed to get the boat ready for the next guests, so even though it was a bit rough, we still had to try and work. I was in the lower guest bathrooms, cleaning with pure Alcohol in the showers and Nicoletta said to me “Tiffany just be careful using that, you are in a confined space and the fumes might make you feel sick, especially when the sea gets rough. Maybe use another product instead”. No problem I said, happy to use the alcohol and I’m sure I’d be fine.

15mins later…..

After a wave of nausea I decided I just needed some fresh air away from the alcohol, however no amount of deep breaths on the aft deck, or nibbling on ginger (which I swear by) was making me feel any better. After trying to lie down and sleep and fighting nausea, I had to do a mad dash to the bathroom, where I spent the next 15mins with my arms around the toilet bowl, wishing that the boat would sink and we’d all die, as it would be far less unpleasant than having to deal with seasickness for the next 12hrs. Our one owner was on board on his own, and he literally did not leave his room for that 32hrs. The sea had gotten rough and things had started to fall and smash- trays, ornaments, the spice rack in the galley as well as all our chefs’ sauces. We went in to check on the owner a few times and there were just documents and papers all over the floor, a big decorative ceramic bowl of apples had been flung from its place on a the sideboard and there were granny smith apples rolling around all over his floor. He was just huddled under his duvet watching TV, refusing to move. I don’t blame him, it’s the safest place to be! There was no point in trying to clean up as the sea was still so rough. We did what damage control we could to secure the rest of the things around the boat. Nicoletta wasn’t doing much better than me seasickness wise, and we had both taken up camp on the guest sofa’s in the main salon, praying that sleep would come to us. It eventually did and we woke in the early hours of the next day to survey the damage and clean up. And then we were in Ibiza!

I only got to explore a bit of Ibiza town whilst I was still working, but what a cute place! Lots of gorgeous little restaurants and tapas bars and loads and loads of bars- with promoters outside coming up to you and trying to convince you to buy tickets to the parties happening that night. But it wasn’t until I left the boat at the end of the week and went to the other side of the island (the party side), for my birthday, that I got to experience Ibiza’s nightlife.

My best guy friend, Darrin, was meant to join me in Ibiza for my birthday, but he got a charter last minute so couldn’t make it. Luckily after some Facebook investigation, I found out that my friend Ben was also heading there that week for his 30^th birthday with some friends. In true Tiffany style I just asked if I could tag along and it turned out to be one of my top holidays! The guys were all great- all ex crew members’ from Ben’s last boat and we spent the following 5 days at Bora Bora (in the day) for the beach parties and then a different club every night. The clubs are amazing. If you love your hard music, lasers, smoke machines and can dance your arse off for hours, then this is like you have died and gone to heaven. It was a crazy week of little sleep and lots of partying and at the end I was absolutely exhausted but it was so worth it. Highlights: Drum & Bass party at Amnesia (my favourite club) where the line-up consisted of Nero, Chase & Status and Subfocus.

The boys left and I was meant to stay a few extra days, but I woke up the morning after my birthday feeling AWFUL from too much partying and lack of sleep. I called Darrin in tears and he convinced me to just book a flight back to France and come and see him. So I did just that.

And back in the present:

Now I haven’t spoken all that much about Darrin. We met in the Caribbean in January through friends and then I remember telling you that when I needed a place to stay in Antibes after I got let go from my job, he was there for me and got me all sorted out. We became good friends and then when I got my job on Latitude in July, he happened to get a job on a boat 2 berths down from me. So for the 3 months of the European season, we were neighbours (when we were actually in the port, which wasn’t much as we were on charters, maybe like a day every 10-12 days or something) and I had a friend. So whenever we were back in port we’d hang out and he’d listen to all my bitching and moaning and we’d go for drinks and laugh about work. He was also always just a phonecall away and would council me through those times I had burst into tears on a charter and locked myself in the bathroom. I was his “go to” person aswell, and you could say we had started to become best friends. We really felt like the other person always knew exactly how we felt, without us having to explain much and always knew what to say to make the other feel better. We have loads of fun when hanging out and are always laughing and being silly. You don’t get to see many other yachties in crazy charter season, so we always looked forward to seeing each other inbetween charters. So I think it was inevitable that somewhere along the line even though I tried in vain to ignore it for ages that some feelings were going to develop.

