Another in the regular Custom Yachting columns 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.
They say there are only two ways the rich arrive in Monte Carlo and that is either aboard a super yacht or aboard the helicopter transfers from Nice airport. Our guests had arrived aboard Outrageous a 65 metre custom build from one of the better Dutch yacht builders launched just two years ago and now under her second owner; a scrap metal merchant based in Sydney Australia, who believes we, his crew, should recover every last dollar he lashed out buying her by chartering her out. We had collected our guests from the small airport in Cannes, reserved for private and corporate jets, just two days ago and had sailed directly here, bypassing the fleshpots of Juan le Pins and Antibes, in favour of the nightclubs and Casino where they had gone to sober up and loose a few Euros shortly after we docked. They had seemed like a nice bunch, but it was difficult to see their faces beneath the long flowing headdresses they all wore. The bouncers who preceded them down the aircraft steps and who had frisked me for concealed weapons before I was introduced, had explained who they were, and what Middle Eastern royal family they were distantly related to, but sadly I cannot remember where it was, even though I was told not that long ago. The leader of the six had told me that they wanted a good time in the south of France and that if my crew looked after them well, there would be a handsome wedge for us all at the end of the five day charter. He explained that whilst they did not drink alcohol, for religious reasons, he wanted to know if we had purchased the cases of Johnnie Walker Blue label scotch as per his agents instructions. I assured him that we had, and had passed this news to my chief stewardess with his instructions to empty the bottles into teapots before serving them “tea on the rocks” in cups on the sundeck.
Winning at the tables in Monaco always puts guests in a good and generous mood and the tension in the crew mess was taught when the mate told us he had heard they were down by a mil or so and I suppose we were already waiting for the phone to ring when the steward call bell jangled into life. A few minutes later, Sophie, our first trip stew, came down and said the boss man wanted to see the Captain. I have never worked out why boss men never actually phone the Captain themselves and seem to prefer to have the stewardess do it themselves, but anyway Sophie, who is scared of everyone one, just blushed an apology as she explained they were talking of a table at Le Louis XV before hitting Jimmyz the club. I knew Francoise our chef would not be a happy bunny when she heard that, because it was just three hours ago I heard the guests ordering lobster for dinner and after lots of frantic phone calls the wonderful Italian lady at All Services Ships Agents in San Remo had procured six monsters which were now awaiting their fate in our galley sink. I walked upstairs to the main saloon where our guests were supping tea without milk and asked how I could help them.
It seems I was to arrange helicopter transfers for six young ladies who were flying in from St Petersberg that very evening. “Not a problem.” I replied and went on to ask “What were the numbers on the young lady’s passports?” My guests looked embarrassed. Tactfully I asked if they knew the surnames of the young ladies, clearly they did not. “How about their christian names?” I asked politely, ever aware that tempers can get a little fraught after saying bye bye to the odd mil or so at the casino. “Call them Natasha and Petrova” the boss man snapped. “And the other names?” I enquired. “They are called Natasha and Petrova as well” volunteered another of the party. “Ah I see” I said, getting the full picture now a lot clearer in my mind and hoping that this was not the first request Monaco Helicopters had ever received to import Russian ladies of the night into the principality for an evenings work. Back in my cabin, my cell phone was working overtime as I worked around the lack of surnames, passport numbers and even flight arrival times from St Petersburg. “I am sure you will recognise them” I suggested helpfully, “they should be fairly easy to notice, very high heels and not much in the way of luggage.” As a profession, we super yacht Captains do not accept failure lying down and when I could not book flights for ladies of unknown names on regular flights I had to reduce to a special in bound, one-off charter flight. The same feeling came over me, as must have befallen my guests at the gaming tables earlier when I heard myself agreeing to a charter fee of nine hundred euros for the six minute flight. I fretted as I went to explain to the boss man that the cost of his ladies had gone up slightly but they were in fine spirits having finished yet another teapot and took it all rather well I thought.
Captains are rather lucky we do not have to do gangway watches in port, our deckies do that for us, and so, having completed my rounds just after midnight, I said goodnight to the duty watchkeeper and retired to my cabin. It was around six o’clock the next morning when the phone rang. It was one of the bouncers who wanted to let me know that the ladies needed to leave the yacht immediately and be redelivered to Nice airport.
“What, now?” I asked, peering at my watch through sleep filled eyes.
“Yes now” was the gruff reply.
“But I will never get a helicopter arranged at this time in the morning” I protested. “Who needs a helicopter? Hire a minibus and get them to the airport now, we have finished with them.”
“Very good sir,” I replied, thinking to myself that it is not just crews aboard super yachts that are put upon, and it seems that whilst there might be only two ways to arrive in Monte Carlo, there are several options when it comes to leaving! I got up and scratched, and so began another day on charter.
