Spent a very agreeable afternoon going over the boat with Charlie, the newest recruit. He had already been very well briefed by Ludovic on Saturday, but this time, there was sufficient opportunity to look at things in detail. He certainly knows his way around boats, and was surprisingly good at negotiating his way around the old bores, too, Yours Truly and Lulu in this case, when we got on to our pet subject, lifeboat history.
We had planned, as part of the afternoon's activity, to hose the birdshit off the deck, or rather I had programmed for Charlie to do it for a change, but the rain started and did the job for us. One thing is for certain: Charlie will get the chance to hose the deck down, as those birds don't stop defecating for anyone.
Then came the engine-room routine: there, he has the advantage of being small, and able to move around in the cramped spaces between the machinery. He found the switches in the dark, which is pretty reassuring, really. I'd trust him to do it for real.
Then we went over the bits of the boat which, after a season of heat and wet and being closed in, are beginning to pong. I can foresee quite a few hours disinfecting not just the boat, but the equipment too. Still, all in a good cause, even if the nostrils suffer a bit.
Lulu had brought along his clippings and old photos. Fascinating stuff about the old lifeboatmen, and also about the old lifeboats: the first was over thirty years old when it was first assigned to the Antibes station. The war had basically destroyed the entire lifeboat fleet, and this one had been reconditioned and put back in service. He passed over his bravery certificates without a mention...
Then it was off to the Fort Carré to reconnoitre the exhibition hall: not an ideal space, but Charlie had some good ideas, which I think are going to be acted upon. Then back to the lifeboat offices, where, unlike most visitors, he didn't fall through the hole in the floor (it's the old customs offices, completely rotten). Out with the stuff for display, which Charlie duly loaded into Lulu's car. Mind you, just before, he had run the Antibes lifeboatman's biggest risk, that of being kissed on both cheeks by the former head of the Cannes police vice squad, a long serving lifeboatman. He was saved by the fact that all the oldies all had a meeting to go to, to deal with the fishermen's Fête de la Saint Pierre. I don't think he will escape for long! I didn't, either...
mercredi 30 mars 2011
mardi 29 mars 2011
Landfall
Yesterday evening at the lifeboat station, while I was looking through lifeboatman shirts for Charlie, a young chap, Adrien, turned up with Fred, one of my fellow deckhands. It turned out that he had been crewing on the fishing boat which had radioed for assistance when the sailing boat sank last year (see post of October 17th, 2010).
Good job they had responded, because the sailing boat crew had taken precipitously to their little inflatable and were heading, so they thought, for Nice. Without a compass, and with a freeboard of a couple of inches, and very little fuel. Adrien added dryly that their bearing actually indicated that their next landfall, if ever they had made it, would have been Libya or Tunisia.
Good job they had responded, because the sailing boat crew had taken precipitously to their little inflatable and were heading, so they thought, for Nice. Without a compass, and with a freeboard of a couple of inches, and very little fuel. Adrien added dryly that their bearing actually indicated that their next landfall, if ever they had made it, would have been Libya or Tunisia.
samedi 26 mars 2011
Reality Factor
As the cox was unavailable, we common mortals were all down at the lifeboat station this morning, practicing first aid. We had a new recruit, Charlie, all of fifteen years old, who had volunteered after hearing Rob's report on Radio Riviera. Charlie's first task, naturally, was to put the biggest and heaviest lifeboatman into the recovery position. Needless to say, despite his adolescent physique, the new lad did it like a pro, and Alain, all umpteen kilos of him, rolled over like a beached whale. A cheer went up.
As we were practicing, we had the VHF on, tuned to channel 16. Suddenly, the messages began to get urgent. There had been a diving accident off the Cap d'Antibes. We waited for CROSSMED to task us, and the beep finally came. The duty cox arrived in his jeep, with a squeal of brakes. We stuffed all the lifesaving kit back on the boat and headed out to sea. Pity we had to leave Charlie behind, he could have been useful. By common consent, he has the makings of a really good lifeboatman.
Off the Cap d'Antibes, the Cannes lifeboat met us: they had been at sea close by, exercising, and had responded spontaneously. They asked us to prepare the medical kit which we have on board, oxygen etc., so that when they landed in Antibes, all would be ready for a helicopter evacuation. But there was only one berth available by the fireboat station for offloading the victim. We had to tie up some distance away, on the millionaires' quay.