And they did. They appeared to come from the other side first, but even so, I waited till I was fairly sure till it looked safe until I let my feelings materialize. After a kiss one night before a month long charter trip, I was pretty certain I knew that this felt real. After some declarations of love over the next month, whilst apart, I was adamant that I had meant my soulmate. Falling for your best friend might be the scariest thing ever cos you are risking so much, so you resist it for ages, but when you let yourself fall it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. This person already knows you and understands you better than you know yourself. I can’t tell you how happy I felt. So after I got back from Ibiza, I had a week in France before heading back to SA on holiday. I couldn’t wait to see him, it was like high school butterflies. And when I did, I felt like we were two magnets that just pulled together. And we were inseparable for the next 3 days. Lying on the couch, on his chest, just under his chin, with him stroking my hair, is honestly the happiest place I’ve ever been in my life. I feel no worry, no stress, relaxed, content, loved, safe. And when he holds my face and looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes, whatever he says to me, I believe him and I know everything will be okay.

I started to realize over those 3 days that I was falling in love and I wasn’t even scared, because I was sure he felt the same. I felt like the happiness would bubble out of me and I was sure people could read it all over my face. Which apparently they did, as when I went back home most of my friends said I was literally radiating. But alas, some people are meant to fall in love and not be together and it seems this is our fate. The industry we are in doesn’t allow for relationships and with some other issues factored into our situation, it was just not going to be possible for us to be together.

After returning from my 2 week holiday to Cape Town, I spent the last 3 days in France to say my goodbyes. I think it’s fair to say I’m heart broken and after a night of little sleep and a teary taxi ride to the airport, I spent the 2hr flight to Madrid just going over it all in my mind- as us girls do. From Day 1 to where I am now, smiling at memories, analysing things and trying to ensure I remember every little thing, so that I can now sit myself down and try to forget.

Silly isn’t it. How we are often so scared of forgetting, that we spend hours daydreaming about ‘what was’ because we don’t want to let go. But then all we want to do is to forget! You want to forget you ever felt anything at all! You want to forget but you don’t. Same as how you love someone so much that you hate them so much for hurting you. You bounce between the two constantly, I love you, I hate you, it’s exhausting.

So what I am saying, is that sitting here on the floor of Madrid airport (due to the fact that my laptop died and the only plug I could find was on the floor next to the fire escape, opposite the pharmacy), I know what I need to do. Which is something to be proud of actually. Because I often I don’t know what to do and I turn into a bit of an emotional mess. But one thing yachting has done for me this past year, is toughen me up and made me realise that if you can’t do anything about it, there is no point stressing about it, you just have to let it go. So yes, I fell in love with my best friend and I wanted it to work. He may or may not love me, but he definitely can’t be with me and unfortunately, if that’s the case, the rest doesn’t matter. So I am putting band aids on my little heart and putting on my big girl panties and looking forward to this new job being the start of a new chapter for me. Everything happens for a reason and I know it will all be okay. IF its meant to be then one day it will, and it its not, then this is part of my path to something amazing J

The Arabs and The Russians

So I hadn’t thought much about the fact that our next charter guests were Saudi Arabians, until my Nicoletta said to me the day before I arrived “Tiffany. The Arab women are extremely demanding and it can be quite unpleasant. This is going to be a hard charter and you will probably get very little sleep”. Oh great. And they were going to be on for 2 weeks. 2 weeks!! The only bit of good news was that they would most likely sleep at a hotel every night and only use the boat in the day (apparently this is something very common with the Arabs). I thought nah I’ll be fine, I can deal with demanding after 6 weeks of charters.  Well… nothing in this life time could prepare me for this woman.

Firstly, the day they arrive, there are 3 bags FULL just of special Arabic foods and snacks. Spices, nuts, boxes of dates, seeds, coffees, a special coffee pot and coffee cups, then also Shisha and Shisha accessories, charcoal, a special silver pot for food. Wow.

My first meeting with this woman put me off from the start. We are used to guests being at the least, polite, if not friendly. This woman was neither, especially the latter. She walked onto the boat like a diva and immediately started ordering people around pointing. She barely said hello to any of the crew or smiled. She ordered a sparkling water from me which, as I brought it to the outside lounge area, I put where she had been previously seated- she was now standing up against the side, looking at the view. She then sat at the other side of the table and yelled at me from outside in a demanding, irritated voice that would become synonymous with the trip “Excuse me?? Excuse me!!”. So I hurry outside and, not looking at me when she speaks (this also would become customary), says “Why did you being my drink and put it on the other side of the table? It must always be brought to exactly where I am sitting. Give it to me please” then glances up at me from typing on her phone and narrows her eyes. Oh my gosh. I tried to protest, saying she had not been at the table when I brought it and I apologized for putting it in the wrong place, but she just cut me off with a “Its fine, just don’t let it happen again. Now I was truly scared.

