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Current Plans

I am not a fan of unknowns but will try and write the next week as best I can.

We are trying to find someone to take over the remaining week of rent in our apartment in Juan Les Pins. Once the apartment goes we will bunny hop the way to Livorno by train. It is usually an eight hour train ride and as I have some computer work to do on the way it seems best to hit a few ports on the way up.

On Sunday I am going to be working for seven days on a 37 metre Benetti motor yacht which is going into dry dock for a week. Benetti is a famous brand of Italian boat. They are good looking, have smooth lines and are a bit quirky. A bit like me really.

This is work from our fantastic Australian hook up. I am going to get a cabin to stay in which is very rare for day workers. This should keep costs down. Anna should be getting some work as well.

Odd. Just as I was writing this blog entry we have been offered some work in Naples for Saturday. We get to stay on the boat on Saturday night. Naples is a monster journey. Its probably a full Nintendo DS charge and half a book long.

We would have to go through Rome. Bummer.

Anyway must dash. Bags to pack ect.

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Madame Grunty

Where ever I travel dogs are a great barometer of the people and the places. As noted earlier France is awash with splendid dogs. I have seen many a fine four legged beast. It is hard picking a stand out canine but we have got to know a particularly cute and charming one. This female we named Grunty on the charming grunting noises she makes. She lives behind the counter at a hotel we visit for free internet. We have become almost locals and we have a usual order which the staff have started to remember.

“Deux cafe ole s’il vous plait” which equals “Two Coffee with milk please”
Grunty was a mystery for the first few days as she does a lot of sleeping. But on our third visit she came out grunting and snuffling and made her self known to us. She has a gorgeous coat and a nice owner to boot.
Now we are leaving France I thought it was prudent to take some photos of Grunty for you all to enjoy.

Grunty in her favourite place behind the hotel desk.

Grunty waking up for a photo .

Grunty posing.

I will miss Grunty.
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A small slice of Pisa

In between a furious bout of dock walking and our record five minute job interview we decided to take a quick trip to Pisa and spy upon its famous tower.

The drive from Viareggio is great. Tree lined avenues combine with rich farmland to make for splendid vistas. Normal highway speeds seem positively sedate after the heckle raising autostrade highway. The farmland soon gives away to hotels and then all of a sudden you are in the town of Pisa.

Without any research before this impromptue visit we took the time honoured approach of first parking with tour buses and then slip streaming an English speaking tour party.

The first hitch was a train crossing. We cleverly waited on the left hand side of the crossing away from the tour party. This did not stop a native from the USA cozeying up to us with a camera. He was pained that the train that passed was not a steam train.

With the barrier arms up we quickly left the tour party behind and headed towards the tower enclave. After running a gauntlet of strangely familiar sun glasses, almost designer bag and coffee merchants we passed under the wall for our first glimpse of the tower.

The tower itself is very surreal. It has an ethereal quality which makes it seem otherworldly. If my feet were not so firmly grounded I would have picked it for some space station super structure.

The people walking around the top of the tower spoil this conclusion. They obviously are not looking for work. Still a worthwhile respite from what has been a two month grind. Bring on more success!

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D Day

So yesterday we found out that we would not be working on the charter yacht. The charter had been cancelled.

Mass carnage ensused. Expletives were hurled. Gin was drunk. Baguettes were desecrated.

This galvanised Anna and I. We are moving to Italy.

After a sleep the world seemed a kinder place.

We had a great trip up to Italy again. I got some day work fixing up some computer things on a Yacht. We made some great contacts and are back on track to conquer the world.

To bastardise an often missquoted quote

France.

We came. We saw. We went back to Italy.

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Recruitment Hell

Believe it or not my last job was at a recruitment company. After about a day of work I actually started to think that all of our consultants were on some powerful drugs. They were so nice, upbeat and friendly. This is how you have to be in New Zealand.

Fast forward to France and it was a shock to start dealing with them here. Out of the gate we found them very cagey and quite negative. The first question was always “Are you looking together?”

“Well of course we are. We are a two piece Voltron. We came to see you together didn’t we?”

Luckily most of companies started to warm to us. We have learned some good things, made some good friends and even managed to have a laugh.

I do have to retell the story of one particularly crappy recruitment agent from a company called YCO.

First think of a blonde English lady with a slightly up turned nose. Then add an ever so slightly posh accent and a ridiculous surname.

