I could tell by the way she was squeezing my arm that she meant it, "Matt, I don't want to die so young". The thought hadn't occurred to me but I could see where she was coming from. Our captain was a 19 year-old egomaniac who preferred his self-centred arrogance to any logic, the owner was a socially backward, emotionally retarded impostor and the deckhand was a mysterious Russian that never spoke louder than a whisper. Myself and the nervous steward were complete novices and we were setting out on a crossing to Corsica in forceful winds that had already stalled our departure by four hours but at the last chance the man who was really in charge, our guest for the week, decided to get it over with. The waves were rolling strong and constant and the only consolation was the harnaces and life jackets we were attached to. It was a baptism of fire considering that I had zero qualifications, zero experiencee and a tendency for seasickness. I even wondered at the logic in hiring me for this week-long charter but I wasn't going to ruin this rare opportunity.
I had been floating around the South of France, based in Antibes, for two weeks by then and I was more than happy with the random day work I could get my hands on. Work was easy to find, easier to do and the pay was ridiculous. After bumming around in hostel and bar jobs for the past age being paid next to nothing, getting paid 120 euros a day was wildly refreshing. One of the jobs was in St. Tropez, which was far to travel to but worth it in the end when we got paid 250 euros for a days work. The area down here is awash with many money-hungry go-getting yachting professionals chasing down all the work they can find. I had resigned myself to the scraps considering I had no qualifications to cement a permanent job. Through a lucky chain of events I nevertheless managed to wangle my way onto this 80-foot 87-year old classic sail boat with an ivory hull and oak finish called Berenice.
The crossing from the South of France to the island of Corsica was an arduous overnight affair that took sixteen hours. We were on different watches but the rocking and swaying of the boat made sleep impossible and we all spent the majority of the trip huddled in the wheelhouse safe from the spray of the seas that stirred up visions of the scene from 'Forrest Gump' when lieutenant Dan takes on the storm in the crow's nest. This was something similar. Or so it seemed to our rookie eyes.
The first two days were tiring and stressful and so we as novices followed our instincts and complained. "You can't treat us like this, we need food!" we moaned in a sleep and food deprived zombie trance. "We also need some time off in the afternoons and more sleep in the mornings". I thought our pleas would fall on deaf ears and we would be told to stop being lazy and do what we were being paid to do. .
Following the turbulence of our first few days the whole trip took on a different and more preferable mood. We had all, including the guests, accepted the way things were going to be. We were unprepared, unprofessional and generally had no idea what any of us was doing. This acceptance put us at ease with our service mediocrity and allowed us to enjoy it rather than stress about it. It turned into a well-paid holiday. We had all kinds of food and drinks at our disposal. We slept on the deck, under the clear skies each night and woke up after the guests on most mornings. We drank the champagne with the guests, had siestas and lazy afternoon swims in the picturesque bays we anchored in. I read an entire book, 'The unbearable lightness of being'. We played the top 500 rock songs of all time as we sailed while snacking on watermelon. We realised this wasn't the best strategy to impress our guests but I especially was OK with this.
On the last night while toasting his fancy Champagne to us, the guest told us, "This trip has been amazing, you have managed to get everything going pear-shaped. Everything that could go wrong on this trip, has gone wrong apart from us sinking." Our steering had broken on the first day, the guests had one set of sheets for their entire week, we had leaks all over the boat, the meals were a lucky draw and most requests went unanswered and ignored. It was a happy shambles, one disaster short of a catastrophe, a handsomely paid holiday that was highlighted by our demented owner's attempts at impressing the guests but always falling short, a tragic comedy that will stay with me forever.