She also came with an entourage of staff. A driver, who lives in London and manages their property there and is their “PA/organizer” for anything they need there, a Saudi girl who was the maid to Madam and a Philipino nanny for the young girl. All of whom were absolutely lovely and so helpful. They taught us how madam likes things done ad would assist if we were running around like chickens without heads. They are all sooooo calm. It’s amazing. How they put up with this woman on a permanent basis is beyond me.

Over the next few days we had a lot to learn- how to brew Arabic coffee for 15mins, using 3 different spices put it at different times, how to make Turkish coffee, what different biscuits they have with each of these as well as with the red tea they also drink. Arabic coffee with a tray of assorted dates and cream, as well as sweet Arabic biscuits, in the special Arabic coffee pot, poured into the special hand painted cups, using your left hand to pour and your right hand to serve; this must be prepared by 1pm every day and served as soon as any guest walks onto the boat as a welcome drink. As they never told us when they would arrive, it was always all hands on deck, rushing around to get the snacks and coffee ready in 5mins before she started complaining about why it was taking so long. Then the Turkish coffee, served on request, with Turkish delight, and the red tea, served with more savoury biscuits like digestives. Then there was the preparation of the Shisha, which she had at 7pm every evening or on request and charcoal that you need to light for her incense. But she expects something to be done within 5mins of her request, nevermind how long the preparation time. And she will rush you to get an entire spread laid out- with Arabic coffee and dates, fruit platters, seeds and nuts that need to be on the table- also as soon as they arrive, and then 10mins later say “Please clear up this mess, can’t you see we are finished”. It was exhausting trying to make her happy. You never felt like you were on top of things.

She would walk down the passage and ask you to follow her and then literally throw a scarf or something over her shoulder “Put this away”, then point at the bed (never looking at you) “Hang those up”, “Take this outside”. Never please or thank you. And lazy. Oh my gosh. Her handbag will be 2m from her and she will call you from the other side of the room “Excuse me? Excuse me!! Can you pass my bag with my phones”. Always forgetting where she puts things and then asking us where they are, looking at us like we are completely useless if we say “I’m very sorry Madam, I’m not sure where you might have left that, we’ve had a good look and can’t seem to see it anywhere”. Only for her to discover that she left it at the hotel or something.

And they live on Arab time. Night owls. Morning shift starts at 7am, but then the children (who sleep on the boat) only wake up around 11 and then Madam and Mr only arrive at the boat at 1pm- when they have breakfast. Lunch is served around 5pm and then at 10:30pm they leave the boat for dinner. But in-between these meals are constant snacks- fruit platters, nuts, seeds, nachos, tea with savoury biscuits, Arabic coffee with sweets, Turkish coffee. It was never ending. I can’t believe how much these people ate. It was astounding. When they left at 10:30pm you were absolutely finished. But then if you worked late shift you waited up till they came home at 3:30am, often with guests, for snacks (again seeds, nuts, fruit platter, shisha) and then they stay for just half an hour then leave to go and sleep at the hotel. You get sleepy sitting in the crew mess waiting for them to get back, then as soon as someone shouts “They’re here” its panic stations and you are wide awake in 10 seconds, rushing through to light candles, put out snacks, put soft music on, before she walks on and starts complaining about where everything is. And it doesn’t matter how much you prepare in advance, you are always just never quick enough for her. It was incredibly frustrating.

I have never craved sleep so much in my life.

And always so many people! Every day they had friends over and the friends have children. Every Arab child has a nanny that travels with the family. So when Madam’s daughter wanted to invited 8 friends to the boat, it was also 8 nannies. Which made mealtimes very stressful- for us, as well as for our chef. Preparing a meal for 8 adults upstairs on the upper deck as well as different food and a table setting downstairs for all the nannies and children, with us trying to run up and down stairs, serving both parties simultaneously with numerous drink orders and requests for condiments and whatever else. I honestly felt like I was spinning most of the time. I cried 3 times in the 2 weeks from complete exhaustion and the really disrespectful ugly way this woman would talk to you. It was utterly draining. After a particularly bad day when I was feeling pretty fragile, all it took was a photo of Waffles, sent to me by my dad on whatsapp, to send me completely over the edge in a stream of tears, crying that I’d had enough of this bloody charter and I just wanted to go home to my dogs. When Nicoletta found me hiding outside the crew door, sniffing and snotting, she did all but grab me and shake me by shoulders and gave me a “pull yourself together for God’s sake!” lecture and then softened a bit and told me that it’s just one woman who we’ll never see again after a week and I shouldn’t let her get to me. That yes, she was a guest and we need to do what we can to please her, but only what is humanly possible and nothing is worth killing ourselves over, we can only do our best- as far as we can. I resolved to remember that and somehow managed to drag myself through the next week.

