When one door closes, another opens (hopefully)

So a lot has happened in the last few weeks...

I survived the Atlantic crossing (just), spent a weekend in Barcelona, a weekend in Palma, saw some of the gorgeous Italian Amalfi coastline, had my first charter, got let go from my job under dodgy circumstances and found another one. So let’s start at the beginning:

After a crossing that was more hairy that Gandalf's beard, we arrived in Gibraltar to re fuel. Dry land- thank heavens! We were allowed 2 hours off the boat, so dragging Nico along, I headed straight to the Lord Nelson pub for a Crabbies. You can only get them in Europe (well the UK, but a few random English pubs have them), so I hadn't had one in 6 months and was having withdrawal symptoms. For those of you who have not been fortunate enough to taste this alcoholic gingerbeer heaven in your mouth, you have no idea what you are missing out on. 

Due to being stuck and sea for 14 days and not having been able to walk around, people watch, shop etc, I then took Nico for an amble up the High St. We were asked to be back at the boat at 3pm as the boat due to leave at 4pm. Being my usual untimely self, I thought if we were slightly late it wouldn't be an issue. I aimed to have us back by 3:15pm but we somehow got slightly lost on our return and only got back to the boat at 3:30pm. As we walked down the dock, we see the boat, engines going full, passerail (proper term for the gangway) up and all the crew standing on deck waiting for us, ready to go. Oh shit. I started running, tripping in my sandals and gasping for breathe as I reached the boat, apologizing profusely to a not so impressed captain and an equally upset Nico, who had trusted me to get us back on time.

Ola Barcelona! Wow what an exciting city! Off to do some exploring! Uhhhh or not... Unfortunately, as Nico and I almost missed the boat, we were put on watch on Saturday as punishment, whist the rest of the crew had the day off. Now Saturday is the WORST day to be on watch, as you have to work from 7am that morning and then be on call till 7am the next morning. This means not only can you not go out on Saturday and Saturday night, it also means you can't have a late Friday night as you're up super early. I've heard stories about the crazy Barcelona nightlife and decided there was no way I was missing out on an opportunity to experience it, as who knows when I would be back in the city. 

So crackwhore and I (my awesome second stew who I've become tight with, (Crackwhore is a term of endearment by the way. “Morning crackwhore!” “Well hello there slutface!”. We use it affectionately) decided to head out to one of Barcelona's best known nightclubs- Opium. We started off having a lovely dinner with our second officer that consisted of some traditional Spanish tapas- Sangria, melon and Iberia ham, squid, croquettes- it was delicious! 

Tapas dinner

And I love how the Spanish only eat at 10pm then hit the clubs at midnight. I think a day with a siesta and late night eating and partying is definitely the way to go!

Caro and I were both short of cash but headed out in our heels and managed to find a group of 26 year old Brits, in Barcelona on a week’s golf tournament. All being bankers and loaded with squids, Caro and I managed to not spend a cent and had 20 young guys to entertain us all evening. The clubs are awesome, would definitely recommend going there. 

The bankers we met!

The city is beautiful as well and such a pleasure to explore. “las rambles” is the main street which smaller streets lead from and is a beautiful tree lined cobbled road with old architecture and cute café’s and restaurants lining its edges. 

The centre strip, which is the cobbled part, is pedestrian walk only and has its own little restaurants and cafes, a lane of traffic on either side of it separates it from the sidewalk. Signs for sangria and tapas are everywhere and there is a gorgeous indoor market where you're senses are ambushed by vibrant colours and smells.

We went to see the Familia, which is Barcelona’s famous cathedral. It is still a work in progress today and its size and the intricate design and art are magnificent.

After another few days at sea, we arrived in Imperia, Italy, which was to be our base till we had to pick up our charter guests in Cannes the following week. Sleepy Italian city, nothing to write home about- not beautiful or much happening. After being at sea for so long and only having 1 day out in Barcelona, I was craving an escape. A guy I’d met I Lauderdale, through my crew mate Nico, was in Palma with his boat. We’d hit it off in Laudies and had had loads of fun out partying at exit 66 (see previous blog post…). He persuaded me to come to Palma and I flew out the weekend we arrived in Italy. My friend Georgina was also there, doing freelance work and offered me a place to stay in an apartment she was renting.

I arrived in hot, sunny Palma (no travel disasters this time- are there pigs flying outside??) and fell in love again (Spain is just awesome). I love the little streets and shops, It reminds me of little seaside town on the south coast of Spain we used to have a holiday house in when I was little. It’s bustling and there’s a warm and energetic, yet laid back atmosphere. After some drinks with the girls I met up with my Lauderdale buddy Ray as well as my friend Stu and we headed off to find us a party. Well I must admit we were with some people who lead us a bit astray and took us to some rubbish places playing awful music, until some clever spark (I think it was me) said “what about this place called Mungaloof that everyone talks about?”. "Oh no, it’s a total dump" they all said, "it’s all commercial dance music" (this, coming from a bunch of slightly alternative nerdy dudes we’d met at a bar earlier that evening). It was worth checking it and OH MY GOD IT WAS SO WORTH IT. 

