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Mr Awesome and Cryptic Omens

After a couple of years of not really being busy during the med summer I have finally ended up being quite busy. Quite busy for us is not actually stupidly busy but the ramifications are  felt keenly by my dragon self who has had a couple of quite relaxed med summers in the past.

We picked up our second charter of the season on Tuesday the 12th of July. The main group of guests were friends of our owner. Our owner is quite a big deal in Hollywood and it was with some surprise when I did some googling of our guest list. It turned out that the principal guest was quite a big deal as well.

Even better was discovering that the principal guest was devoutly Californian and a delight to have on board. Interesting character traits included.
Not having a dinner jacket to his name.
The only pair of footwear he bought was a pair of flip flops.
Punctuating everything with AWESOME.
Asking if he could help out when the weather turned or things looked difficult.
Running into movie stars and inviting them back on board.

When I last left you I had just seen El Fuerte. This was a good omen.
Today I had a very strange omen. I had a half a day off the boat in Antibes. I had a lovely morning with my wife and we sat on the beach for a bit and had a nice meal. We stopped in at the hop store on our way back and I had a cider for the road. I entered the toilet at approximately 2:45pm and was surprised to find when I tried to leave that I was locked in.

Naturally I banged about cursed that I was not wearing my leatherman and eventually some help was found. Help was four french staff who took apart the door and slipped a fleshy magazine under the door for my perusal. Eventually they busted the door down to let a doubly relieved kiwi outside.

The jury is deliberating over this omen. I shall let you know how it pans out.

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The Legend of El Fuerte Lives on

I have been meaning to write about El Fuerte’s incredible blog which he types with his killer feet. You can read it here.

http://elviajerooptimista.blogspot.com/

The really great thing about it if you are a Cowboy Espanol speaker like myself is that it translates quite well with Google translate. It is humorous and informative.

Of course I will not take any credit for his blog but it is a nice coincidence he is writing one now.

Speaking of nice coincidences we left for Nice to day to start our season proper. We will pick up some guests tommorow and be flat tack until September. I was determined to have a good day so when my mind wanders to dark subjects I have been forcing myself to start thinking positive thoughts.

This has worked really well, so well that who should appear on the boat next door as we were leaving? El Fuerte. This made Anna and I really happy and it was great to see him for a few minutes.

See you again El Fuerte!

 

He really is a super hero.

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Cowboy Italian

You should know by now that I am quite enamoured with Italy. I love the landscape, the people, the decay and the shiny things. I have lived here for months aboard boats so it always feels like a homecoming  when I return. It was especially vivid this time after spending months in the cultural wastelands of the Caribbean and England (hohoho). I am also embarrassed to admit I have no ability for conversational Italian. What I have mastered through listening, peering intelligently at Italian newspapers and labouring through Italian TV is Cowboy Italiano. 

With a vocabulary which grows by words every week, I can create real sentences which make little sense but convey important messages. Thinking about it this is very similar to Cowboy Swedish and Cowboy Espanol.

Let us learn some Cowboy Italiano!

First things first you are probably going to need another drink at some point. However, I don’t know how to say one more. What I do know is how to recharge phone credit so I would say.

‘scusa possible ricarica gin-tonica

which is

Excuse me is it possible to recharge my gin and tonic

Secondly, if  you are working on a yacht you are going to need to clean some stainless steel. I don’t know how to say clean but I do know something pretty close

Questo lavenderia inox?

which is

This  stainless laundry?

Dinning in at a restaurant and need a spoon? Again I don’t know what spoon is but I know something else.

’scusa Possible scopah mangaro

which translates to

Excuse me is it possible to get me an eating shovel?

Is your beef steak undercooked?

try saying

’scusa Possible mucho grand incindeo fumare steaka?

Excuse me is it possible to make grand fire smoke steak  ?

See how easy Cowboy Italian is!

I will learn Italian at some point I promise I will. The question is when and which poor language will suffer my Cowboy ways next.