This charter was also the one where I did the most stress eating I’ve ever done. That, coupled with complete exhaustion (and the body’s craving for carbs. After running around like a headless chicken for 6hrs straight with Arabic coffees and trays of dates and shisha ad whatever else, a tuna salad just doesn’t do it for you) and the fact that the Arab and Lebanese sweets are to DIE for, I must have piled on around 2kg in that 2 weeks. The Lebanese sweets really are unbelievable. Mini phyllo pastries with pistachio’s or other nuts, soaked in honey. Oh my god. It was an orgasm in your mouth and pure happiness just emanated through your body as you chewed the delectable sweet. Around day 4 of stress my health campaign had gone out the window. We had zero chance to even rest in the day, nevermind for me to try and exercise. We averaged 5-6hrs sleep each a night for 2 weeks straight and IF we were lucky, we would each get maybe an hour and a half break in the day where you literally collapsed on the bed as soon as you walked into the room. I gave up trying to stick to my shake diet as it just wasn’t enough for me to go on. I was also depressed as shit so got addicted to the honey soaked Lebanese sweets as my “pick me up” when I was feeling down and tired. My hopes for having an Ibiza ‘beach ready’ body in 4 weeks’ time were now a complete dream and no longer a realistic goal. Fuck it. I had to get through this charter alive without having a complete meltdown and if this was the only way then so be it. I gave up.

I somehow managed to survive the last few days- even though we were thrown a curve ball “its my sons 20^th birthday tomorrow so I want the entire boat decorated with hundreds of balloons by tomorrow evening”. Oh God. Well somehow we managed to pull it off- running off the boat to buy balloons and decorations and bottles of helium and getting the whole crew involved at 7am to start the big setup. It was a really good effort in the end- with our chief engineer blowing the balloons up with helium and our chef and deckhand tying the ends and adding string and then the captain and Nicoletta making a giant balloon arc whilst I stuck up posters and made balloon centrepieces and god knows what else. They had about 12 birthday cakes. We had supplied 6 that all weren’t up to her standards, so she sent her driver to get another load just before the party, which she turned her nose up at aswell and then had a go at ALL of us about why are we so useless that none of us can get a grand enough birthday cake. And there were about 50 guests on board- adults, children, and nannies. It was chaos. Absolute chaos.

I’ve never been more relieved in my life when they finally left the boat. Nicoletta is pretty hard and not much gets to her, but even she cracked the one day (incredibly rare), so we wooped with joy when the car drove off into the distance and we quickly disposed with joy of anything remotely Arabic on board that would leave any reminders of the last 2 weeks nightmare.

Feeling utterly dead and in desperate need of some sleep and peace and quiet, we were dreading the next charter as they were Russians. Russians have a reputation in the yachting industry for being quite wild, and when the guests are all male, throwing massive parties where they invite loads of girls literally off the streets, onto the boat. We were expecting 5 males, hence our distress, however what an absolutely lovely surprise when we were greeted by 5 gentlemen friends in their late 40’s that just wanted to see the sites, eat good food, drink good wine and engage in conversation. About what I have no idea as it was all in Russian, but they seemed to be having a good time? It’s hard to tell with Russian men as they are quite unemotive people. The 4 who spoke no English just grunted and nodded whenever you asked them a question or brought them something and the one very cheerful man who did speak English (who was really lovely) would always order on behalf of the group. So we only ever had one person asking for things, which meant Nicoletta and I weren’t being pulled in 5 different directions and it was actually a very pleasant, relaxing charter and the guests didn’t go to bed too late.

It was also the charter where I got to see Portofino! I had heard so much about this beautiful little town so was thrilled to be able to get off and do some exploring. Pics in next blog post in the next few days!

A new boat, a new begining

Surprisingly I made it to Antibes, from Naples, with my 3 x 30kg suitcases and no travel disasters; (although a giant repack in the corner of the airport was necessary- me sitting in the middle of a small pile of my clothes and knickers next to the check in counter for Etihad airlines, getting some rather disapproving looks from other passengers). Now recently unemployed, I had been trying to find the cheapest accommodation possible in expensively renowned Antibes. After making inquiries on a yachtie website, I found something super cheap that looked too good to be true, which exactly what it is turned out to be.

I arrived at the house and had to do a double take. It was down a slightly dodgy ally with graffiti on the wall and after seeing the inside, I swear there are shacks in Khayelitsha bigger and cleaner. I entered into a tiny living room with 5 boys, barely in their 20's, all smoking dope on a grimy looking red sofa. A small cot bed was in the corner of the room with no bedding on it, and I was told that this would be my sleeping place. That, or to share the double bed in the also tiny adjacent bedroom, which also had no bed linen. I swear I could feel the bed bugs biting my ankles already. The kitchenette was half decent but the minuscule bathroom had no mirror and it was clear by the state of the toilet and shower that the place hadn't seen a cleaning product in months. There was no way I could do this. My bags wouldn't even fit in the living room. I needed a plan B.