This snob and I do not use the word snob lightly actually said the following to us.

“You need more water sports on your CV”

“I spent two years in Auckland and everyone I knew had a Yacht and was out on the water every weekend”

“Surely your family has a Yacht”

Naturally I was at pains to tell the many hours I have spent fishing and of my own private yacht a six foot dinghy. My wife did not mince words. She said the only people in Auckland yachting every weekend were the incredibly wealthy and if we were incredibly wealthy we would not be here.

This dialogue ended with us being blacklisted. No one has bothered to respond to our emails informing them of our increased experience gained and how bloody hard we have been working to find work.

Today I will email them to tell them we will no require their tireless services.

I guarantee I get a response in five minutes asking for the name of the Yacht. This is a lead for them you see.

I will take great pride in responding.

MY Lady Good Pussey

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Count!

How much do I love today? Let me count the ways.

52 days
3 Apartments
31 Train Rides
21 Bus Rides
15 Days of Car hire
2 Nights in Hotels
3 Countries
8 Seasons of Fraiser! (cheers Doug)

16 Bottles of Gin
12 Bottles of Cider
10 Bottles of Roset
31 Baguettes
4 Pizza
2 Calzone

3 Broken toes
2 Pairs of broken Sunglasses
1 Nokia Phone (presumed dead)

6 Polo Shirts
3 Pairs of Boat Shorts
28 Dock walks
200 copies of CV printed
8 Recruitment agencies
5 days of 3g Internet
31 visits to Internet Cafes

Now let me commence with the series of odd events that led up to today. Last week was a write off. A new moon zapped us of all motivation and we were left stricken. On Sunday a three day self blood sacrifice began. During my morning shave I managed to clip my earlobe and the bleeding began. On Monday morning I did exactly the same thing. Then on Tuesday morning I cut my thumb opening a can of fruit that some Australian vagrant left in our house

Naturally we were quite happy to leave France behind and head to Italy. It was in Italy we met a fabulous couple from Tennessee who wowed us with their commanding grasp of Italian and charming obliviousness to Super Yachts. This is salvation when you have been thinking about them non stop for six months.

Refreshed, fed and happy our dock walk this morning culminated in an interview of sorts with the Captain of a fantastic Yacht. The interview was about 5 minutes long. There were no questions. We could have actually jumped on the Yacht right then and there but we had to return our rental car. The Yacht picks us up on Saturday. We have ten days work together. We think it is a trial. If it is anything like the interview we might just crack this Super Yacht thing.

SUCCESS!

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The Search for YMDs

I had hoped to write this post once we had secured full time jobs. But the start of another month and a lack of other things to write about has given me impetus to commence this opus early.

It appears we were given dodgy intelligence on Yachts of Maximum Dimensions.

Disseminating the tons of written, verbal and digital information has been a full time job. Countless interviews with recruitment agents, shipping agents, port security, dock walkers, gangway attendants, runners, stray dogs and rope lines has stretched my processing power to its very limits.

Three reoccurring themes have struck again and again.

It is who you know.

It is good luck and timing.

It is good luck and timing.

A few people I know have had good fortune after spending all their money in bars and at the beach. The Scotch man in me baulks at this idea. The Devil in me thinks this idea has some merit.

A few people I know have had some luck with recruitment agencies. Sadly the recruitment agencies here are largely ineffectual. I am reminded of a Murphy’s law

Why is it to get a bank loan you must first prove that you do not need the money?

This could easily be adapted to getting a job here.

Why is it to get a job on a super yacht ,you must first get a job and have had a perfectly good job for at least a year?

My best friend the internet, in true internet fashion has plenty of great resources that you must pay for to get the most out of them.

I am starting to get bored.

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Viva La South Africa

Colour me not impressed but my first real experience of South Africans was not a particularly rosy one. An incredibly unpleasant South African chef grafted himself on to my girlfriend at the times sister and managed to export himself to New Zealand. He had a fierce temper and self assured cockiness which made for a poor ambassador.

Anton Rushinecko I just took your name and miss spelled it. I hope you are balding and an accident with some x-ray equipment has rendered you infertile. Up until seven years ago this was my sole South African experience until a particularly brilliant scholar of sorts hurtled through my rapidly expanding circle of friends.

