Back to Forever

31 March 2011

So, we have arrived back on Forever without particular mishap, apart from Mike losing a pair of pliers, confiscated out of his hand luggage and me losing two pairs of new shoes, stolen from an unsecured pocket on my hold luggage.  Annoying but not catastrophic. 

We arrived, to a nice sunny day, with two large bags, two smaller, bulging, rucksacks and a bike and were met at Marseille airport by Helmut.  Helmut warrants a special mention.

In February I had emailed the marina to advise that we would be coming to stay on the boat, and asked if they could arrange transport from the airport.  They emailed back that I should contact Helmut direct and gave me his details.  I wrote to Helmut in English explaining that we were two people arriving at Marseille airport at 14.20 on 30 March, could he collect us and take us to the marina and how much would it cost.  He emailed back: “Numero de vol. Terminus. Helmut.”  I emailed back in my best French the flight number and Terminal MS2, and again asked how much the transport would be.  He emailed back: “OK”.  A week later I wrote again, asking him to please advise the price of the transport to which I received no reply.  I then telephoned him. He spoke no English, my French is not fluent and his is extraordinary.  I really struggled to understand (I thought he was German but he insisted later that he is French, though of German origin) and he frequently didn’t understand me.  He finally grasped who I was and the question, and after much difficulty I understood the price was €60.  I balked slightly, “€60?” and he insisted that that was good value as a taxi would be €130.  I said ok, €60 was agreed.  A week before leaving I wrote to him again, confirming our arrival and warning him that we would be two people with two large suitcases and a bicycle (velo).  He emailed back: “Numero de vol. Terminus.” Ha.  I wrote back, reminding him that we knew each other, had emailed before and spoken on the phone, I repeated the flight and terminal anyway, and went on to explain that I was simply confirming our arrival and warning him of the amount of luggage.  No reply.

So, we were pleased to see him actually at the airport;  short and plump, white haired, red cheeked and bespectacled, he could have been a beardless, unsmiling Santa. He looked at the bike (which was packed in a very large box) and immediately said that it was too big and wouldn’t fit in the car.  A small altercation ensued with me insisting that I’d written and advised him of the bike and him saying yes a bike, but that box is huge.  He then said he’d go and get the car, we should wait outside.  His car was more than big enough and everything was loaded easily – nothing further was said about the bike and we assumed it had been some sort of ‘joke’ on his part.  A couple of miles along the road, he suddenly announces that though he had said €60, that was per person, so €120 and then for the large ‘baggages’ and ‘velo’ there would be extra, bringing the total to €250.  I said you must be joking Monsieur, you said €60, and €60 it is.  No, no he argued, it is €250 and if you don’t like it I can stop the car and you can get out.  Mike, not understanding a word, was laughing jovially at the man until I translated the gist of the conversation.  Now miles from the airport, I had no intention of getting out as our chances of a taxi with all that luggage would have been slight so I said no more. It did rather spoil the trip.  Helmut made a few attempts at friendly conversation which we ignored.  Eventually, Mike (in front with Helmut) looked back at me and I said quietly that perhaps it was another of his ‘jokes’.  Mike agreed and little by little we spoke a bit more to him.  He frequently just didn’t respond to comments and most of the time we didn’t understand him, but we remembered him from when we were here before – he is the marina caretaker and lives with his wife in a small cottage within the marina complex.  He used to run a small, uninviting snack shop situated very near our boat, which we rarely frequented.  He was known then as a difficult, unfriendly chap.  His wife did a laundry service which I tried once.  He told us that the snack shop had closed (he is 80 now and too old to work) and there is now a large new restaurant, good but expensive.

We had originally intended to ask Helmut to stop briefly at the supermarket at Port Saint Louis, which is, very conveniently, on the way, but were now too nervous.  If there was going to be a row, we didn’t want to be beholden to him for a small favour.  So, we sailed past the supermarket and went straight to the marina, unloaded, and Mike asked the price.  Once again, he started about the €250 and I kept calm and said firmly, “No, Mike give him €60” which Mike did and he was perfectly happy.  Bizarrely, it was another of his jokes, and he was so pleased with himself he now gave me a small packet of M&Ms, though at no time did he ever smile.  Though I could happily have strangled him, we then got stuck in a long conversation with him about a bike he had bought and wanted to sell and finally took Mike off to look at whilst I was left, like a lemon, standing guard to all the luggage by the boat.

Luckily for me a very nice Swedish woman, name pronounced Urla but probably spelt quite differently, came by and we stood together and chatted.  I related the story of Helmut and she laughed, said yes, he was renowned for his odd ‘jokes’ and she explained that he is very deaf, which is presumably why he often  didn’t respond when spoken to.  This charming woman told me that she and her husband had been scheduled to go back into the water the previous day (the Navy Service marina where we are is only hard standing – going back into the water means leaving and going sailing, or as in our case, up the Rhone River) but the yard had dropped their boat!  The sling hadn’t been properly secured and their boat fell, causing some small amount of damage (mostly paintwork) to the bottom.  They were very laid back about it.  I was rather pleased to hear about this because it means the yard personnel will be on extra alert for some time to come about not repeating that little mishap.

Mike returned, we put up a ladder and set about boarding Forever.  Poor old dear, she looked awful.  It is amazing how quickly neglect lays its sad, ugly face over things.  However, the man who had agreed to occasionally clean the boat and maintain the batteries had done some work and the batteries are ok (not great) and taking a charge.  The interior of the boat was better than I’d hoped, but still a layer of fine dust everywhere.  Whilst Mike re-assembled the bike and rode back into the town of Port Saint Louis (about 1 mile) to get some groceries, I wiped down the inside and put things away as best I could, then borrowed a hosepipe from a kindly Danish neighbour (ours was in a locker on which the padlock had frozen) and washed the decks and cockpit, which were filthy. Dying of thirst, I tried the tap at the kitchen sink and out poured what looked like clean water.  I drank. It tasted fine.  Who knows how long that water has been there, we’ve been away for three years.  Now that I had the hosepipe, I filled the tank, topping up on the old water already there.

Mike came back with essentials like tea, coffee, milk and sugar as well as a baguette (bliss), some blue cheese, a tin of mussels, a carafe of wine, some vegetables and fruit.  He’d also bought a gas refill for our mini camping stove, but it didn’t fit, so we had no cooking facilities which bothered neither of us.  I fell in a heap at that point, tucked into the bread, cheese and wine and finished an earlier started Sudoku with my feet up on the still dusty salon berths.  Mike continued to bang about on deck, as men do. 

We’d brought a duvet and some bed linen with us, but there were no cushions on the boat at all and we had no pillows.  I went for a cursory wash in the ablution block.  Three years on, the men still prefer to use the ‘femmes’ showers and loos and I met two blokes.  The ‘hommes’ section was empty! One of them made friendly mention of the mosquitoes, notorious in this area, and though I heard a whine later that night, they haven’t bothered us yet.  I made the bed up and retired, Mike soon following.  We slept well, despite uncomfortable improvised pillows.  Sheer fatigue.

And how do I feel being back on the boat?  Not good, I have to say.  They say never go back and that’s how it feels to me, like we’ve gone back.  I’m not pleased to be here.  I want my comfortable, clean home that I don’t have to climb a ladder to reach or walk 200 yards to get to the loo.  There is a lot to do to make it a comfortable home again and everything is so much more difficult on a boat (especially on the hard).  I don’t know if I’m up to it.