It was like an adventure film. We came in at a rate of knots, jumped across to the quay, threw helmets to those of us now on land, passed the equipment and a stretcher, and then ran like the clappers with well over a hundredweight of stuff, as the downdraught from helicopter blades whirling just above us flung the all the dustbins far into the air. We got to the other lifeboat just as it docked and just as the helicopter landed. All happenstance, really, but the simultaneous action movie would have made Hollywood green with envy and would have cost a bomb to do commercially.
The diver, a woman, was very shaken and ashen-faced behind her oxygen mask, but didn't look as if her days were in danger.
A couple of photos taken by our Cannes colleagues show the the event unfolding, and we appear, as extras, in the aftermath. Good pictures:
I don't think practice can get more real than that...
As we were practicing, we had the VHF on, tuned to channel 16. Suddenly, the messages began to get urgent. There had been a diving accident off the Cap d'Antibes. We waited for CROSSMED to task us, and the beep finally came. The duty cox arrived in his jeep, with a squeal of brakes. We stuffed all the lifesaving kit back on the boat and headed out to sea. Pity we had to leave Charlie behind, he could have been useful. By common consent, he has the makings of a really good lifeboatman.
Off the Cap d'Antibes, the Cannes lifeboat met us: they had been at sea close by, exercising, and had responded spontaneously. They asked us to prepare the medical kit which we have on board, oxygen etc., so that when they landed in Antibes, all would be ready for a helicopter evacuation. But there was only one berth available by the fireboat station for offloading the victim. We had to tie up some distance away, on the millionaires' quay.
It was like an adventure film. We came in at a rate of knots, jumped across to the quay, threw helmets to those of us now on land, passed the equipment and a stretcher, and then ran like the clappers with well over a hundredweight of stuff, as the downdraught from helicopter blades whirling just above us flung the all the dustbins far into the air. We got to the other lifeboat just as it docked and just as the helicopter landed. All happenstance, really, but the simultaneous action movie would have made Hollywood green with envy and would have cost a bomb to do commercially.
The diver, a woman, was very shaken and ashen-faced behind her oxygen mask, but didn't look as if her days were in danger.
A couple of photos taken by our Cannes colleagues show the the event unfolding, and we appear, as extras, in the aftermath. Good pictures:
I don't think practice can get more real than that...
jeudi 24 mars 2011
Scrubbers
Yesterday evening, in the company of fellow Welshman Spike Jenkins, was spent doing propaganda for the lifeboat at a reception given by Bluewater, an international charter, training and crewing agency. The men and women running the business were all really helpful and nice, and extremely willing to do anything to get the lifeboat better known.
The guests were all the young prospective deckhands and stewardesses: people I had seen doing the forlorn hoofwork from yacht to yacht, clutching CVs and usually not speaking a word of French. For the first time, then, I got the chance to talk to some of them. An interesting bunch: many of them from Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. Some were here because Antibes is a hub of the business they are trying to get a foothold in, others, particularly the South Africans, are effectively economic migrants.
Seeing them fresh-faced and innocent, and knowing what awaits them on the boats, as scrubbers (literally for the blokes, metaphorically for the girls), was strangely moving.
The guests were all the young prospective deckhands and stewardesses: people I had seen doing the forlorn hoofwork from yacht to yacht, clutching CVs and usually not speaking a word of French. For the first time, then, I got the chance to talk to some of them. An interesting bunch: many of them from Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. Some were here because Antibes is a hub of the business they are trying to get a foothold in, others, particularly the South Africans, are effectively economic migrants.
Seeing them fresh-faced and innocent, and knowing what awaits them on the boats, as scrubbers (literally for the blokes, metaphorically for the girls), was strangely moving.
mercredi 23 mars 2011
Welsh Takeover
Spent an agreeable morning down at the lifeboat station going over the proofs of a leaflet to encourage the local English speakers to contribute towards the running costs of the boat. Spike Jenkins, a local skipper and a Welshman, has managed to get the graphics work done for free by a local printer, and has found sponsorship for the printing costs, too. Yours Truly did the text and arranged for illustrations. A Celtic level of efficiency not often noted on the Côte d'Azur. Tonight, we are off to squeeze flesh at a crew training facility, to drum up interest.
