June 27, 2012
Creole
Then came my current Bushido. My son and I conceived her, my wife and daughter decorated her, and soon after her launch in 2004 she became the “head turner” I always wanted to own. She was Keira Knightley, Ava Gardner, and Betty Grable rolled into one: a black steel hull, two masts, two long overhangs in the bow and stern, and covered in teak and mahogany. She has six crewmen and comfortably sleeps eight in four cabins with four baths. She is 120 feet long and by far the most beautiful boat in the Med. When people ask when she was built I always answer 1927, and no one questions it.
So I should be happy at last, n”est-ce pas? Well, dear readers, I am not only unhappy, I”m angry as hell and won”t take it anymore. The trouble is the rest of the people who have yachts as opposed to boats. Everywhere I”ve gone these last ten years has been a nightmare. Every marina is impossible to get into, and every cove is chockablock with large monstrous stinkpots, as we old salts call boats with motors. Even when I”m moored in waters far away from the Med’s glitzy spots, the world’s most annoying invention”the Jet Ski”runs nonstop rings around Bushido, making sure no one onboard has a moment of peace and reflection. (We”re very big on peace and reflection on Bushido.)
Back in sailing’s glory days, I knew most of the people that sailed around the French Riviera, in Sardinia, Corsica, the Spanish coast, and the Greek Isles. People would anchor next to one another and a party would ensue. We were all friends. After the 1973 Arab oil boycott, some strange creatures began to float around: men wearing towels and sheets who would throw their rubbish overboard along with the occasional hooker. It was the beginning of the end of floating the good life. As of this summer, with a gangster such as Roman Abramo-son-of-a-bitch polluting the place with five megayachts, it’s THE END.
