Someone I Once Met: The Crazy Beautiful Latina

When I met Xaviera at a farewell party in Santiago she was dressed like a flower. It was a costume party with no particular theme and that is what she came up with. I should have known then and there that she would go into my ‘crazy friend’ category. Xaviera is made up of two halves…the first 50% of this Chilena is a dirty Electro music lover, music festival goer, weird photos on Facebook putter. The other 50% is a medicine student who hardly drinks, doesn’t take drugs, studies hard, is top of her class and knows exactly where she’s going in life. She is both of these people all the time.

Xaviera quite possibly has parents with the tightest reins I’ve ever met. What’s strange is that if there was ever a child to trust it would be this one. But still, her concerned mother is not beyond showing up at a house party when her daughter doesn’t answer the phone. And yet this 22 year old has still not rebelled. Although, she is not without a plot to slowly loosen the grip her loving parents have on their only child. When I heard that she managed to go to Brazil without them and with their blessing (and money) I was amazed.. and proud. Then the inevitable part came up about how she went to visit a cousin. But its a good start.

When I decided to feature Xaviera (pronounced Javiera), I had a squizz at her Facebook page and found a status that struck a chord.

“Men: if I’m being nice to you it doesn’t mean I want you to be my boyfriend. thank you for your attention”

God love you my crazy friend! You can deliver my babies one day. Not sure I’d let you be my psychiatrist though.

Marseille: 48 hours in the oldest city of France

Interesting facts about Marseille:

1) It’s the oldest city in France- 2600 years old

2) Its in the top 5 most dangerous cities in Europe (10 people have been murdered since the start of the year… I still like my chances)

3) It has a certain smell about it- one of sewage and human pee

4) The old prison off the coast of Marseille is the setting for the story of the Count of Monte Cristo.

5) Being one of the main gateways into France, Marseille is a melting pot of cultures. Surveys once showed that 40% of children under 18 had at least one immigrant parent.

I’ve grown increasingly fond of the idea of solo travel. However, put a group together with the right dynamic…. et voila… you have the recipe for a good time. There’s a lot to do and see in Marseille and we only had 2 days. It was a jam packed 48 hours. My first instinct was to make sure we were sorted in terms of accommodation. I’ve always maintained that where you stay can have a profound effect on the success of your trip andHostelworld.com never fails. Its true that you can find some hotels with private rooms and bathrooms for a cheaper price than backpackers or hostels. But who wants that when you can mingle with 20 something other travellers? Hostels are like a magnet for interesting people and conversations. At Hello Marseille I got to meet people who share the same love of Steamboat Springs Colorado, a rare kind of Chilean who spoke perfect English, An Indian who is proud of his lack of strong Indian accent, Swedes who taught me things about their Viking land and more vegetarian Germans (which I seem to find all wherever I go).

The very first picture I took in Marseille was of a cat. No surprises there.

On the outskirts of Marseille is a National Park with a must-see coast line. We were discouraged from visiting and hiking in our flip flops but luckily we chose to ignore this piece of information from people in the know and took the 21 bus out of Marseille to The Calanques. I’m glad to say that we couldn’t have made a better decision than pressing on with our plan despite the lack of appropriate foot ware. The trek was doable (for us at least) in our flip flops and the rewards were worth it. A little picnic followed by a swim in the crystal clear water and then it was time to ascend back to the starting point.

The final destination of our hike at Les Calanques

One of the city’s main attractions is the Marseille Cathedral with its panoramic view of the city below and Islands in the distance. Now, I knew before-hand that Marseille was a windy city. But I got to experience it first-hand upon an excursion to watch the sun set from the elevated Cathedral. The wind picked up and then it blew, and blew and then blew some more until it chased us away. But fantastic photo op while it lasted!

The sun setting over Marseille and it’s Islands, the little one in the centre consists entirely of a prison- the one escaped by the Count of Monte Cristo.