He'll be togged out in RNLI, I'll be in SNSM: a nice clash of discreet pale blue (him) and dayglow rancid orange (me).
He'll be togged out in RNLI, I'll be in SNSM: a nice clash of discreet pale blue (him) and dayglow rancid orange (me).
jeudi 17 mars 2011
Troncs SNSM
Just like the RNLI, the French lifeboat organisation has collecting boxes in the form of old-fashioned pulling lifeboats. Both have those characteristic whalebacks at bow and stern to ensure righting in the event of capsize. If anything, the French ones seem to predate the Barnet-Watson era, and represent, as an archaism, the very earliest attempts at lifeboat design.
At the moment, we have three of the boxes at home, awaiting a visit by fellow Welshman (albeit Hwntws) Spike Jenkins and Yours Truly (Gog) to the various haunts of the large, Anglophone deckhand community here. We'll temporarily hide our differences. It's in a good cause, after all...
Looking up the regulations on the net, I note that our boss, Admiral Lagane, has warned against fraudulent use of these SNSM collecting boxes. Apparently some people have been placing suborned examples in public places and pocketing the proceeds. I wonder how they feel when a lifeboat crew risks (or loses) their lives in a rescue.
At the moment, we have three of the boxes at home, awaiting a visit by fellow Welshman (albeit Hwntws) Spike Jenkins and Yours Truly (Gog) to the various haunts of the large, Anglophone deckhand community here. We'll temporarily hide our differences. It's in a good cause, after all...
Looking up the regulations on the net, I note that our boss, Admiral Lagane, has warned against fraudulent use of these SNSM collecting boxes. Apparently some people have been placing suborned examples in public places and pocketing the proceeds. I wonder how they feel when a lifeboat crew risks (or loses) their lives in a rescue.
mercredi 16 mars 2011
Pluie
Who says it doesn't rain on the Côte d'Azur? It's been raining, nay, pissing down, off and on, for over a month, and looks set to carry on for a while yet. My physiotherapist blames me for having brought Welsh weather to the Med. I half suspect she is right...
Still, there are compensations. As soon as the sun pops out of the clouds, the streets begin to steam, and the sea turns from glaucous gray-green to minty blue, then everything's goin' to be all right (to quote Bob Marley).
Still, there are compensations. As soon as the sun pops out of the clouds, the streets begin to steam, and the sea turns from glaucous gray-green to minty blue, then everything's goin' to be all right (to quote Bob Marley).
dimanche 13 mars 2011
Not a day for the perfect swim
Southeasterly gale for the last two days, and that brings heavy seas crashing into the ramparts, with wave-propelled boulders and uprooted trees acting like battering rams. This is the little beach where we swim in the summer. Not survivable today. The trough to crest height is about twelve feet, and the spray is shooting forty feet into the air.
This unfortunate tree was on its way through the postern gate, and about to torpedo a yacht in the harbour, when it got abruptly stopped by the stout iron gate. Mind you, it made a brave attempt at smashing that, too.
Needless to say, we decided not to do lifeboat exercises yesterday. High chance of breaking bits of the boat off. So it was out with the dustpan and brush down below. The lifeboat was really heaving at its moorings, which made balance below decks a mite comic.
Needless to say, we decided not to do lifeboat exercises yesterday. High chance of breaking bits of the boat off. So it was out with the dustpan and brush down below. The lifeboat was really heaving at its moorings, which made balance below decks a mite comic.
Let them eat...
Walking past the charming little primary school not far from our house, I saw the week's canteen menu posted up outside. It looked mouthwatering and extremely varied. These kids were being taught how to eat.
I couldn't help comparing it with the experience of my own kids in Scotland (best education system in the wurruld, as we were repeatedly told), where they had been obliged to eat damp homemade sandwiches, whilst sitting on the cruddy tarmac of the playground, whatever the weather (and Edinburgh certainly has weather!).
Click twice on the image to read it, and salivate...
lundi 7 mars 2011
De la tarte
The lifeboat station carries emergency supplies for when a shout takes more time than expected. A lot of water, of course, permanent coffee on the go, and a through-trade of drink for when the cleaning and refuelling is finished and the yarns and jokes begin.