Ciao Bitches

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Santa Margherita & Portofino

Two weekends past we ventured out into the heatwave that had descended upon the Mediterranean and caught a train eastwards to the seaside town of Santa Margherita.  If you hadn’t surmised from my patently painted clues we are now on the Italian Riviera and Santa Marghertita  is the closest train station to Portofino.

The weather was oppressively hot and it was with some miss placed luck that we ended up in the first class carriage.  To the best of my knowledge first class carriages in Italy are full of second class ticket owners. The second class carriages are full of people with no tickets. The highlight of the trip for me was a little old blind lady walking past swearing at ghosts or some other spirits and swinging her cane in an erratic fashion. Maybe she was a witch . There was a moment of mild panic as we lost sight of the coast but a lovely Italian chap was kind enough to let us know we should get off at the next stop.

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Santa Margherita was a delightful spot and with our stomachs growling we stopped at the closest restaurant we could find which happened to be a beach resort. With my bright coloured clothing and poor Italian accent the waitress translated Bira Moretti into Becks. E’gads I thought, I looked or sounded German. 

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Scurrying out of the restaurant we descended a flight of stairs and walked around the salt water pool to enquire about renting a couple of sun loungers for the afternoon. The pool attendant informed us that this would cost 5o euros.  50 Euros is a princely sum to sit upon a lounger that is not even on the beach.

The scorching sun rendered me incapacitated. Anna went swimming several times and  I spent four hours debating whether I could move to the pool and skilfully adjusted my sun visor. I did not reach the pool but I did reacquaint myself with the powerfully refreshing cocktail that is Italian Gin con Tonica.

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With the Sun still beating down we said goodbye to our loungers and caroused the town looking  information on how to get to Portofino. Santa Margherita had many charming qualities.

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Parklike surrounds to sit beside. 

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Fountains and statues.

It also had a prosperous and lively amount of gelataria. I had a very interesting combination of Kit Kat, pistachio, straciatella and tira misu. Yum. 

After a very unsuccessful bartering session with a taxi driver (35 euros no thank you I could sit on a sun lounger for that) we chose the more financially and socially appealing bus. Being a gentleman and wanting to soak up the bus experience I stood with the other late on the bus people and was immediately transfixed with the oddest of sights. Two rather large Italian chaps with hair curlers upon overly clipped hair.  

The bus ride to Portofino was a winding one and there were plenty of opportunities to look at the sea when  we were waiting for cars to pass in the other direction. I found myself almost wanting to announce to the bus that I worked on one of those large shiny floating vessels. The words escaped me(more about my Italiano later)

After such an interesting bus ride it was quite nice to stroll down the hill into the once sleepy fishing port of Portofino.

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We walked around the port and spied a perfectly placed castle looking out over the bay from an epic vantage point . With scant regard to logistics we started the long climb up to see what we could see. What we found was our lungs nearly exploded climbing the hill. There was also a wedding on which meant we could not actually take a close look at the castle.

We did take some photos on our way up and down.

 

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Not a bad spot eh?

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I quite like this photo which has me in the foreground. It really captures the spirit of carrying a man bag for thousands of kilometres through beautiful places. When I am buried I want to be wearing a manbag with my wallet, phone and a chupa chup for old times sake.

We had a nice dinner in Portofino. Pro travel tip. If the restaurant has reserved signs everywhere just turn up 2 hours before it gets busy and look awesome. They will find a spot for you.

After dinner we were going to catch a taxi back to Santa Margherita but the charge us 40 euros to return. Naturally we were only too happy to climb aboard the bus and revel in the sunburned and mildly soozled ambience on the way back.

That was it. Portofino and Santa Margherita in a day.

Tune in next time for the Cowboy Italian Special!

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Deckhands Log #13 The art of being seen and unseen,advanced towel rolling and the Battler

Putting it out there mode. I expect this will be one of the last Deckhands log posts. The last couple of months have provided me with plenty of motivation to procure a more technical and safer existence. 