Luckily my good friend Darrin helped me out and put me up at his friend’s place, where he was staying. This amazing boy has become my new best friend and I don't know what I'd do without him. I spent a few days relaxing and then saw some agencies, who told me I'd be lucky to find a permanent charter job mid-season and should probably settle for anything I got. As always, such positivity from the agencies. But everything always has a way of working out if you are patient, and just 2 days later I got a call about a busy 42m charter boat that needed someone to start immediately. I was relieved and happy- not just another job so soon, but a charter boat! My dreams of making lots of money from tips this season were now still a possibility! 

Darrin dress shopping with me

I was told to start the next day, so happily left with my enormous bags and arrived smiling at the boat, only to be met by a surprised captain looking nervously at all my baggage and asking why I’d brought all my things. I told him happily, with my hand extended in greeting that I was his new employee, but I was met with a baffled face saying that it was just an interview. Oh god. How embarrassing. I was about to call the agency in a blind panic, but after my short interview and the fact that they really needed someone to start straight away, I was told I could stay. 

View from upper deck aft, from our berth in Cannes

Pimped out sundeck

I was put to work straight away as guests were expected that evening. 

Toilet paper decor (yes I made this!)

My chief stew- a Romanian girl in her 30's is small and petite with dark hair but is as scary as a school teacher at times. Sweet when you are doing exactly as she says, but god help you if you don’t do it her way or worse yet try validate why you didn’t do it her way. Lesson- do it her way, no questions asked, and we get along great. The other crew consist of a French captain and gorgeous French- Italian chef, 2 Pilipino deckhands and a Ukrainian chief engineer. I was the only English first language speaker. Attempts at jokes have since proved to be futile as I am met with blank faces of non-understanding. Even daily conversation has to be broken down to very basic English, so the cheerful banter I enjoyed on my last boat was not going to happen here. 

With back to back charters lined up, we were going to be too busy to talk much anyway.

Charter number 1- the French Jews.
Our first guests arrived. 5 men, overweight, kind of untrustworthy looking and also with little English skills. Wow. Although all with wives and girlfriends, they had 20 yr old escort girls on the boat daily and often brought back more strays from the beach. We had to deal with naked parties in the Jacuzzi, demanding drunk men, girls dancing on the sofa's and used condoms in the showers and beds on a daily basis. I started wearing latex gloves when changing the bed sheets. 

Discovered under the bed, in the sheets and on the floor

The most unattractive and fattest guest of them all even tried to kiss me the one evening and invite me back to his room. It was awful! I was starting to wonder if I’d joined the right boat. Sitting with our First Officer the one night, who casually asked me if I thought they were on crack, I almost spluttered on my mouthful of tea “Probably” I said. Is this going to be the norm for the next few charters?

Charter 2- The Americans

Well thankfully it wasn't. The next charter consisted of 2 lovely American families, returning guests for 3 years who love the crew, were polite and warm and let us go to bed early and weren’t at all demanding. It was really a pleasure and they left us a very generous tip as well as giving each crew member a lovely cashmere sweater. We all sat together on the port wall in Cannes the one evening and watched the fireworks display (it happens in France all through July and August). Its all choreographed to music and is so pretty.

Things were looking up and I had settled into the boat routine. The chief stew and I rotate between each of us having a short day and a long day. On your long day you are up at 7am to serve the guests breakfast and you stay on service throughout the day, attending the guests when necessary, whilst the other girl wakes up later around 10am and cleans the cabins, then helps you serve lunch. After lunch you take a 2-3hr break and the other girl stands in on service for you. When you get back from your break, she goes on hers and then whilst you set up for dinner, she does the evening cabin turndowns. You both serve dinner then she goes to bed and you stay to clear and look after the guests until they go to bed. Then the next day you are the one that starts later and does cabins. And so it goes…

Roberto's yummy desserts- the reason my diet fails daily

The owner trip

The next lot to arrive were our Dutch owners. What a pleasure. Friendly, relaxed and informal and spend most days eating lunch and dinner off the boat, which is a blessing as we get more time to relax, even though they do stay out late so I would often find myself in the evening, sitting in the stair by the entrance to the main salon, slightly bored and tired, alone with my thoughts, comfort eating.
Now comfort eating is not what you might first picture in your head- a huge sloth of a person lying in their pyjamas in their living room, staring absent mindlessly at a soapie whilst surrounded by empty boxes of pizza, Chinese takeout and tubs of Ben & Jerry’s.

