What Will Yacht Life Look Like in 2036?

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #26/0024 Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew.

What Will Yacht Life Look Like in 2036?

By Erica Lay, owner of EL CREW CO Superyacht Recruitment agency and author of Superyacht Life: How to Start, Succeed, & Stay Sane – available now on Amazon.

If you think yachting has changed a lot between 2006 and 2026, buckle up. The next decade is shaping up to be a wild blend of high-tech wizardry, eco-conscious living, and guest expectations so niche they’ll make today’s preference sheets look like cave paintings.

So let’s jump ahead and imagine a typical day aboard a superyacht in 2036 – part prediction, part educated guess, part fever dream inspired by too many hours this past week in STP.

Silent tenders… that refuse to disturb wildlife

In 2036, tenders won’t growl. They won’t roar. They won’t even politely hum. They’ll glide. Total silence. They’ll be so quiet dolphins won’t realise you’re there until they bump into you and ask for snacks.

And because environmental regulations will be even tighter, tenders might be fitted with “eco-alerts” – gentle bird-like chimes reminding the driver to slow down in sensitive areas. Think of it like a reverse parking sensor, but for seagrass.

Floating solar wings that deploy like origami

By 2036, yachts will sport solar wings that fold out at anchor like some kind of luxurious butterfly. The whole top deck will unfurl into a shimmering array of ultra-thin panels, harvesting so much energy the crew will spend the afternoon bragging to each other about kilowatt hours.

They’ll retract automatically when the wind picks up, which means you can expect to hear a lot of: “Engineer to Bridge, we’ve lost Wing Two again…”

AI butlers… and yes, they’ll have personalities

Forget voice assistants that can barely hear you over the AC. In 2036, every yacht will have an AI butler that remembers your guests’ favourite drinks, their sleeping patterns, and whether they’re the type who thinks fennel is an insult.

Some yachts will let the owner choose the AI’s “personality package.” Options may include:
• British Estate Manager – calm, soothing, slightly passive aggressive.
• Hollywood Agent – tells you everything is “amazing” even if the stabilisers are on strike.
• Mediterranean Auntie – feeds you constantly and is openly suspicious of anybody who asks for gluten-free anything.

Engineers will pretend to hate the AI but secretly ask it for diagnostics help during night watches.

Cabins that adjust themselves

Guests won’t fiddle with switches. Their cabins will learn them.

Temperature, lighting, mattress firmness, even the shower pressure will all adjust automatically based on biometric cues. If a guest gets out of bed at 3 a.m. for a glass of water, the lights will softly glow at “barefoot-stumble-safe” intensity.

Interior crew will pretend they hate the automation, while privately enjoying the fact that nobody is asking them to “make the lights a tiny bit more sunsetty.”

Hyper-personalised food systems

The 2036 galley will resemble a Michelin kitchen crossed with a lab. Chefs will have AI nutrition assistants mapping each guest’s metabolism in real time.

A typical preference sheet might say: “I prefer meals optimised for my sleep cycle, featuring proteins that support cognitive clarity, using ingredients that were grown within a 50km radius and have been spiritually blessed.”

Chefs will nod politely and go cry into the sourdough starter.

Drone everything

Drones will be standard equipment. They’ll do:
• grocery drops
• line inspections
• hull scans
• wildlife monitoring
• aerial cinematography
• “guest locator” runs when someone wanders off during a beach picnic

Deck crew will manage them with the weary confidence of people who used to deal with inflatable climbing walls.

Anchorages that book themselves

By 2036, some regions will require digital mooring reservations. Yachts will ping ahead, AI will calculate optimal positions, and the system will assign you a buoy that minimises seagrass disturbance.

Of course, there will still be that one yacht that ignores the rules and drags through a protected zone. Social media willsend alerts to authorities within minutes and fines will be swift.

Crew uniforms that actually do things

Imagine uniforms with cooling fibres, UV protection, built-in hydration reminders, and anti-stink tech that keeps the deck team from smelling like the inside of a wetsuit after day three of toy madness.

In 2036, that might be normal.

And the big one: semi-autonomous yachts

We’re not talking “captain in a deckchair while the yacht does donuts.” We’re talking:
• self-docking with human oversight
• collision-avoidance that actually works
• route optimisation
• automated night monitoring
• system self-diagnostics
• stabilisation that reads the sea like an oracle

Captains will still be in charge – but the yacht will have opinions.

So… what will 2036 yacht life really feel like?

Cleaner. Quieter. Smarter. More personalised. More eco-friendly. And yes – a little bit weird in places.

There’ll be more tech helping crew, more data keeping guests happy, and more automation quietly smoothing out the chaos behind the scenes.

But at its core, it’ll still be the same: people chasing sunshine, saltwater, good food, and that first perfect morning coffee on deck.

Only now their drone will film it.

Superyacht Guests: 2006 vs 2026- A Tale of Two Eras

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #26/0020. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com.

By Erica Lay, owner of EL CREW CO Superyacht Recruitment agency and author of Superyacht Life: How to Start, Succeed, & Stay Sane – available now on Amazon.

If you ever want to feel the passage of time, don’t look at old photos or your first Facebook status. Look at how superyacht guests behaved in 2006 versus how they act now. It’s like comparing two different species.

The 2006 charter guest arrived armed with a chunky digital camera, a pair of linen trousers, and the belief that the height of sophistication was a DVD box set and a jetski. Lovely people. Simple times.