Mungaloof- a clubbing area, not a particular club- was just crazy! We went to this club BCM where it was drink all you can for 40 euros with an awesome DJ setup. It turned out to be this massive foam party and the music was insane! I haven’t danced that much since Rocking the Daisies Red Bull Tent last year. The foam machines are these tubes this come down from the roof and later on when the giant dancefloor is so filled with foam you can’t see a thing, they release water to subside the foam. I remember dancing and Ray picking me up and carrying me under one of these “showers” and we danced soaking wet till 4am!

Hout Bay buddies- me and Stu

Foam party at Mungaloof's BCM

I was rather intoxicated so Ray decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to trust me to get back to Georgina’s place, so he walked- well no, it was more like half carried- me back to his boat where I had to get snuck on and he put me in a hot shower as I was shivering like a leaf. The next morning I was booted out bright and early by the captain and was made to walk from Ray’s boat to the main road at 7am to try and get a taxi, dressed like a vagrant in boys tracksuit pants and a hoodie with frizzy hair and smudged make up from the night before (my clothes were still soaking wet in a bag I was carrying). I most likely smelt like alcohol too and wouldn’t have been surprised if a taxi had refused to let me into his vehicle. Luckily the Spanish are a non-judgemental bunch (clearly) as a nice man picked me up and took me back to Georgina’s, were I couldn’t get in as there was no doorbell and my phone had died. So I sat in a shop doorway and stared at the apartment, now and again trying to call up to the window- to the distain and odd looks of a few early morning passers-by who probably thought I was begging.

George finally heard my feeble yet desperate cries and opened up for me, where a couch has never looked more comfortable. Later that day I went out for a lovely tapas lunch with the girls and wandered the streets, stopping in at Zara and some other boutique stores and bought a few tops. 

We went to this gorgeous beach on my last day where there is a stunning bar/restaurant on the water called Rocket Bar. Wow. The view and location are one of the best I’ve experienced yet and I would love to take a bunch of friends and go back there. It’s near a marina, but for smaller yachts, so the view with the crystal clear water, boats and beach is like a postcard.

 

Breathtaking view of the Swiss Alps from the aeroplane on the way home

The following weekend our boat was in Cannes, so Nico, Johnny, Caro and went through to one of my favourite places in the South of France- Juan le Pins (or JLP as we call it). Restaurant-bars right on the beach playing chilled house tunes whilst you sip on Rose and eat lunch with your feet in the sand. 

 

Me and Crackwhore

(after a quick stop off at Antibes in the morning to grab a crabbies and watch some rugby! And to get my hair done of course...)

 

Later that night we headed up to Monaco to meet our friend Jackie. We went to the famous Buddha Bar, which, although it had a great view and the décor indoors was very extravagant, it was pretty dark inside and not as great as I’d thought it would be. We went to a cool party happening down the road afterwards though and Nico and I crawled back to the train station at 4am where we sat for an hour waiting for the 5:30pm train back home to the boat in Cannes. I promptly curled up on Nico and fell asleep for the hour and a half journey home.

 

We were there just after the Grandprix so alot of the branding was still up!

Jax!

My boys who I love to bits

 

It's never a quite night out when you're a yachtie...

The following week we picked up our charter in Cannes. My first charter! I was a bit nervous but it went pretty smoothly. 7 Guests- a family of 5 (parents with 3 boys) + a friend. Ah boys, well that shouldn’t be too much trouble I though, just shorts and t-shirts to be washed!

Hell no….

Rich kids don’t just wear shorts and t-shirts, they wear J Crew. J Crew and Lacoste Polos. Only. No jokes. It was like the Brady bunch. The father and  sons all had the same brand and colours of boxers, polos, shirts, shorts and trousers, they just had different sizes. J Crew clothes are super pleb trendy but a nightmare to iron. You can’t just wash an item and give it a quick swish with the iron. The shorts and pants take around 12mins each to iron out every small crease. And they change 4 times a day. FOUR TIMES A DAY! WTF? Nearly did my head in. A pair of coral shorts that I’ve ironed perfectly would be worn for 3hrs then thrown back into the wash- without a trace of dirt on them and still perfect iron creases down the centre of the legs. If my head of housekeeping hadn’t been keeping tabs on me I would have just taken half the stuff and given it another quick iron and just hung it up again. Crazy.