No. It can also just be that average Joe who is looking for an upper and craves some sugar (such as me). It doesn't have to do with eating masses of actual FOOD. It's not about being hungry. You aren't actually hungry at all. You just feel like something tasty, something “nice”, something that you know will give you pleasure, even if only for a minute.

Because when you're feeling miserable, you always do something to cheer yourself up, something that you know will give you a happy thought or put a smile on your face. And eating is usually a sociable occasion and is enjoyable and relaxing. So if you are not in a situation where you can  do something to take your mind off feeling down- like do some exercise, go see a friend or go shopping (i.e. when you work on a boat...) for your mind to crave something tasty when you are feeling down isn't all that ridiculous really. There's nothing else you can get an up from.

So here I am, waiting for guests to get home, exhausted from lack of sleep, miserable because I can't exercise and get off the boat, missing my friends and feeling rather lonely really. After trying to find anyone awake at 1am to talk to on Facebook or whatsapp and failing miserably, picking at some m&m's, eating a chocolate chip cookie, chewing on the crust of a piece of left over fig tart and crunching on a few Pringles, I was still craving sugar. I let out a big sigh and walked again to the cupboard that I opened about 10 times in the last hour and hadn’t changed in terms of stock. Jams, nuts, cereal, Nutella, chic chip biscuits. Hmmmmm. Chocolate and hazelnuts? One of my happy memories is one of me and my 2 best school friends always giving each other chocolate nutties as a present on birthdays. The thought made me smile as I remembered some of the silly photos we'd taken. So I grabbed a handful of hazelnuts and put them in a cup, reached up for the Nutella and took 2 big spoonful’s and added that to the cup. I mushed it all around, sat down on the stairs, let out another sigh and started eating the calorie infused concoction whilst thinking about what I was really doing with my life. Was I still enjoying what I was doing? I know I missed my family and dogs, exercise and a routine, doing anything “normal” like going to the movies, the mall, meeting a friend for a coffee, going for a walk on the beach and even having a boyfriend. I was having a Bridget jones moment.

After a few days of feeling a bit down in the dumps, I got the opportunity one morning to do something normal. I was allowed to go to the St Tropez morning market. A collision of smells sweet and savoury hit your nose as you weave in between the numerous stalls, selling everything from boutique clothing to leather purses and bags, wood products, antiques to delicious fresh food stalls. I munched on a focaccia whilst ambling along and bought a lovely tan leather handbag and little blue dress. 

St Tropez market

St Tropez port road

St Tropez has a famous ice cream parlour called Barbarac which is right on the Marina, so whilst in St Tropez, I of course had to visit that, to see for myself if this claim was true. It was definitely one of the best and had every flavour that you could think of, with people queuing around the corner!

30 July

So here I am again. Late. In a sweating anxious mess, sweat pooling in my bra between my boobs, brow furrowed as I hoped that the hairdresser that I was 15mins late for would wait for me. Especially as they had agreed to take me on after hours of begging and pleading. I hate being late. But it seems no matter how I plan my day, it's an eventuality:

After a manic and tedious top to tail clean of the boat and getting the green light to leave early to go and get some things done- namely get phone credit, MAC makeup, toiletries, see the osteopath for my shoulder and get my highlights done- I had had a super quick shower, faffed somewhat as to what to wear, but then made it out the boat by 4:45pm. I was only seeing the osteopath at 6 and the hairdresser at 6:45, so with an hour to get from Cannes to Antibes to see the osteopath, I thought I had oodles of time.

Alas not... French transport as usual (waiting 20'mins for a bus. Serves me right for being lazy. I could have walked it in 10) started me off on my downward spiral to lateness. Then service provider Orange  (who is worse than Telekom I swear) made me wait for 25 mins just to buy phone credit. Phone credit I tell you!! So after getting that at 5:45pm and bolting to MAC, I found myself again on the phone, cancelling my osteopath appointment (at the time I was meant to be there)  and letting the hairdresser know I’d be late, apologizing profusely as both seemed to just sigh and didn't seem very surprised. As a regular customer of both, I think they've succumbed to the fact that I have a problem with being on time.
The train station was its own nightmare and I should have known better. I got there and saw that I had 15mins to spare before my train, so, even though I knew it was tight and I was already late, I thought I would have time to dash across the road to monoprix to get my toiletries. If there were no queues it would be fine and I wouldn't get another opportunity to go before our  boat left the next day. Hmmmmm what if I didn't make it back and the next train was only in half an hour and I missed the hairdresser? I would die. My skunk hairdo was less than attractive and I couldn't exactly wear a hat at work. I decided to tempt fate and make a dash for it and literally ran through the train station, dodging people, dogs and almost having to frog leap over a small child that I didn't see until the last minute. I pretty much snatched and grabbed at monoprix and even though I spent 3mins trying to hunt down peanut butter, only to be told they'd run out (wtf? what large scale grocer runs out of peanut butter?), by the time I got in the queue to pay, with 8mins to go till the train, I thought I was going to be okay.