The 2026 guest turns up with a drone, three personalised nutrition plans, a wearable bio-tracker, an expectations spreadsheet, and a burning desire to have a “transformative week at sea”.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane… or in yacht terms, let’s compare the old-school teak era to the new-age tech era.

Arrival Day

2006: Guests stepped aboard smiling, excited, and gloriously low-maintenance compared to today. They handed over their shoes, asked where the cabins were, and wanted to know when lunch was. No demands, no complications, just relieved to be on holiday.

2026: Today’s guests board holding a phone with their wellness schedule, their diet plan, their streaming preferences, and three Pinterest mood boards. Before they even reach the aft deck sofa, someone’s already asking:
“Is the Wi-Fi strong enough for Zoom?”
“Can my fitness tracker connect to the gym equipment?”
“Do you have oat milk that’s been carbon-offset?”
The crew smile and say yes. They always say yes.

Entertainment

2006: Entertainment was blissfully simple. Crew put out a stack of DVDs, a few board games and jigsaws, and maybe a karaoke machine that mysteriously only worked after the third glass of wine. The biggest tech concern was whether the TV remote had batteries.

2026: Now it’s full Dolby cinema rooms, 4K projectors, and guests arguing over which streaming platform has the show they want. And there’s always one who wants access to something that hasn’t even been released yet.
“Can we stream the new season?”
“It comes out next month.”
“Yes, but can we?”

Toys and Tenders

2006: The toy list was jetskis, a banana boat that tried to kill people, a kayak that nobody used, and a tube that needed air every 15 minutes. Guests thought they were adventurous. Crew thought they were brave.

2026: The toy locker now looks like NASA designed it. You’ve got e-foils, underwater scooters, drones, electric surfboards, silent tenders, solar paddleboards, submersibles, and a whole IKEA warehouse’s worth of inflatables. Guests want action. Preferably filmed. Preferably in slow motion.

Photography

2006: A guest would ask a deckhand to “take a nice photo of us” with a bright blue Kodak camera. Then they’d ask again because someone blinked.

2026: Today’s guests bring drones, multi-lens phones, waterproof rigs, stabilisers, and editing apps. They want cinematic holiday reels and underwater content that makes them look like they’re narrating a David Attenborough special. Some yachts now carry full content-creator kits because… of course they do.

Wellness

2006: “Wellness” meant a yoga mat stored under a bunk and a smoothie if the chef felt generous. The only ice bath was the drinks cooler.

2026: Now guests ask for cold plunge setups, breathwork sessions at sunrise, IV vitamin infusions, sound baths, hormone-balanced menus, meditation pods, and circadian lighting. The crew are learning half the routines on the fly. A modern charter isn’t just a holiday – it’s a wellness retreat with jetskis.

Food and Diets

2006: Requests were… manageable. “No onions, they make me windy.” “I don’t eat pork.” “My wife doesn’t like mushrooms.” That was it.

2026: Guests now arrive with diet PDFs. Plural. Keto-except-Saturdays, gluten-free-but-we-still-eat-cake, pescatarian-but-will-eat-wagyu, dairy-free-but-we-love-burrata. And everything must be organic, local, sustainable, ethically sourced, and preferably touched by moonlight. Chefs earn sainthood every season.

Excursions

2006: A beach picnic, a snorkel stop, or a short walk was plenty. Most guests treated a charter as an excuse to sit still, drink rosé, and read a book with one eye closed.

2026: Guests now want coastal hikes, cave tours, cliff jumping, treasure hunts, freediving lessons, underwater drone scouting, paddle yoga, eco-tours, and drone-filmed landings. By day three the crew have burned more calories than the gym equipment.

Expectations

2006: Sun. Sea. Food. Sleep. Bliss.

2026: Modern guests want personalised, curated, meaningful, eco-friendly, wellness-aligned, cinematic, bio-tracked, content-ready experiences curated with clinical precision. And they also still want the jetskis.

So, what changed?

Everything – and nothing. Guests may be more demanding, plugged-in, wellness-obsessed and experience-hungry, but they still want the same core experience they did 20 years ago: to feel special, relaxed, and looked after at sea.

The difference is that in 2026, “being looked after” involves more technology, more planning, more dietary decoding, more content creation, and more systems than anyone in 2006could’ve imagined.

But that’s yachting. It evolves. The sea stays the same – the guests? Not so much…

Tropical Christmas vs European Christmas at Sea

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1131. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com

Two very different worlds. Both involve fairy lights held up by cable ties.

Christmas on land is predictable. You know what you’re getting: James Bond films, questionable jumpers, and arguments over the gravy. Christmas at sea? Completely different beast. And depending on where the yacht is parked, you’re either sweltering in the Caribbean or dodging icy winds in Europe wondering why anyone thought alfresco lunch was a good idea.

Let’s break it down.

A Tropical Christmas: Sand, Sea, and Suspiciously Sweaty Santa Hats

A Caribbean Christmas is basically the universe saying, “Here, have warmth, sun, and rum. Lots of rum.”

The Vibe:

It’s hot. It’s bright. Everything smells like sunscreen, coconuts, and the faint panic of the chef trying to stop the chocolate truffles melting.

Crew are in festive outfits that make no sense in 30 degrees. Guests are in swimwear accessorised with designer Santa hats. Someone is always asking, “Do you think the beach bar will play carols?” (Unfortunately the answer is yes.)

The Traditions:

• Champagne breakfast on the aft deck

• Snorkelling with turtles instead of watching The Snowman

• Guests insisting on actual snow (deck crew quietly Googling “how to clean foam stains off teak”)

• Santa arriving on a jet ski, because why not

• Beach BBQs where the hardest job is keeping the wind from blowing away the mince pies

The Challenges:

Everything melts.

