The first of a regular Custom Yachting column in which: Captain Willy Spillet of the Mega-Yacht “Outrageous” spills the beans describing what life below decks aboard these yachts owned and chartered by the rich and famous is really like.
We had been at anchor all day off, a hedonists paradise beach on the Cote d’Azur. All day, my crew had been running tenders in and out of the shore line as our charter guests jockeyed for best parts of the beach on which they wanted to both see and be seen on. Twice that day there had been an urgent call from the lady guests who needed to be ferried back to the yacht so they could undergo a bikini transplant, changing one skimpy colour for another.
One of the most famous beaches in the whole of the Mediterranean, it is a three mile long, wide expanse of sun kissed golden sand, more famous for the restaurants that cling to its crescent shape than anything else. Mingling in with our guests, were a never ending stream of rich old uncles who all appeared to have insatiable supplies of young and very pretty nieces. Our guests, like the people that frequent these fashionable eateries fringing the private beaches, are more than used to seeing their name on film credits and visit restaurants, more to be seen, than to eat the food. Film stars and those aspiring to become so are all regulars.
The South of France is synonymous with yachts, glamour and luxury. As a cruising ground for chartering, the Cote D’Azur offers more contrasts than probably any other in the world; unspoiled islands, rugged, rocky inlets and fine beaches sit shoulder to shoulder with cosmopolitan resorts which are our ports of call. We have tasted them all aboard Outragous and a favourite with most guests is; one with a famous wrought iron bell tower, picturesque cobbled streets and selection of designer boutiques to rival Rodeo Drive in Beverley Hills. Once ashore, the ladies can and do get golden sand between their toes whilst wearing their stilettos. This exceptional resort has become a victim of its own charms and frequently gets overcrowded to the point that the only way to arrive is aboard your own luxury yacht and after docking, guests love nothing more than to walk the water front, drink coffee in the Cafés and watch local artists selling their wares on the harbour walls. The pretty pastel houses that line the Quai are only truly viewed correctly from the deck of a yacht alongside the dock, and from there it is so very clear what it was that inspired painters to start and create the trend that continues to this day in a town that attracts tourists who love to watch the rich and famous at play.
So it was, as the first chill of the late afternoon was felt, that my guests had the desire to dock in harbour for the night. Docking a large yacht in this tiny port on an August evening is not something one does on a whim. Berths, particularly those that back up onto Café de Paris are booked months ahead, but my Chief Officer is, however a very persuasive man, and if he is not that, then the large bag of cash he carried into the port by tender ahead of us that night can equally work miracles.
We sailed past a large bay in the shadow of the fortress that dominates the town and I brought the yacht around towards the port close under the walls of the town and pointed out homes belonging to the rich and famous.
We waited outside the port whilst my Chief Officer and his fund of paper worked their magic and added to the Ferrari fund, then he radioed in that we were clear to enter port and dock stern to, in our guests chosen spot.
“Roger that” I answered back, “don’t forget to speak to the diver and have him stand by to recover my anchor once we are secured.”
“No need Skip” he said “we are last in and first away, our anchor will be good and clear.”
“Do it anyway” I said, “and pay the man what he asks for and I will explain later” I said with the brevity that VHF protocol demands.
“Roger that Skip” he said “will do!”
We entered through the breakwater and made our way to the main basin, I turned her bow, used full rudder, went hard astern and pushed the joystick that controls the bow thruster. Outragous obeyed reluctantly, she always does when I am about to push her into a tiny crowded spot in front of thousands of on lookers. Backing into ports such as this you can feel the crowd as they watch, each of them is willing you to make a mistake and give them an expensive sounding crunch as you hit the yachts on either side. The best thing to do is ignore everyone and just get on with it, and so it was that twenty minutes later I had disappointed hundreds who had all shuffled off to watch another yacht. Fortunately I had pleased my guests who were awfully impressed that we had got where they wanted to be, I just hoped they remained so when they learned how much of their money we had given away to get there. They went ashore and Pete my Aussie mate came up and asked: “what’s that all about 200 euros for the diver then Skip?”
“Years ago, mate, when I first docked here I learned the hard way that putting your anchor down last and leaving first does not always equate with a quick getaway. I did just what you suggested when I was driving the first Outragous and had the boss on board. We docked at 8pm and tried to leave at 6am without paying the diver to clear my anchor. Somehow during the night my anchor and several fathoms had chain had found themselves under everyone else’s and the diver said he could not clear it until he finished breakfast.”
“What time was that then skip?”
“About ten” I replied
“Roger that Skip, lesson learned” he said as he ambled off. Tomorrow would be another day.