One nice tradition is that people bring in home baking once in a while. Ludovic's mum provided some epic lemon biscuits a couple of weeks ago. Last Saturday it was the BH's turn to supply the goodies, in the form of a magnificent lemon tart, a by-product of the limoncello she has been making. Here it is before the sacrifice, officiated by Ludo, of course. The ritual instrument and libation are bottom left...
dimanche 6 mars 2011
Multiculturalism actually works
Had a great time up in the hills, just below the Mont Vinaigre. Wonderful place for walking, picnicking, botanical investigation and lizard observation.
However, the highpoint this time was watching a mixed flock of sheep and goats, accompanied by two sheepdogs, traverse the hillside without any human involvement at all. The chief dog and the chief goat both visibly obeyed the bellweather sheep. It was a fantastic demonstration of group dynamics. Every animal played its part.
The dogs just wanted to look as if they were in charge. Though they looked tough, even menacing, they couldn't actually eat any of the scrub, but knew they would be rewarded at the end of the day, if they brought the flock back. Just like the fuzz, really, running dogs of capitalism.
The goats could eat anything, but were vulnerable, and knew they were on sufferance, and had to stick with the sheep, but being agile, could scout out and identify for the rest of the flock the tasty tufts. They looked very, very edible already... Goat is good!
The sheep knew that they were the real reason for being there, and had complete and justified confidence in the bellweather, who was a tough old grandma. The various, magnificently horned but probably useless rams all wore a distinctly unsexy thick rubber skirt, which seemed to serve a dual function, both to protect their rather obviously exposed, oversized equipment from the thorns, and to prevent them from getting any ideas about mounting the ewes, the nanny goats or even the other rams.
However, the highpoint this time was watching a mixed flock of sheep and goats, accompanied by two sheepdogs, traverse the hillside without any human involvement at all. The chief dog and the chief goat both visibly obeyed the bellweather sheep. It was a fantastic demonstration of group dynamics. Every animal played its part.
The dogs just wanted to look as if they were in charge. Though they looked tough, even menacing, they couldn't actually eat any of the scrub, but knew they would be rewarded at the end of the day, if they brought the flock back. Just like the fuzz, really, running dogs of capitalism.
The goats could eat anything, but were vulnerable, and knew they were on sufferance, and had to stick with the sheep, but being agile, could scout out and identify for the rest of the flock the tasty tufts. They looked very, very edible already... Goat is good!
The sheep knew that they were the real reason for being there, and had complete and justified confidence in the bellweather, who was a tough old grandma. The various, magnificently horned but probably useless rams all wore a distinctly unsexy thick rubber skirt, which seemed to serve a dual function, both to protect their rather obviously exposed, oversized equipment from the thorns, and to prevent them from getting any ideas about mounting the ewes, the nanny goats or even the other rams.
mercredi 2 mars 2011
Hanbury Gardens
Off to Italy today, to see the renowned Hanbury Gardens in Mortola Inferiore. The site is magnificent: an entire headland of steeply inclined hillside scoured into terraces. On this south-facing, well-watered spot pretty well anything that needs sun and water can grow, and it does. Enormous versions of twee cactuses normally sold in five-centimeter pots, aloes and agaves wilder than the visions of Douanier Rousseau, citrus fruit suffering from elephantiasis. And scents to die for...
We had a great time wandering around the terraces as the only visitors, apart from very vocal birds clearly savouring the exotic foods and nesting materials. Picnic lunch was had down by the sea, to the accompaniment of a symphonic climax of crashing waves. Just lovely, and a place to visit frequently, so as to profit from the different seasons.
On the way back, we stopped in Latte to buy the strong neutral alcohol for making limoncello. Ridiculously cheap and enormously potent (95°). The supermarket was full of grim-faced French people stocking up with cut-price booze, aiming for the liquor and spirits section without a sidewards glance. Though we were, in a sense, up to the same thing, we at least had the good taste to buy a few local delicacies such as local endives and some good cheese. Other people's trolleys merely clinked as they passed the checkout.
Came back via the Ponte San Luigi high road behind Vieux Menton. Well worth it for the wonderful views. Seriously nice place, Menton. Made us feel incredibly young, too, as the youngest locals were at least octogenarian. Mind you, they were in strapping form...
mardi 1 mars 2011
Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant
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