Fast forward to now and the streets of Antibes are awash with South Africans. They have a reputation for scrupulous spending, working hard and questionable ethics. It was two South
Africans working for free I fear who cost me a days work on Octopus. Hence inhabitants of the dark continent have occupied a part of my brain which is reserved for criminals and horses; until now.

I am happy to say a South African acquaintance has helped me to get some more day work upon a yacht. He is also a wealth of gossip. Information is gold in this industry.

So South Africans. Let me toast a glass of wine which is far superior in your country. I still do
not know what a rand is worth but may you always quote everything in rand. May things remain kiff. I am sure your political system will be worth poking fun at one day and may your accents remain forever the same.

Please excuse my hasty editing. Ever used a French keyboard?

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At least an Ankle in the Boot of Italy

First impressions of driving far into the boot of Italy is that the roading network was created by incredibly enthusiastic Dwarves. There are countless tunnels going through huge hills. There are tunnels inside tunnels.

I actually think we saw a close relative of a Dwarf at one point. He certainly could have passed for a Dwarf if he did not have an orange road worker jacket on.

The second thing after a couple of hours travelling at breakneck speeds along the A10 was that the engineers were showing off when they were building the bridges. Not content with building bridges all over the place they rarely travel in a straight line. Invariably they spiral through the air with luscious curves to meet tunnels. Show offs.

As often is the case with these trips our end destination was a port town. This particular one is called Viareggio. First impressions are good. Its full of yachts and friendly folk. Top marks to Alberto popping out of the woodwork to greet us and tell us some funny tales of Italy.

Alberto.

Speaking of crazy driving he told us of the rebellion against having to wear seat belts in Naples ten years ago. Enterprising locals started selling t-shirts with seatbelt graphics emblazoned across them. You could passenger or driver ones depending on your seat.

In what seems to be a reoccurring theme we spent a few hours searching for an elusive item. Small sized trousers for my Wife. There is probably a tenuous link between no gluten free food and no small sized trousers in Italy. What do you think?

I did find myself admiring the mannequin display in one shop. It was macabre in a good way. I often think of dismembered corpses when I stand zombie like waiting for my partner to resurface from a changing room.

Italy. I quite like the place.

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Pre Grand Prix Wee?

After my last visit to Monaco I proudly promised my next visit would be on the back of a Super Yacht.

As a still practising and wholly impractical magician my spells clearly still need some work. On Sunday after an incredibly large drinking session worthy of a close friends wedding I suddenly found out I would be doing some day work pre Grand Prix on a Super Yacht.

I gracefully declined the offer of working the Sunday. I think my exact words were

“I could come now but I would not be operating at peak performance.”

The fist mate obviously a man with some experience in matters of blood chemistry saw this as something character shaping and allowed me to start on Monday instead.

So I have been busily rinsing, soaping, washing, shammying, blading, buffing and scrubbing the bejewbus out of a Super Yacht

The Super Yacht is a generous 56 meters and whilst it is quite a bit smaller than Octopus there have been a few fringe benefits given the nature of our berth and slightly more relaxed conditions.

-They feed all of the day workers
-We are allowed inside
-We have helped out with docking manuevers.

Now bear with me as I lay on some superlatives.

Being in the pre eminent wealthy city right before the quintessential motor racing event is quite cool.

There are manufacturer trucks everywhere. Seas of seats and scaffolding. It is quite a spectacle and it is my office window for the week.

Sweet.

Getting to my work has not been with out it’s challenges. On Tuesday glorious French rail workers timed an 8 hour strike to coincide with my commute. After reaching Nice we found we would have to bus the rest of the way. I commented on the irony of the French rail workers being on strike to some random Australians (why are they everywhere ?) this was met by a remark that everything is done by computer anyway. The tail end of this notable conversation was someone coming up with this motto. “France, where even the computers go on strike”

As far as random Australians go these guys were pretty good. I have noticed that an Australian with a hangover is about as graceful and low key as a kiwi is sober. We were having a good old laugh before a French lady with a curiously English accent admonished us for making to much noise and having too much fun.

One of the chaps had his foot on a chair. This particularly aggrieved her but I am certain of it had been a dog on the chair she would have said nothing.

The bus ride to Monaco was a riot, literally. It was a riot to get on and a riot inside. It is amazing where people will sit when a vehicle is dangerously overloaded. I got to know several passengers quite physically . I was glad I shaved my legs that morning.

Not a bad few days. Now wait till I tell you how I cameoed in a documentary and turned down a film role.

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