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 |
 |
| 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.
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.
 |
| 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.
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 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!
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).
.jpg)
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 4th 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 :)
.jpg)
 |
| 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 6th 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 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.
.jpg)
.jpg)
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
.jpg)
.jpg)
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! |
And oh god,
the hard days that were yet to come…. Wait for the Arab charter story in my
next blog!!
No comments:
Post a Comment