Being a Deckhand has allowed me to work with my hands and feet in ways I would have never thought possible. Mum; I can varnish wood now, not just my finger nails. Being somewhat knowledgeable about medicinal, nutritional and recreational chemicals I am dismayed at the amount of  toxic substances I am exposed to on a daily basis as a Deckhand. In two and a bit years my hands have aged faster than the rest of my body. In addition my body has suffered a never ending carousel of pain and scars. Worst of all my brain seems to have lurched into a state of torpor. You can see this in the dwindling creative output on this very blog.
Anyway I am still learning things and it is time to do some sharing. During the last charter I mastered the invisible Deckhand skill. Basically a pro deckhand finds things to do away from guests and then magically appears the moment they need assistance. This is particularly important when the boss’s girlfriend is swimming in her bikini. Do you know how hard it is to watch over someone’s life with out watching them?

Towel rolling is another dark art which at first glance is easy but takes some skill. A folded towel must be transformed into a presentable roll with the yacht logo easy to read. If you have space rolling towels is moderately challenging. A master Deckhand can roll a towel standing up. I will be happy to demonstrate my artisan towel rolling skills the next time I spot you on a beach or in a resort. Thailand.
In the last month we have been blessed with addition of an Australian in the deck department. After a couple of years of working with all manner of Europeans it has been quite nice to have a true blue in my midst.

I heard the Battler (one of his nick names) before I met him. He joined the boat on a Sunday night and proceeded to get familiar with the crew wine first and crew second. The Battler has the square jaw of Mr Incredible, the flowing locks of Prince Charming and the keen girl spotting radar of a practiced Lothario.

The battler works hard, plays hard and has plenty of great stories which he likes to share during our scheduled work breaks. He also has the mouth of an Australian shearer. Not since the days of Uncle Phil have I heard such choice cuss words sprinkled effortlessly across my work day. Some of his words are too racy to share on this blog for fear of censorship. Apparently I egg him into saying swear words. This might be true. I think he is just being a whinging Foxtrot Charlie.

More writing on the way. I am reacquainting myself with Bira Moretti and it seems to be loosening my fingers and brain quite well.

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Postcard Vision

In the last two weeks we have travelled from Barcelona to Palma around to Menorca up to Corsica and onto the French  Riviera. For the last two season in the Med my cruising has been limited and it was quite invigorating to have an itinerary and the ability to take sneaky photos every now and again. The scenery and weather were stunning. I got thinking in the last couple of days that working outside on a Super Yacht is a lot like having “postcard vision”, that is to say you have picture postcard views all day long but a lot of the time your interaction is limited to stretching your hands out and imagining if you could actually touch the vistas. 

Enjoy my postcards. Captions not required but recommended reading.

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After a delightfully smooth trip from Barcelona to Palma this is the sea state that greeted me on arising. Silky.
 
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Portal Nous coastline.

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Sunsets make even prefab high rise apartment blocks look nice.

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The south and west coast of Palma is seriously rugged.

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Seriously.

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This is a face, just turn your head 90 degrees to the left.

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I call this one the meat tenderiser.

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More outgoing out crops of rocks.

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Stunning.

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Wow.

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Menorca.

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Menorca delivered the best sunset I have seen all year.

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Nice varnish!

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Enthralling Corsica.

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Antibes Sunrise.

We finished our trip in Antibes, France which is as fitting a place as any to finish because we started our Yachting careers in Antibes. 

Having been on nightwatch for the last week I slept through a crew day off of jet skis, wakeboarding and other fun things.  I actually got out of bed so I could do another night non stop and ferry drunken people back to our anchorage. Me = Saint.

Needless to say we are moving to Genova tomorrow and I am looking forward to getting my Italian on. Anna and I have a nice relaxing weekend planed in a Spa resort.

My brain and body both desperately need untangling. I look forward to sharing with you some of my dastardly plans for the next year. Maybe I am not quite a Saint just yet.

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And then…..

The day after the MOB incident I was reminded quite vividly of why I do what I do. The first example was a pod of Dolphins coming to say hello mere minutes after I had said it was about time my Dolphins I saw last year came and said hello.

