La Belle Mer

Every boat has its own rules when it comes to having couples on board. Some welcome it as a means to having a quieter crew who party a bit less; some are reluctant toward them but eventually concede once the long-term deckie convinces the captain to hire his girlfriend; and some just flat-out refuse to hire a couple, thereby avoiding the risk of fiery explosions in the crew mess (and the inevitable make up session, which is all the more awkward if the couple doesn’t share a cabin). And then there is the one instance which remains a grey area - the couple who meets on board. Hired as individuals, spark up a connection and, under the confines of long days and nights out at sea, fall in love. I am one half of such a couple. My boyfriend - who I’ll call Moses shall I - and I met on board and the relationship eventually transcended past the boredom-at-sea phase. However, there was a good stint in the beginning when we thought we were being terribly covert and that no one else in the crew had picked up on our blossoming romance (they, of course, had). At the time, there was another similar situation with two of our colleagues - let’s call them Jamie and Gavin -  who were equally convinced of their anonymity. We all knew of course but one one really spoke about it.  So you can imagine my surprise when one afternoon on a trip with some high-profile guests, the twelve year old son of our billionaire guest came up to me, and this conversation ensued:

American child: So Kate, do you hate Jamie for breaking Rule Number One?

Me: What’s Rule Number One?

American child: Don’t screw the crew?

Me: What!? Where the hell did you hear that?

American child: Moses

Me: Oh Jesus

Now, before you assume Moses has a tendency to talk to young children about such delicate matters I will ensure you that the conversation in which said rule was mentioned was one overheard by the American child between Moses and another crew member. Nonetheless, I was fairly disturbed, firstly by hearing a twelve year old utter such a shocking sentence, and secondly by my secret boyfriend’s blatant disregard of his very own actions. 

Anyway, after much convincing I finally accepted his excuse that it was just a way to throw everyone off, and keep our little affair secret for longer (again, everyone already knew and we were not being particularly smart). One year later and we are out and proud, still together and heading to South America for some adventures sans boat. He shall undoubtably be a fairly big feature in future posts so I thought I’d introduce him properly to you - my exception to Rule Number One, and a pretty good reason to break it. 

The Cannes Film Festival is, as I’m sure you all know, one of the film industries most prestigious and important events. Into the small town of Cannes pour the richest of the rich and the most famous of the famed, some involved in projects in the festival itself and some just to be seen and go to a free party on a yacht. For crew it it can mean a number of things - ideally, you stay in port and have some famous guys chartering your boat, but more often than not it means getting kicked out to make way for those who do and sitting out on anchor. Being that I am a lady of leisure these days means I get to view the festival from a new point of view - as a complete nobody. Wondering around town hoping to see someone famous? Check. Queueing for ages to get a table at even the grimiest of pubs? Check. Regaling stories of the time when you really did have someone famous on board? Check. Trying to sneak in to a party and getting kicked out? Check. Cannes did her upmost to keep the crowds in order this year, putting on a fine display of non-stop torrential downpours for most of the weekend. So, with my hangover from the cheap red wine we managed to procure while hovering over a barrel, I forge on, ready to download the films involved as soon as there’s a good enough copy (not really, obviously). 

Yachting season in the Mediterranean. A magical time for some - i.e. those lucky few who make up the far-upper crust of society fortunate (although that is debatable) enough to afford the luxury cruiser of their choice, fully crewed with someone on hand to satisfy their every whim - that’s where I come in. I’ve been stewardessing on super yachts since 2009. Why you may ask? Well the money’s damn good and the travel is free. Although the industry is not without it’s drawbacks. Late nights spent sweating over an ironing board, waiting for a billionaire’s underpants to air-dry so you can iron and fold those before morning; long afternoons spent out at anchor, praying to get a berth in port so you can flit ashore and join the real world; tense evenings serving dinners with the chief-stewardess breathing down your neck, god-forbid you should serve the bread from the gentleman’s right-hand side; rushed mornings clearing vomit out of the bidet, fighting back tears while getting called over the radio to hurry up and move on to the next cabin. This blog will be a testament to the lives lived as crew on board such vessels. Admittedly, I’m starting it at a rather curios stage in my career - having done three years in a row I’ve decided to take a summer off. I’m still living in the South of France (where my last yacht was based for the winter) but am heading to South America to expand my horizons, as they say. So for the foreseeable future, this blog will be two part: reminiscence on times aboard been and gone, and a place to post travel info about my latest adventures. After all, I’ll be using my hard-earned Euros to do my galavanting, so it’s relevant enough. I hope you find it useful, either as a wannabe yachtie, a jaded one like myself who enjoys hearing of other’s misfortunes on board, or as a potential backpacker like myself. Tales of la belle mer.