I was also told I had to iron boxers and fold them up into present shape parcels, as well as socks (yes that is correct, iron socks). I couldn’t help a muffled snort when first told to do this as yes, I understand 5 star service, but ironing socks is just ridiculous. I could just see myself losing the plot one night, drinking a few glasses of wine then drawing faces onto the Ralph Lauren socks, making them into sock puppets and giggly hysterically. Well thankfully I didn’t do THAT but I did have a laundry disaster with a pair of the charter guest’s special cycling socks. If you tell me to iron socks, don’t expect me to spend time caressing them between my fingers trying to work out what material they are- socks are socks. So I don’t think I could really be blamed when I ironed a pair of cycling socks that happened to be made of some special elasticine rubber stuff so fizzled up and went poof right infront of my eyes as soon as I touched them with the iron. “Well at least it wasn’t an Armani shirt”, I explained to my Chief Stew, holding out what remained of the sock. Again, I managed to escape being in trouble due to a very relaxed charter guest. But that’s what you get for asking me to iron socks…

Caro (crackwhore) and I having some fun whilst sorting out the costume cupboard one afternoon

An example of some of the affection between myself and Crackwhore. She left this on my ironing board...

Above and below, set up for a "white party" for our charter guests one evening

I’ve always wanted to do the Amalfi coastline, ever since watching that movie “Under a Tuscan Sun” where Diane Lane goes to Positano with that handsome young Italian she meets. It really is just as breath taking as it is in the movie and I am so lucky to have seen it from the ocean and marvel at it from afar, nestled in the cliffs. Portofino is just as picturesque and managed to spot Dolce and Gabbana's mansion on the hill.

Cap Ferrat

Dolce and Gabbana's house bottom left in Portofino

Beautiful, quaint town of Portofino

I am still going to do my Italian roadtrip one day, starting in the SOF and driving all around Italy. The whole coastline from Monaco up is actually amazing- including Cap Ferrat and the mountain-top town of Eze. We sailed to the isle of Capri, just off Naples, which is another jaw dropper. Dying to go back there. We anchored in this little bay that was overlooked by clusters of houses and restaurants high up on the hill. It was incredible. We all jumped in the water one lunch time, straight off the boat, and the sea was warm and clear. Lots of yachts hanging out in the bay but it was quiet and peaceful and beautiful and I was absolutely loving life on my boat.

Until...

A few days later, we were told of charter in August for a celebrity client that would require the use of our 7^th “staff” cabin. Most superyachts have 6, but we provide this 7^th cabin that is often used for security guards/nanny's/ masseuses or any other staff travelling with high profile guests. Our boat sleeps 16 crew members, however, as the staff cabin is so rarely used (maybe twice a season for 12 weeks), we employ 17 crew and our head chef stays in the staff cabin. Previously when this cabin needed to be occupied by guests, or chef would just swap beds with the deckie working the night shift. This used to be fairly common in yachting some time ago and is referred to as “hot bunking”. 

Now, however, hot bunking, under new laws, is no longer allowed. So the required use of the 7^th cabin for our pending charter in August meant that we now had crew sleeping arrangement problems. It's a much longer story, but in a nutshhell, I was asked If I would be prepared to share a bed with the Captain (a double bed classifies 2 people legally allowed to share a room), to which I said no. All the girls were asked, we all said no, but for some reason I got harassed about it and felt pressurized and scared I might lose my job. I was even offered 700 euros but put my foot down and just said sorry I'm not comfortable with this. Next thing the Captain tells me he has to let me go as I'm “not prepared to be accommodating” even though we came up with loads of other solutions for sleeping arrangements. I didnt get to work out my 1 month notice. I got paid out and then was left at the dock in Naples with 3 big bags, a plane ticket and now no job, bam smack in the middle of charter season.

I was still in shock as I watched the boat sail away, back to gorgeous Capri, wiping away tears as I wave to my crew who I'd become so fond of. There were teary goodbyes from me and lots of promises to meet up and party soon, but your crew become your family and we had such a great bunch of people all the same age and into the same things, lots of banter and laughs. I released a giant sigh, looked down at my plane ticket to Antibes and thought “here we go again”. Back to square one, were I was in September last year. Jobless.

Struggling with a banging hangover headache after my farewell drinks the night before, I took a deep breathe, sat down at the dock bar and ordered a beer and told myself to pull it together. I always come through, I was going to be okay. Antibes is a yachting hub and the place I started out, so it feels like 'home'. I knew people there, I knew the agents and the town. It would be bustling now and I could actually do with a bit of R&R- relax, sit in the sun, wander the cobbled streets, have a few meals out with friends and most importantly, a few Crabbies. All whilst seeing agencies and job hunting of course! My taxi driver finally pulled up (they really do work on “Italian time” so you need to book them half an hour before you actually need them) and I headed off to the airport with 3 x 30kg bags of luggage, as always praying there would be no complications at the airport, which seem to be synonomous with me travelling.     

Watch this space.... :)