Everything overheats.

Everything needs chilling.

Including the crew.

Also, the Caribbean is where turkeys go to disappear. A tropical Christmas menu often becomes “creative poultry-based improvisation”.

But the sunsets? Unreal. The water? Like a postcard. The mood? Unbeatable.

A tropical Christmas is chaotic, glamorous, and slightly ridiculous in all the best ways.

A European (Mediterranean) Christmas: Quiet Marinas, Cold Breezes, and Crew Making Their Own Festive Fun

Now, let’s be honest – most owners do not flock to the Med for Christmas. The Med in December is for hardy locals, shipyard teams, and yacht crew layered up like they’re preparing for a polar expedition.

The Vibe:

Quiet. Peaceful. Bit chilly.

Marinas lit up with Christmas lights. Cafés full of crew trying to warm up after morning washdown. Half the yachts are in refit mode, half are napping until spring.

It’s the calmest the Med ever gets, which is why crew secretly love it.

What Actually Happens:

• Crew Christmas dinners in Palma, Barcelona, Antibes, or La Spezia

• A frantic 24-hour owner pop-in where everyone pretends it’s summer

• The captain politely declining the owner’s suggestion of “a little cruise” in 35 knots

• Shore leave spent Christmas-shopping in cities instead of provisioning in remote islands

• Uniforms that never fully dry because the €!&% humidity won’t quit

And the Scenery?

Incredible. Snowy mountains in the distance. Empty bays. Wintry sunrises. Cities decorated to the nines. It’s peaceful in a way the high season never is.

The Challenges:

• Cold hands

• Icy decks

• The engineer spending 40% of their day defrosting something

But crew get the rare gift of… breathing. And that alone makes a Med Christmas feel special in its own quiet way.

The Pacific Christmas: Remote, Quiet, and Drop-Dead Gorgeous

For the yachts lucky enough to be out in the Pacific? This is the “spiritual retreat” version of Christmas.

The Vibe:

Silence.

Space.

Turquoise water as far as the eye can see.

Christmas Eve with only reef sharks for neighbours.

It’s peaceful in a way no Caribbean anchorage in December will ever be.

The Traditions:

• Island picnics that feel like you’re on your own private planet

• Starry Christmas nights that actually look photoshopped

• Guests who wanted to escape everything – and actually did

The Challenges:

Provisioning? Forget it. You either have it onboard or you don’t eat it. (Shoutout to chefs who have made Christmas dinner out of three tins of something and a prayer.)

Connectivity also tends to evaporate, which means crew get to say the sweetest sentence in yachting: “I’m sorry, there’s no signal to stream that right now.”

Peace on Earth indeed.

So Which Christmas Wins?

Tropical Christmas is fun, flashy, and full of sunshine.

European Christmas is cosy, classy, and full of mulled wine.

Pacific Christmas is serene, remote, and full of “wow”.

Each one comes with chaos.

Each one comes with magic.

Each one gives guests (and crew) something completely unforgettable.

But whichever version you pick, one thing stays the same: the crew working their socks off to make it all happen while trying not to sweat, freeze, or cry into the gravy.

Crew Focus: Christmas for Yacht Crew

Christmas for Yacht Crew: The Ones Making the Magic. With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1130. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com

For most people, Christmas means cosy jumpers, lazy days, and a kitchen full of food. For yacht crew, it means the complete opposite: long days, tight schedules, last-minute surprises, and serving a full Christmas dinner at anchor while sweating under a Santa hat that keeps blowing off in the wind.

And yet – somehow – crew still manage to pull off the most magical Christmases imaginable. Not for themselves, of course. For the guests. Always the guests.

When Christmas Looks Like Work (Because It Is)

Crew will tell you Christmas “is just another day”, but that’s a lie they tell themselves at 06:15 while steaming milk for eight gingerbread cappuccinos.

Christmas onboard is a production. Lights, decorations, themed cocktails, personalised stockings, elaborate menus, playlists for every mood… all pulled together while the yacht is moving, the weather is misbehaving, and the guests keep changing their minds.

Some stews start planning Christmas décor in October. Some chefs start planning menus before they’ve packed away the Halloween sweets. Provisioning becomes an extreme sport, especially in the Caribbean, where turkeys regularly vanish from the face of the earth the minute you actually need one.

Meanwhile, the deck crew are outside wrestling with garlands and fairy lights, pretending they’re having a great time while secretly praying no one asks them to build “a winter wonderland on the sundeck” again.

Missing Home, Making Do

Let’s be honest – Christmas can sting at sea.

You’re somewhere stunning, doing a job you’re proud of, but your family is thousands of miles away, sending selfies from the sofa. You’re surrounded by people, but it can feel strangely lonely.

Crew deal with it in different ways. Some call home between service runs. Some do Secret Santa with a strict “no buying, only scavenging from the boat” rule. Some pull little traditions from home – a movie, a song, a Christmas Eve hot chocolate in the crew mess – and it helps.

And then there are the ridiculous, heart-warming moments that only happen on yachts. The sous chef who bakes gingerbread at midnight because a homesick decky says “it smells like home”. The captain who orders gifts so the crew have something to unwrap. The engineer who reluctantly wears reindeer antlers because the stews think it’s funny. The spontaneous, slightly feral Christmas karaoke session in the galley that absolutely never happened. No evidence please. Or the engineer will unplug the wifi.