If you can not see the video you may need to befriend me on facebook.

The second was playing around in the galley with the Sous chef creating some designer cup cakes. These cup cakes were just what the doctor ordered, taking the edge off what had been a harrowing few hours.

You will be happy to know that after a very busy weekend to turn the boat around. Our first trip of the Med season has fallen into a comfortable routine. The sea is calm, the sun is out and things are beautiful if a little boring.

Ciao.

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Man Over Board

Previously when I have written about about night passages across the worlds oceans, I have raised the ever present question, what would happen if somebody fell overboard? On June the third at approximately 3:30 am my crew and I experienced this first hand.

We left Falmouth on the first of June bound for Gibraltar and then Barcelona. We had a small weather window and our Captain had warned us things would be a bit bumpy on our second evening.

I came onto my regular watch at 12am. The wind and sea was building but I have been in worse. I was doing regular rounds around the decks to make sure everything was tied down in addition to my hourly engine room checks. Shortly before 3am we started to experience winds in excess of 40 knots and the boat began to roll an uncomfortable amount.

We have three jetskis and a lot of gym equipment on our bridge deck. The first sign that things were getting a bit hairy was the gym equipment having an impromptu workout with no human interaction. By now our Captain was up and at the helm and soon after he adjusted our course to take us away from the worst of the weather. By now our gym equipment had been flatted by the sea state and our rolling. The first mate and I set about trying to secure the elliptical trainer, two exercise bikes, treadmill and a weights bench which had all been shunted to one side of the boat.

In a twist of fate I then went down to the engine room and was there for about ten minutes righting laptops and tools which had been rattling around freely. On my return to the bridge I then heard what no one wants to hear at sea over my radio. “Man over board Man over board Man overboard” My Captain has since told me it was as if my radio was giving me an electric shock the way I contorted on the couch. I was sent outside to assist the First Mate who I thought had fallen overboard into the water. The entire crew got up to assist and be “spotters/lookouts”

The First Mate told me to get some lines out. I started throwing life rings and headed down to the main deck. I still did not know who had gone overboard. By the time I got to the third life ring I wrenched it out of the wall bending the steel brackets completely back. Adrenalin “good for bending things”. We have man over board drills regularly and I then went upstairs to help launch the tender so we could recover the man overboard.

The man over board turned out to be our Chef. Whilst I was down in the Engine room, one of our 300kilo jet skis had broken loose and had started flying around. it destroyed two large doors which fold down when we launch jet skis or tenders. The Chef had heard this and had gone up to assist the first mate. The murderous jet ski had lined him up and had sent him out to sea.

Of all of the people to go overboard in the middle of the night in terrible conditions. Our Chef was the correct person for the job. He swims everyday, is Australian and is completely unflappable. Afterwards he told us how he had just floated about conserving energy waiting for us to turn around.

Launching our tender proved to be very challenging. The rogue jetski had to be turned upside down to stop it from taking other victims. The now quite violent rolling action of the sea had got worse because we had to turn around. When the tender finally entered the water both of the stern mounting points were wrenched off.

By this time we had a visual on our Chef. Considering it was pitch black and we had trouble even standing on our own feet, this was a miracle. The First mate and Bosun were somehow able to get him on board the tender. By now the sea was so bad that at times we had waves coming over stern and at times you could see the propellers out of the water. No mean feat when the boat is 56 meters long.

It was impossible to retrieve the Chef from the stern of the boat. Our Captain felt our best option would be to get the tender along side and put out one of our side hydraulic companion ways. Being long of limb and quite adamant I will not die at sea I was chosen to lie on the steps and help pull the Chef in from the tender. This was hair raising stuff especially when my legs started to go under the very cold water. I have never been happier to hold an Australian.

We abandoned hope of recovering or towing our tender so the next mission was to get the Bosun and First Mate to safety. The Bosun was able to jump aboard. The First Mate jumped backwards towards me and I yanked him out was well. His head hit mine quite hard and he is lucky I am forever hitting my head on things and was not knocked out.