Marseille is 2013’s European Capital of Culture. Every year, a different European city is awarded this title, which is highly sought after and chosen based on a submitted project. Basically what this means is that if you walk around Marseille in 2013 there is in-your-face art, culture, music, theatre, heritage, cuisine, technology and more. The project is 12 months long and is widely visible throughout the city. So on our last day, to make use of the few hours we had left, we took a closer look at the city’s dedication to this project. There are plenty museums, some free some that charge an entrance fee. And a lot happening in open spaces, available for all to see.

An outside mirrored ceiling- surely something to do with the Cultural Capital project

One of the many sculptures surrounding the port

Someone once asked me if I consider myself a ‘traveller’ or a ‘tourist’. And while I’d like to say that I’m not ‘one of them’, the kind that you can spot from a mile away and come in their masses to see what there is to see. Sometimes I am that person. Camera around the neck, map out for everyone to see. I think there’s an arrogance in thinking you’re not a tourist. Sometimes the truth hurts.

Someone I Once Met: The African Overlander

Ian is my Uncle. When I was younger he was that ‘young, cool, fun’ uncle that called every birthday and forced conversation out of me for at least 15 minutes. There was always a funny card in the post too. This was because he wasn’t nearby, he was in England. He had driven there- from South Africa. In fact, Ian may be one of the biggest reasons why I travel. I would love to one day have just half the amount of stories he has to tell.

When I was about eight, he came round to my school to say goodbye before he left on his overland trip up the East Coast of Africa in his White Land Cruiser with black Zebra stripes. The Quagga. He saw deepest darkest Africa- parts of it that not many people will ever get to experience. The Quagga was his transport and his home, a bed for the night either on the roof, in the back or in a tent next to it. Seeing the beauty that the continent has to offer, and dealing with everything that’s fucked up about it. Legend has it that Ian carried the Quagga’s Engine on his back from Spain to London- the final stretch. So much wrong with it that not even his experienced mechanic hands could keep it alive.

These days he has an Aussie (but increasingly saffa) wife and three young girls. In one sense leading a completely different life to the one before, but also grabbing any opportunity to travel- to more family friendly locations (still in Africa). Ian met his Wife, Toni, in London. They got married in Scotland and then drove back to South Africa in the good-old Quagga, along the West Coast this time. Perhaps it’s the African blood he has running through his veins that prevented him from emigrating successfully to Australia. He returned to the Mother Land 6 months after leaving. There is nowhere he’d rather raise his children, despite Africa’s ability to completely stress him out. Like surviving a gun shot during a hijacking outside his home with his pregnant wife next to him.

In the picture you have a good view of Ian’s teeth. None of which are real- they were lost one fateful day when he cycled down a hill and straight into the back of a lorry. I remember him drinking his food through a straw and playing tricks on everyone with his false teeth.

Someone I Once Met: The Sailor-Player

This is Yann, A Frenchman who loves sailing as much if not more than he loves women. Its no wonder we came to be friends after a chance meeting on the docks- he can’t resist the ladies. At the age of 15, a young Yann left home and along with a few other same-aged teenagers, sailed from France to Brazil. In fact, a documentary was made of their journey- so there is even footage of the great achievement.  That was over twenty years ago now and since then he has done over twenty Atlantic crossings on sail boats.

He once tried to put into words what sailing does to him but reverted to a motioning of his arm and fist suggesting tthat just looking at sails full of wind gives him a hard on. For this reason, I’d say, its not possible for a woman to tame him. His very obvious love for the sea and sailing is a priority and it must be very frustrating for a girl who falls for his charm. This is not to say that he has no time for the ladies. In fact, there could be more than one on the scene at any time. He loves tea, but not the super market bought stuff- the quality stuff- and he loves to share its goodness with people. He’s kind and bossy and is a salty sea dog if there ever was one.