The 2 a.m. Crew Christmas Dinner

This is a universal yacht-crew phenomenon.

Guests go to bed full of roast turkey, champagne, and joy.

Stews go to the pantry to polish cutlery. Chefs are tackling the war zone of a galley. Deck crew stage their chamois fight against the glitter all over the aft deck and, finally, hours later… they sit down together to their own Christmas meal.

And it becomes one of those memories you look back on years later with a strange mix of exhaustion and warmth.

The Magic They Make (That No One Sees)

Guests see the tree, the lights, the gorgeous table settings, the food that looks too pretty to eat.

They don’t see the ten frantic minutes spent searching for a missing ornament.

They don’t see the stew crying with laughter because Santa tripped on the passerelle.

They don’t see the chef stress-prepping three menu versions because the guests “aren’t sure what they’ll feel like on the day”.

They don’t see the deckies hiding behind the mast trying to wrangle a tangled string of lights for the fourth time.

Crew turn Christmas into something extraordinary under conditions most people wouldn’t last an hour in. And they do it with good humour, surprising resilience, and enough caffeine to power a small city.

Why Crew Christmases Matter

It might not be the Christmas they grew up with.

It might not be restful.

It might not be peaceful.

But it is special.

It’s a shared experience. A weird, wonderful version of Christmas that only yacht crew really understand. And there’s something beautiful about knowing that you helped a family create memories they’ll carry for the rest of their lives.

So here’s to every stew hanging decorations in a rolling swell.

To every captain sweating in a Santa costume.

To every engineer fixing the oven five minutes before service.

To every chef performing culinary miracles at anchor.

And to every crew member spending Christmas far away from home so someone else can have the holiday of their dreams.

You’re the ones who make the magic.

Boss of the Bubbles: A Day in the Life of a Chief Stewardess

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1121.

Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com.

By Erica Lay

06:00 – Wakey Wakey (Espresso Optional, But Advised)

Wake up before the alarm, thanks to the noise of someone clinking around the pantry and the realisation I never responded to the guest’s 11:47pm request for bespoke peppermint foot soak. Chief Stew brain never sleeps. Pop a Nespresso and mentally start the to-do list.

06:45 – Briefing Blitz

Quick huddle with the interior team. Today we’re doing light brunch on the sundeck, a beach picnic, afternoon tea (American guest is ‘really into scones right now’), and a surprise birthday dinner with a Gatsby theme. Sure. Easy. I hand out task lists like Oprah hands out cars and power-smile through the blank stares.

07:30 – Inventory Chaos

Inventory check: we have 14 types of champagne but only two matching flutes. Where are the others? Third Stew looks red faced and shifty. Hmm. Send her out to look for a replacement set, and my will to live. Note to self: order more candle refills, lavender pillow spray, and diplomacy.

09:00 – Styling with Rage

Start flower arranging. Someone requested “just a simple centrepiece.” I’ve now dismantled three bouquets and turned the pantry into a floristry crime scene. There is floral foam on the ceiling. I do not know how. Meanwhile, I’m radioing the deck team to ask them to please not blast the pressure washer next to my tablescape.

10:00 – Brunch & Blagging

Third Stew returns with ikea flutes. Better than nothing. Still no sign of my will to live. Guests up. Brunch is served with smiles, small talk, and casual lies about where the honey came from. (No, it’s not harvested by monks on a mountain, but it sounded better than “Carrefour aisle five.”)

13:00 – Beach Picnic Mayhem

The beach set-up is looking Pinterest-perfect until a gust of wind yeets the linen napkins into the sea. One stew is chasing them down the beach like a madwoman while I try to locate the guests’ artisanal olive tapenade. Chef forgot it. Chef blames me. I smile sweetly and plot revenge.

14:00 – Laundry. Forever.

Somewhere between the 17 kaftans and the satin party shirts, I briefly forget my own name. Also: who needs this many outfit changes before 3pm?

15:00 – Tea with a Side of Tears

Afternoon tea prep. Second stew overwhips the cream. We’ll call it clotted. Decky radios to inform us the guests are running ten minutes late, then arrives ten minutes early on the tender. Deliver a convincing performance that the lumpy cream is clotted, and a Cornish delicacy, whilst the second stew stealthily hides the wrappers of the emergency supermarket scones as Chef hasn’t had time to whip those up in addition to the brunch, picnic, crew food, and prep for the extravagant themed dinner this eve. Successful blag: guests lap it all up.

16:00 – Costume Drama

The Gatsby dinner set up begins. Junior stew is crying in the crew mess because she shrunk her costume in the drier. I glue a feather to my headband and decide I’m now the entertainment.

19:30 – Dinner & Diplomacy

Serving scallops and smiles while discreetly re-filling wine glasses and defusing an argument over who owns Croatia. Someone knocks over three champagne flutes in quick succession. I don’t react. I simply catch the last one mid-air, place it upright, and continue as if I’m in the final round of Chief Stew Ninja Warrior. One guest applauds. I bow.

21:00 – Dessert Meltdown

Someone wants “just fruit” while the rest want flambéed bananas. Neither of which are on the menu. Chef obviously thrilled. Fire and fruit salad it is. Crew are thrilled however, we get to eat the vanilla bean soufflé with saffron pear compote and a side of chef’s soul. Meanwhile, I’m texting the night stew a full rundown and a warning about the guest who likes to request hot chocolate at 2am and talk about cryptocurrency.