Well that was until sodding Murphy's law decided to kick me in the vagina again and an elderly lady started to take what seemed like an eternity to count out some coins to pay for her groceries. I sat there huffing and puffing and as I got to the till, then the tellers had to do a changeover. Oh god. Why in the name of all things holy! I had 2mins. Little sweat beads started forming on my forehead and the pool of moisture between my boobs started to slide down my stomach. I paid and sprinted back across the street, dodging and scooting past people and leaping down stairs. I could see my train. I actually squeaked out loud. As I flew up the stairs onto the platform, absolutely gasping for breath and almost knocking people over with my shopping bags,  all that was left to see of the train was its behind, sliding away in the distance.

Damit! 1minute! That's all I was late by! 1 min sooner and I would have made it. I wondered if I should legally change my name to Murphy and then I could make my own laws and not be subjected to this karmic unfairness. The next train was in 10mins, which wasn’t too bad. I called the hairdresser to tell them I was on my way and luckily they said nothing about leaving without me. Thank goodness. I would have had to go back to monoprix and buy and attempt to try a self-dye job. Which, knowing my luck, would have turned my hair bright orange. 

So now, sweaty and gross with shiny makeup and dripping bra, I decided I deserved a snack and a bottle of water. The last time I'd eaten was at lunch. So I looked at the vending machine and saw some crocodile haribos. Omg. I hadn't had chewy sweets in 6 weeks! I was definitely getting those, and some sour worms (for the boat, not all now I promise) and a bottle of water. And maybe some crisps. I needed something more substantial than just sugar to get me through 2 and a half hours at the hairdresser. I put in my coins and managed to get my sweets and water, but then Murphy decided to snort with laughter at me again, as when I put in my money and pressed the code for my crisps, they got stuck just before they were about to fall off. Great! So I ended up paying double. Sodd it. I was over this day now and could almost laugh about it.  I relaxed a bit on the train ride and pottered down the street from Antibes train station towards the hairdresser. As I was passing the blue lady (now 15mins late for the hairdresser) low and behold I saw that Jeffrey's was open. I had thought it would have been closed already. I absolutely had to go in. I was already late, what was another 5mins? 

Now, Jeffrey's is the international store in Antibes where you can get some fantastic British and South African products, among others. HP sauce, Mrs Balls Chutney, Crabbies, Flings, my favourite chai tea and most importantly Ouma rusks. Delicious! Last time I'd been there they hadn't had any. The thought of a nice, crunchy rusk with a cup of tea had me salivating in a moment, so I pushed open the door and was greeted by a wonderful surprise after the drama I'd received from Mr Murphy that day. A whole row of rusks! 3 rows deep! I loaded up 4 boxes and went happily to the till, smiling widely and said yes that was all, when the lady asked if I wanted anything else. Then- no. I wanted a Crabbies. I'd drink it at the hairdresser. I'm sure they wouldn't mind. Even though I was now arriving with 4 bags of shopping, so my "our boat docked late and then I missed the train" story now looked sceptical. They probably thought I didn't care I'd kept them waiting. I really did care though. I offered to pay an additional after hours fee for keeping them waiting and when they politely declined I promised to purchase an armful of products. Which I did, leaving with 2 months’ supply of hair products that set me back 140 euros, on top of the 80 euro haircut. Ouch.

Charter round 3! 

Some friends of our Dutch owners came on board for a few days. A dad with his 2 sons and all their friends, ages from 20- 28. The main guests were from Luxembourg and the friends were from all over. Nicoletta and I were scared. They seemed like a wild bunch and we were mentally preparing for 3 days of no sleep. When I was told they were having a party for 50 people the first night I thought I might throw up. But I actually got on really well with the boys. The younger lot especially and on the day they left (my night off) they invited me out for drinks. We hit this swanky nightclub in Cannes called Baoli and my guests organized a great table by the dance floor as well as bottles of vodka and god knows what else (I can’t even remember). 