This is Yann on the boat he captains, True Blue

Someone I Once Met: International Lovers

He is Spanish and she’s Mexican. They met in Chile, and this is a love story. Desireé became my sister sometime in July 2012 when she knocked on my apartment door ready to move in. A mouth full of braces and a heart full love for everyone, Desireé is the bounciest, smiliest person; the kind who leaves balloons and sticky notes all over your room for your birthday when you hardly know her.

To her left is Pedro, or ‘the Coach’ as we called him, because of his striking resemblance to the coach of the Barcelona football team. They had both come to Santiago as exchange students. I remember the night they met at a mid-week pre-drinks where the quick evolution of their contagious happiness began. In true Desireé style, they did not kiss that night, but it wasn’t long before they were joking about if their wedding would be held in Mexico or Spain.

But as all exchange students must do, they returned to their respective countries- determined to make it work. That was 7 months ago. A few days ago, they reunited on another continent, In Toronto, Canada. Their happiness could be felt all around the world as those who know them commented on and liked the photo of their first embrace. They’re just kids but these two have re-established my faith in love. All the best to you two.

The Cutting Shop: Getting Your Hair Done Abroad

When I was younger I was way more adventurous with my hair. Around 6 years old I got them to chop it all off like a boy and in my teenage years, after watching Dirty Dancing, I got a perm! I don’t know whether I should thank my mom or not for giving me such authority over my own hair. Then, In university I went from long blonde hair to short and dark brown- just like that. Also, I once allowed my friend to cut it all off. These are all hairstyle decisions I wouldn’t be so blasé about making these days. I seem to have either learnt from my mistakes or just realized what (I think) suites me best.

So in recent years I’ve gone months at a time (up to a whole year) without visiting a hair dresser. ‘They’ say one should get a haircut every six weeks, but that’s really not a rule I follow. I have unruly hair (which does seem to be getting better with age) and often make use of my GHD so I’m aware that my hair cannot be in Pantene-commercial-condition….. But I let the months roll on anyway.

A cool barber shop I came across in Seattle, Washington.

I loved living in Chile, but there are a few things I don’t miss: their tasteless cheese, their lack of non-long-life (fresh) milk, their bad fashion sense and bad hairstyles. When the moon-bag forgot to go out of fashion, so did the mullet. And this is just one of the bad hairstyles on show in and around Chile. So naturally I was concerned about letting one of them near me with a pair of scissors.

Some ex-pat girlfriends of mine warned me against getting my haircut there, which compounded my difficult situation. After about 6 months of being in Santiago, I You Tubed ‘How to cut your own hair’. This bought me a couple extra weeks but in all honesty, I needed to see a professional.

Notice anything strange about this picture? The single, long dreadlock hanging down his back perhaps? Commonly found in the streets of Santiago

So I plucked up the courage and headed to a salon right by my apartment. I was an English teacher living on a salary that allowed me the lifestyle of a student so I wasn’t prepared to part with a large amount of money. Which is ironic considering my apprehension. At this point, about 8 months in, I was finally able to converse with people in Spanish. So I managed to communicate: ‘It’s been a long time, but I still don’t want you to take off a lot’.

When she started snipping away at my dry hair I really thought I was going to come out of there one of them. I mean, is it not a universal hairdressing rule that the hair gets washed (not least so that it is wet) before the cutting begins? Well not in this salon. They washed my hair after the cut… Interesting. Anyway, the outcome wasn’t completely horrendous.

Skip to the South of France where the sea, sun and wind have taken their toll- it’s time for another haircut! This time, at least, I am in the country’s most touristy town. If anything this means that I can get by without speaking the language. Everywhere there are Germans, Russians, Brits, Americans and Italians (I don’t know what the Chinese have against France. They’re nowhere to be seen with their oversized cameras). So English becomes the best tool for understanding one another. I can go to the pharmacy and get by in English, the same in the restaurants and bars.

So needless to say, my choice of salon, The Cutting Shop, has a lovely bilingual lady at the front desk and hairdressers that can communicate with me. But there’s always a catch. I’m in the South of France during peak season which means paying tourist prices. For this particular haircut I paid 3 times the amount I would back at home.