23:00 – Finally, Sort Of

Quick tidy up, reset for breakfast, quick scream in the laundry room. Steal one of the fancy truffles from the guest fridge. Nearly break a leg slipping on a rogue grape. Climb into bunk, mentally rearranging the whole crew rota for tomorrow because the junior just said she “might be coming down with something.”

00:00 – Bedtime Brainstorm

Finally lie down. Remember I forgot to reply to the management company email. Panic. Stare at ceiling. Consider replacing all champagne flutes with mason jars and being done with it. Drift off plotting tomorrow’s tablescape and wondering if I could make napkin rings out of sea urchins and passive aggression.

Diary of a Sous/Crew Chef: The Galley Gladiator Below Deck

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1120.


Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com.

By Erica Lay

05:30 – Rise and Brine

Up before the guests, before the sun, and definitely before any sane human should be handling knives. The head chef is already in the galley, whispering lovingly to the hand-dived scallops like they’re old friends. I tiptoe in behind them to prep crew breakfast, hoping the eggs can’t sense my caffeine deficiency.

06:30 – Feeding the Masses (Crew Edition)

Toast. Eggs. Granola. Yogurts. Milks. Crumpets. Croissants. Smoothies. Someone’s trying to go keto, someone else is claiming dairy intolerance (why are they eating a yogurt?), and one deckhand wants “just something beige.” Someone asks for the granola to be “less crunchy”. I tip it into a blender in front of them, whizz, and remove, maintaining eye contact throughout. I do my best. I love them. But also, I hate them.

08:00 – Guest Breakfast Backup

The head chef barks a request for more hollandaise. I plate and polish like I’m auditioning for a Michelin star. A stew whisks the plate away like it’s a relay race. I return to the crew fridge to find someone’s eaten the fruit I chopped for lunch. I label a container “DO NOT EAT” and it disappears in under ten minutes. Then I find a rogue spoon in the fridge and spend 45 seconds having an existential crisis about who is doing this to me. Revenge is a dish best served with laxatives. (Kidding. Probably.)

10:30 – Crew Lunch Prepping

Now we’re deep into miso glaze and couscous debates. I’m trying to keep the galley tidy while making four versions of the same meal to suit every dietary persuasion. One engineer has a nut allergy, the third stew is vegan except on Fridays, and the deck crew eat like they’re all training for a Strongman contest. Find myself whispering to a pan of quinoa like it’s a therapy session. Quinoa tells me I’m doing a great job. Wonder if I’ve had too much caffeine.

12:00 – Guest Lunch Assist

I get drafted in to finish garnishes for the beach picnic. Micro herbs and edible flowers are applied with tweezers while we bounce through a two metre swell. I haven’t sat down since 06:00 and my blood type is now coffee.

13:00 – Crew Lunch Rush

It’s crew lunchtime. I plate up 15 portions and hope for silence. Instead, I get four comments, three complaints, and one marriage proposal (from the bosun, again). I eat my lunch crouched near the dry stores. With my hands. It’s peaceful there.

14:00 – Hiding from Crew

Despite locking myself in the dry store, a decky finds me to ask if I “have time to make something special” for their afternoon tea. Yes, just let me cancel my one chance to pee today and get right on that.

15:30 – Clean Up & Prep Round Three

Wash everything. Scrub everything. Curse the engineer who leaves Nutella-coated knives in the sink. Start prep for crew dinner while humming sea shanties and considering a career in accounting.

17:00 – Surprise Guest Canapé Duty

Head chef needs an extra set of hands to roll 50 sushi pieces for sundowners. Suddenly I’m back on the line, hands flying. I ask for a blowtorch. I get a blowtorch. I wield it like a flamethrower in a Michelin war zone.

18:30 – Crew Dinner Mayhem

I slap down trays of hot food for a crew who are 50% starving and 50% grumpy. A stew asks if I’ve got anything “lighter.” I resist the urge to launch a baked potato at her. Instead, I hand her a lettuce leaf and walk away, pointing at the three different salads on the counter as I head to the walk in fridge for my daily cry.

20:00 – Guest Dessert Support

Back to plating petit fours like a sugared Picasso. Chocolate fingerprints on my whites. A single tear may or may not fall into the creme brûlée.

21:30 – The Final Clean

Wipe. Scrub. Sanitize. Reorganise. Cry again in the walk-in fridge. Eat one of the leftover brownies. Eat two. Hide a third for later. Get caught by the bosun. Share the third with him.

23:00 – Collapse and Reflect

Lights out. My feet are swollen, my back is screaming, and my apron smells like every cheese we have on board. But the crew are fed, the chef is happy, and I didn’t set fire to anything. Reflect upon what was actually a really good day. 

BOO-ats of the Balearics

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1113. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com

Forget haunted houses… Mallorca’s got ghost ships, phantom bells, and sirens who’d rather sink you than sing for you.

Halloween is mostly about dodgy outfits (Oh, you were Wednesday Addams this year? Original…), harassing old people into giving your kids too much candy, and pretending pumpkin spice doesn’t taste like melted plastic mixed with cinnamon. But while landlubbers busily fuss with skeletons in their closets, sailors have been swapping stories of ships crewed by the dead for centuries. The sea has always been a perfect breeding ground for nightmares: it’s dark, mysterious, and its depths hold more monsters and mythical beasts than a Stephen King novel. So let’s look at some of the tales from the deep, including a couple from our very own Mallorca. Yes, she has a few skeletons in her anchor locker too.