I been in desperate need of a normal night out with dancing, drinking and socializing. It was an absolute hoot and I even ended up kissing one of the boys- a 21 y old from Poland. What is it with me and 21 yr olds? That’s the 4^th one in a year! I’m starting to worry about why it’s the younger men rather than the older that are interested! I had been feeling a bit bleak about my inability to stick to my diet and my growing love handles, so at least it was a good boost for my ego haha :)

My 21yr old Polish boy

The Brazilians

After walking back to the boat like a drunken sailor, stilettos in hand and stumbling into bed at 5am, waking up my Romanian stew in the process and getting shouted at, I must have slept through my alarm. I woke with a start at 8am as she barged through our bedroom door, giving me all hell for not being up and dressed and coming home drunk just 3hrs earlier when we had charter guests about to arrive. I clambered out of bed and dragged myself to the bathroom. I realized I hadn’t even changed and I’d slept in the black sequined dress I’d gone out in the night before and a full face of makeup, now so smudged I looked like I was going to a Halloween party. Great.

I managed to make myself look presentable even though I felt awful and hoped the 6 Brazilians (3 couples we were told, in their 60’s) would be an easy, relaxed charter with some early nights. 

Would I ever have such luck?

At the last minute as we arrived to fetch our guests, we were told it was now actually a full house of 12 (6 couples). As my chief stew and I scrambled around to make up the 6^th bedroom, the Brazilians started arriving. Shrieking and laughing in Portuguese and all talking at once, loudly, at the same time and asking tons of questions and all ordering at the same time, I realized this charter was not going to be what I had originally hoped. Not at all. The group turned out to be a bunch of friends in a wine club back home in Brazil. In their 60’s and some in their early 70’s yes, but they partied like 25yr olds. After a daily big rowdy breakfast, they’d start on the champagne almost immediately, up in the Jacuzzi (3 decks up). We spent most of the day traipsing up and down the 3 decks of stairs, carrying bottle after bottle champagne and cocktails. God these people could drink! Sweet and loads of fun- picture a grey haired old man that looks like Einstein dancing around in a black speedo holding a bottle of Dom Perignon- but such hard work as they wanted something every 5mins. 

We were utterly exhausted. My bum ached at the end of each day as if I’d been on the stepping machine for 2hrs at the gym. Well hopefully I’d lose some weight then. After all the nights of sugar snacking, I needed it. I’d started to get a squishy pouch where my abs used to be and my bum could now hold a pencil under it, between my bum cheek and my thigh- not good. 

We worked hard and were constantly exhausted, but the guests’ friendliness made it bearable, as did the gorgeous places we visited. We went to Corsica first and I have fallen in love with Bonifacio. A town built up on the mountain, with a cliff drop off to the sea below; it is an incredible site and nothing like I have ever seen before. 

I couldn’t wait to get off the boat and go exploring. The port lies between valley/ravine in the mountain and looks so narrow, yet can fit quite a few superyachts. 

I was lucky enough to get some time off the boat when our guests went out for dinner. SO I decided to treat myself and after a slow amble along the busy street that lines the port, went to sit and a cute little restaurant with a lovely view of the town and the sea, and had a pizza and a glass of wine. 

Kumquats from SA!! In Corsica!

I’d been craving a pizza as I hadn’t had one in about 3 months and it was delicious! I was halfway through cramming a big piece, laden with avo, into my mouth when I saw our guests walk past. The one old man stopped and waved and then came over to my little table and gave me a 50 euro note and said “Please, this is for the bill”. I protested and thanked him but said I couldn’t take it, but he insisted. How lovely of him :)  I felt so touched. And the bill only came to 3 euros- score!

Gorgeous sunset off Corsica

Corsica somewhere

After Corsica we headed to Sardinia, which, although a lot of people speak about, I wasn’t that blown away by. I felt Corsica had more character. 

Porto Chervo, Sardinia

Gorgeous blue waters in Sardinia

 

Another beautiful sunset

Two of the “main” older men, including the one who had paid for my dinner, were chatting to me on the last night whilst I worked night service. They said something that really made me feel warm and smile inside and out and made the hard work all worthwhile. They said “Tiffany, you have really made our holiday. You have been so friendly and worked so hard and we love your personality, it is open and expressive and you like to talk, like the Brazilian people. We want to give you something extra besides the tip to the crew, to say thank you”. Now this isn’t really allowed and I told them I would get in trouble and couldn’t accept anything.  But then I thought hey, I’ve worked hard, if I make a bigger effort than the others then why it is wrong to accept something for my efforts. So on the day they left, when we dropped them off in Sardinia, the men each gave me 150 and 200 euros in the way of the secret “shake your hand and pass you the money so hopefully no one see’s” way. It was so sweet and the ladies all wanted to take loads of photos and wanted our e-mail addresses and made us promise to be in touch if we ever came to Brazil and they would show us a good time which I have no doubt they would. 

The Brazilian ladies!

So it was a lovely end to a hard working charter. And the tip they left was also more than generous. So it all pays off in the end, you just have to push yourself through the hard days. 

And oh god, the hard days that were yet to come…. Wait for the Arab charter story in my next blog!!