It could have been a bit cheaper if I had opted for the ‘no conditioner’ option which is just silly. Who washes a client’s hair with shampoo only and then wack on 10 euros extra if you’d like conditioner?? I think hairdressers worldwide need to take a leaf out of South Africa’s book and just wash clients hair with shampoo AND conditioner BEFORE the cutting begins (for FREE). 

in 2013 I’m embracing my natural colour and enjoying spending less on it

Have you ever had your hair done abroad? How was the experience for you? 

What They Meant When They Said the Yachting Industry ‘Isn’t For Everybody’

Ariving to dock in Bonifacio, Southern Corsica

When I first joined the ‘glamorous’ world that is the yachting industry, I would hear from people here and there that ‘this isn’t for everybody’. But I didn’t give it much thought because ‘that won’t be me’. What they don’t do is elaborate on why the industry isn’t for everyone. What are the reasons people can’t stick it out? Well, I am in the know now and am here to offer you this information. If you can identify with the majority of the following points then perhaps seeing the World via the yachting industry is not the best option for you.

• Not everyone is good with authority/taking orders/being a slave

If you are the kind of person who doesn’t take orders well from figures of authority then you’re in for a bad time. The ugly truth is that unless you’re the captain or in another high position on board, you will be taking orders from people in charge- all day, every day. If you’ve just sat down, be ready to get back up as the chef asks you for something stowed in the saloon. You get the picture….I need this. Do that. After, do this. Have you done that?

• Not everyone is okay with manual, mindless, physical work.

Your job on board, depending on your position, is to keep the interior clean, guests seen to and happy or the exterior clean… in a nutshell. This doesn’t sound like much but it is something that will keep you busy throughout the time you have guests on board. This is not work that will stimulate your brain. It is not a job for intellectuals- generally speaking. If you consider yourself somewhat of an intellectual and enjoy holding a job that challenges your mind, then perhaps sanding, scrubbing, polishing, wiping, ironing, packing and unpacking dishwashers is not for you. 

• Some people need more sleep than others

As a crew member part of your job is to be awake before guests get up and go to bed once they’ve decided to call it a night. If you’re on a motor yacht, your sleep will lesson even further as you are expected to keep watch either for two hours each night or for longer every couple of nights. If you are not able to function well on little sleep, you’re f*cked, basically.

• Living on a boat is not the same as living on land.

A lot of things must be taken into consideration when you live on a yacht. Do you like long, relaxed showers? Well there’s not always an infinite amount of water for you to use, or time for that matter. Do you hate being rushed when you’re eating? Well you eat when the guests eat and that means scoffing down in between getting up and seeing who needs what. There’s a limit to how far you can walk, so if you like long walks on the beach- or anywhere for that matter- a boat is really going to frustrate you.

• Some people don’t play well with others.

One of the realities of living on board as part of a crew is that you will be constantly surrounded by those you work with, whether you like it or them or not. Boats don’t always have guests on board but when they do you and your crew are confined to a small area- the crew mess. If your boat is smaller, the kitchen/galley will be in the crew mess. Like mine. Three courses twice a day will be cooked in the galley- this makes my crew mess a high stress area a lot of the time. So if you don’t play well with others, if you are not actually a team player even though it says you are on your yachtie CV, then this industry is not for you. Once you are on board your crew are your teammates, family and if you’re lucky- friends. And who of you haven’t wanted to kill one or more of these people in your life before?

My home and place of work getting down and dirty while sailing

I work on a 30 meter, private/charter sail yacht. Yachts come in all shapes and sizes and I’m sure life on a 100 meter motor yacht is different. Either way, it’s a good idea to know who you are and what you like and dislike before entering into the world of yachting. The money is very, very good and you have little to no expenses so some people are able to see past the bad. For others the money simply isn’t worth it.

The Port of Bonifacio, Corsica. Showing just how diverse boats can be.