The Famous Ones

The Flying Dutchman: Ghost Ship Royalty

We can’t talk spooky ghost ships without dropping the OG. Think of it as the Kardashians of cursed ships. Captain van der Decken swore he’d round the Cape of Good Hope “if it takes me until Doomsday.” Doomsday said: challenge accepted, Captain Sinky McSinkson. Now, his glowing ghost ship drifts around forever like that one charter guest who just won’t go to bed. Even King George V claimed he saw it in 1881. Imagine being haunted by a ship that exists purely because a Dutch bloke wouldn’t admit defeat. Bet he ignored his wife when she asked him to stop and ask directions.

Mary Celeste: The Original “Where’s Everyone Gone?”

Then there’s the Mary Celeste, the gold standard of “mystery at sea.” Found adrift near the Azores in 1872, she had everything on board; cargo, supplies, lunch still on the table, but no crew. Vanished. Poof. Theories? Mutiny, pirates, giant squid, alien abduction, exploding booze barrels. Basically, the ocean’s longest-running episode of CSI: Maritime Edition.

Now we’ve got those out the way, let’s talk about local lore…

Creepy Local Legends: Because Mallorca’s Too Pretty to Be Innocent

Mallorca looks like turquoise-watered paradise, but dig a little deeper and you’ll find some stories that could make even Magalluf look wholesome.

The Ghostly Galleys of Cabrera

Fishermen whisper about phantom warships gliding silently around Cabrera at night, supposedly the spirits of French soldiers left to rot there after the Napoleonic wars (again, probs too proud to ask for directions). Cabrera: great for snorkelling, also great for eternal damnation.

The Bells Beneath Palma Bay

Old Mallorcan grandmothers (the same ones who will hip-check you out of a supermarket queue whilst smiling sweetly) used to say you could hear drowned church bells ringing from beneath the sea on still nights. Realistically, it’s probably one of the marina fuel pumps choking again, but hey – spooky sells.

The Sirens of Sa Dragonera

Because of course we’ve got sirens. Supposedly, they still sing near the Dragonera islet, luring fishermen with their voices. Nowadays, you’re more likely to be lured in by a menu del dia at Port d’Andratx, but the effect is roughly the same: you lose all your money and possibly your dignity. Also: probably just goats.

Let’s move on. Why were sailors always so superstitious?

Maritime Madness: Beliefs That Aged About as Well as Warm Fish

Long before every boat had Starlink and streamed Netflix 24/7, sailors entertained themselves with terror.

St. Elmo’s Fire: Glowing blue flames on masts during storms. Sailors thought it was God’s wrath. Science says static electricity. Either way: pants ruined.

Davy Jones’ Locker: Once a terrifying watery grave. Now shorthand for where your missing flip-flop went.

Bad Luck Names: No sailing on Fridays, no whistling, and if you’re named Jonah… sorry babe, you’re benched.

Are Yachts Haunted Too?

Classic yachts creak and moan more than your uncle on the dancefloor. One chef swore their bilge had a resident ghost: footsteps, slamming doors, tools “moving themselves.” Skeptics say poor insulation. Believers just nope out and head to the bar.

Final Toast to the Ghosts

So during spooky season, when Palma is crawling with children in glow-in-the-dark skeleton onesies and adults dressed as the Ibiza Final Boss, remember: the real ghosts are still out at sea, whining, wailing and wondering why they don’t get any plastic pumpkins full of Haribo.

And if you’re anchored off Dragonera and hear singing? Don’t panic. It’s either sirens… or a yacht owner, three gins deep, murdering “My Heart Will Go On” at karaoke.

Keep it creepy, Mallorca. And remember: if a phantom schooner slides past your stern tonight… don’t wave. Ghosts hate try-hards.

Day in the Life: Diary of a Deckhand

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1103.

Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com

Introduction – The Other Half of the Story

If you’ve ever wondered what keeps a yacht gleaming from bow to stern, it’s not just the polish — it’s the people behind the polish. Following the viral Day in the Life: Diary of a Stewardess, Erica Lay returns with a deckhand’s perspective: the saltier, wetter, and slightly more existential side of yachting life.

It’s a reminder that beneath every sunset photo and champagne flute lies a daily choreography of labour, humour, and quiet heroism — the unfiltered truth of life at sea.

06:30 – The Calm Before the Rinse

Woken by the dulcet tones of my alarm squawking at me and the subtle aroma of sweaty shirts from the laundry bag I forgot to take to the laundry room last night before passing out. My uniform polo has mysteriously shrunk overnight (again). Not sure whether to blame the stews (risky) or accept the fact that the chef’s food is just too good. Head up to the main deck and grab my bucket, brush, squeegee and dignity. Because today is washdown day. Again.

07:15 – Saltwater and Existential Crises

Start at the bow. Salt everywhere. Did the Mediterranean vomit all over us last night? Blast it all off while trying not to spray my own legs. Fail. The bosun walks past with a nod. That’s as close to affection as I’ll get this week. Make a mad dash down to the crew mess for a shot of coffee and see if I left my will to live down there. Spill it all over my shirt. Chef laughs at me and offers me a cookie. Eagerly accept.

08:00 – The Guest Slippers Are Missing

Stew panic on the radio. Guest slippers: vanished. This is code red. I briefly consider abandoning my post to help search, then remember I have 34 more metres of teak to scrub and a nervous breakdown scheduled for 10:45.

09:30 – The Guest Wants to Paddleboard

Guests are appearing on deck after their breakfast. We break out the toys. Inflate the paddleboard. Deflate the paddleboard because they meant the other paddleboard. Reinflate original paddleboard as no, no, they got confused. Fetch paddle, leash, and look for dignity (again).