With everyone aboard we were finally able to relax. We lashed things down as best we could and I think everyone went into a mild form of shock. My thoughts were.
It could have very easily been me and I could have been working alone

  • The sea can be a very nasty place
  • Life is fleeting
  • My next boat will be very large at least 85 meters and I will work inside. Much safer.

I probably will not write about how my Mac book Pro was stolen in the Palma airport. It now seems trivial.

On a more positive note if we had reached Gibraltar as we intended we would have ended up in a fuel dock fire.

That is the very dock where we normally get fuel. We would have been very close to the explosion. Fire at sea trumps man over board.

Till next time.

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Cruising

Well we made it to Barcelona. I have a story penned about an exciting incident that happened on the way. It just needs to be edited.

From here we are heading to Palma with our boss and will be moving around the Balearics. I am hoping he gets lost on a dance floor in Ibiza and we finish our trip there. Fingers crossed :).

Location:Cruising

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Palma “the good bits”

Facebook followers may have read I had a nightmare finish to my Palma trip. In the interest of preserving the space time continuum and sanity I will write about that at a later date. 

I arrived in Palma at about 11pm on Friday the 13th. As is often the case I received priority treatment due to me not having an EU passport. When flying in and out of the UK I always find it faster having a New Zealand passport. Kiwis make better flyers and even worse terrorists or something.

My first impressions of Palma that it was sufficiently Spanish, favourably warm and definitely lively. I found my hotel quite easily and busied myself getting ready for a night out. My night out consisted of a romantic tapas bar crawl for one. I could not contact my friend who was having a birthday party. Her birthday magnum of Moet put paid to that. Retiring to my mildly opulent hotel I was asleep before 1am and looking forward to further adventuring.

Despite my best efforts my Spanish remains middling at best. I was reminded this on my tapas bar crawl the evening before. I am happy to say that I feel quite at home at a buffet breakfast inside a hotel. It was here that I unearthed one of my first Palma discoveries. Palma has a high tourist and resident population of Germans. There is a very obvious reason for this. Given potent history large tracts of Europe remain unfriendly to Germany. I am of course talking about last years Eurovison song contest. The Spanish are so relaxed they were actually  asleep during the contest hence they still freely allow Germans through and inside their borders.

My accommodation was quite close to the city centre. This did not stop me from going on a goose chase of sorts where I ended up strolling a large and prominent promenade. There were a lot of marinas with pleasure boats galore and I almost caught myself saying to imaginary people “I work on one of those”

The rest of my weekend was very Palmarisan. I sunned myself beside a rooftop pool with friends. I dined on all y0u can eat Sushi for 8 euros. I drank mojito’s and dodged night time sunglass salesmen. On the Sunday I moved into an apartment with a couple of friends Debs and Heather closer to the old town. My Sunday afternoon was spent soaking up high density living beside a nunnery. If you want to live somewhere quiet. Live beside a nunnery.

Monday through Wednesday were the business days of my trip. I got down and got radiated, learning about gyro stabilised antennae systems and a whole bundle of cool stuff. Unfortunately large tracts of photographic evidence of my week away are now lost. This will be explained in my next blog.

On the Wednesday we had a small soiree/dinner party. Heather cooked up a delicious dish. Debs had a couple of friends over and I played my first ever DJ set to more than 2 people . The dinner and mixing were both very palatable. This may had something to do with the five bottles of wine that were bought from the local Wine Cave. A neat place where you can fill empty wine bottles straight out of the barrels for about 2 euro a bottle. If you want to live somewhere rowdy. Live beside a wine cave.

If I was to sum up the small slice of Palma I witnessed. It is definitely a place I could see myself living in. It is delightfully warm, has plenty of history and oozes charm. Whether it be the horse and carriages plying for tourist trade or the Mediterranean liveliness that begins at about 11pm Palma wants you and it wants you to have fun. 

Tune in next time for Palma “the bad bits”

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