10:15 – Tender Tantrums

Take another guest ashore in the tender. Smile like it’s not my third round trip in 30 minutes. Get back just in time to be asked to “make it sparkle” for the fourth time today. Resisting the urge to ask if I should bedazzle it.

12:00 – Lunch (Allegedly)

Shovel down crew curry like I’m training for a competitive eating contest. Almost get to sit down before someone radios in that the jet ski is “making a weird noise.” Could be the guest. Could be the jet ski. Either way, it’s my problem now.

13:00 – Jet Ski Crisis

Spend 20 minutes “diagnosing” a perfectly functional jet ski while the guest takes a nap. Wiggle a hose. Tap something authoritatively. Declare it fixed. They thank me like I’m Poseidon himself. Bosun nods approvingly at my deception.

14:00 – Cookie Reconnaissance

Pop down to the galley under the pretense of collecting napkins. Secure three cookies, a banana, and possibly a new lease on life. Chef raises an eyebrow. I salute him with a biscuit.

15:00 – Polishing War Zone

Back to stainless. Fingerprints as far as the eye can see. It’s like guests specifically grease up before touching handrails. If you’ve never wiped down 50 metres of chrome while contemplating your life choices, have you even been a deckhand?

16:00 – Emergency Power Nap

Sneak into the bosun’s locker. Pretend I’m reorganising line bags. Actually nap on a pile of chamois cloths for 12 glorious minutes. Wake up slightly damp, spiritually rejuvenated.

16:30 – Anchor Drama

Radio squawks: “Boss wants to reposition the yacht for a better view of the sunset.” This requires pulling the anchor up, moving 100 metres, and dropping it again. For the fifth time today. Guest satisfaction: 10/10. Crew patience: aggressively unavailable.

18:00 – Guest Drinks on the Bow

Work with the stews to set up beanbags, hurricane lanterns, cocktail tables and an entire Pinterest board of soft furnishings. Wind picks up. Lanterns blow over. Beanbags roll. Guest arrives and asks to sit on the sun deck instead. Swallow a scream. Relocate everything.

19:00 – Dinner Is Served, But Not to Me

Guests dining al fresco. I’m on standby with the tender. Mosquitoes feast on me while I try not to fall asleep.

22:00 – Turndown for What?

Guests head to bed. I sneak into the laundry room to iron my soul back into shape and fold yet another stack of Egyptian cotton beach towels that no one actually used.

23:00 – Finally Done (Sort Of)

Shower. Fall into bunk. Dream of salt, stainless, and a universe without fender scuffs.

Editor’s Note

This series continues our look at The Real Yacht Life — the side that doesn’t show up on the brochure. From the stew’s invisible service ballet to the deckhand’s sunburned endurance, these are the hands that keep the dream afloat.

Crew Focus: Lauren Bennett

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1101.

Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com

This week, Erica Lay — owner of EL CREW CO International Yacht Crew Agency and author of Superyacht Life: How to Start, Succeed, & Stay Sane — talks to Lauren Bennett, a talented young multitasking aspiring chef (who can also jump on deck or help inside) from Gibraltar.

Lauren’s made it through her first season in yachting and, despite a tumultuous start on a doozy of a yacht (and no, Erica absolutely didn’t place her there), she’s now looking for her next challenge. Brave girl.

For more info on any of our featured crew, contact Erica directly at erica@elcrewco.com.

You’re from Gibraltar — what first brought you to Mallorca?

I went to Mallorca with the first yacht I worked on in July 2025. I stayed a little while and applied for another job on another yacht which took me to Sardinia.

Pre-yachting life — paint us a picture.

I was halfway through my A-Levels (Art, History & Spanish) and decided it wasn’t for me. I wanted to start working on superyachts. I love cooking, love travelling and aspire to become a famous top chef, so I thought, why not start now and go for it?

I completed my Super Yacht Silver – STCW course in Gibraltar and applied to several positions. I was very lucky to land my first position in Spain as a chef/stew. Next year, I hope to attend Le Cordon Bleu Culinary School in Paris to further my passion for the culinary arts.

How did you first break into the industry — was it glamorous or a shock to the system?

Most certainly a shock. The first yacht I worked on was not pleasant. I was the only female crew member on board, working as both chef and stew. The hours were long and it was a lot to run my two departments solo.

There was a crew of three — me, a moody captain, and a drunken deckhand. I remember thinking, “Am I doing the right thing here?” I didn’t feel comfortable or safe, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Luckily my mum was always there — she kept me sane!

(Editor’s note: If crew ever find themselves in a situation like this, please know you’re not alone. Get somewhere safe and seek help — police, a trusted friend, agent, or another crew member. You can also reach out to Yacht Crew Help for confidential support.)

Proudest or most unforgettable moment onboard?

Proudest was when the owners and guests asked for seconds of my meals.

Unforgettable was when I was abandoned in the middle of Palma after the drunken deckhand left me at a bar. He was almost arrested for being violent and drunk. It was scary — hence why I left the yacht.

What made you continue in the industry after that baptism by fire — stubbornness, love of cooking, or sheer madness?

I didn’t want to be a quitter — I felt that would be failing. But after the bar incident, when I told the captain and he didn’t care, I knew it was best to leave.

What do you love most about galley life?

Seeing people’s faces when they love my food presentation and its rich flavours. Seeing land from the sea — a view you wouldn’t normally see. The best sunsets and sunrises ever. Meeting new people in amazing ports.

And what’s the toughest part (that guests will never know)?

How you must be in three places at once — it’s crazy.

Craziest or funniest guest request?

On the second yacht I worked on, the owner’s child wanted pasta all the time — breakfast, lunch and dinner. He was great, so funny and cute.

Who would you love to host on board?

Not really bothered, so long as they’re nice!

Dream yacht and dream destination — no budget limits.

Monaco. Love that place. Dubai too — I haven’t been yet. Hopefully soon the Caribbean will be possible.

What advice would you give your younger, greener self starting out?

Sleep as much as you can! Talk and communicate with your fellow workers. Don’t take things personally and smile. Life is beautiful — and so is yachting.

Five years from now — where are you?

A famous master chef on the top yachts or running my own Michelin-star restaurant. My dream is Miami for some reason — but that could change.

When you’re off-duty, how do you spend your downtime?

Sleeping — I love my sleep! I also really enjoy cooking for the family, going to the gym to stay active and destress, or travelling with my mum and younger brother. Family is everything.

Editor’s Note

Lauren’s story is a reminder that breaking into yachting isn’t always glamorous — but with resilience, humour, and the right mentors, young crew like her are shaping the industry’s next generation of talent.

Crew Focus in Mallorca

Day in the Life: Diary of a Stewardess

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #25/1103.

Erica Lay owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew Agency http://www.elcrewco.com/ erica@elcrewco.com

06:00 – Rise and Regret

Bleary-eyed and already sweating. It’s going to be 34 degrees today and we’re anchored off Ibiza, which means the UV index is at skin-sizzling levels and the chief stew is already on her third espresso. I start my day with a silent prayer to the gods of lint rollers and linen spray.

07:00 – Breakfast Bingo

The guests want “something light.” Translation: seven kinds of fruit cut into exact geometrical shapes, almond croissants flown in from Paris, oat milk that we just realised expired last night (there’s only one brand they like and until today didn’t want it), and a cucumber sliced in a way that apparently only the former chef on that other boat knew how to do. Also Greek yogurt, some local honey “can you just go grab some from a farm shop or something?” (we’re at anchor), pancakes and bacon. And guess who’s got to tell the chef? Me. Yay.

08:30 – Laundry Round One

Eight towels, five bikinis, four kaftans, and one pair of board shorts with mysterious pink stains that I’m just going to ignore and toss into a delicates bag, all from one couple. The Miele washing machine beeps at me in German. I pretend not to understand and hit ‘Start’ anyway.

09:45 – Hydration Hysteria

Guests request eight still, six sparkling, four room-temp, two on ice, and one infused with chlorophyll and remorse waters. None will be drunk. Every single bottle will be left sweating on a table and then passive-aggressively complained about later.

10:30 – SPF and Stains

Clean the ridiculously shiny aft deck table. Again. I polished it before breakfast. Then I polished it after breakfast. I will polish it again in an hour. Every handprint is a personal insult. Every greasy paw mark from SPF 50+ is a battle scar. I could identify each guest by fingerprint at this point.

11:00 – Nap Ninja

Chief stew sends me for a power nap. Out cold in three seconds, achieve 29 glorious minutes of snoozle. I’m now better at sleeping to order than the military.

12:00 – Lunchtime Chaos

Salad for the ladies, three steaks for the lads. One child demands pasta shaped like dinosaurs. When informed that we have no dinosaur pasta, he cries. I cry internally. We agree on spaghetti but only if I arrange it like a volcano. I comply. Chef watches me get elbow deep in tomato sauce creating Mount Vesuvius, whilst filming it for his TikTok with a running commentary.

14:00 – Bedroom Ballet

Turndowns and towel swaps. I fluff pillows with military precision. I spritz lavender pillow mist like it’s holy water. I find a soggy sock under a guest’s mattress. I retrieve it with barbecue tongs and throw it into the angry Miele.

15:00 – Laundry Round Two

Someone’s used three towels to lie on for 15 minutes. They are now “wet” and must be washed. The chief stew just ironed 24 napkins that are unlikely to survive the first course.

16:00 – Stain & Blame

Emergency spot-clean of a wine spill in the salon. The culprit blames the “rough seas.” We haven’t so much as listed a millimetre in four hours. However, I smile and nod sympathetically.

17:30 – Sundowners & Shenanigans

Ten glasses polished. Ten more polished again because someone walked past and breathed near them. Tray service with mini crab cakes, which the guests say smell weird. They ordered them. Yesterday. And loved them. Chef laughs and puts them out for crew. They’re delicious. I’ve eaten seven.

19:00 – Dinner, Drama & Dress Codes

The theme is “Mediterranean chic.” The guests are all dressed up and we’ve changed into our evening uniforms which are not chic, or Mediterranean. The sun’s still screaming and we’re in black. Guests want five courses and want them fast so they can go ashore and go clubbing. Someone drops a knife. Someone else drops a glass. I drop the will to live. Face starting to ache from all the smiling. Sweat is gathering on my top lip like an unflattering moustache.

22:30 – Turndown Time

Remove chocolate wrappers from pillowcases. When did they have time to eat those? Straighten bedsheets like a hospital corner competition finalist. Remove mysterious bikini from the corridor. Don’t ask.

00:00 – Bedtime Breakdown

Lights out, handed over to night shift who will be waiting for the call to pick up drunk guests from shore in the tender in a few hours when they’re all Pacha’d out. Collapse into bunk. Consider joining a convent. Or a tattoo parlour. Or literally anywhere where no one ever says “I asked for Arctic meltwater and this tastes suspiciously Alpine?”

Repeat until charter ends or until you start answering the iron when it rings.