Author: Erica Lay

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #26/0063. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew.

Spring in Mallorca doesn’t ease in gently when it comes to the Superyacht Industry. It kicks the door down.

One minute Palma’s shipyards are in full winter mode – and that’s not quiet, despite what anyone who doesn’t work in yachting might think. It’s a full-blown hive of activity. Enormous yachts up on the hard covered in scaffolding and plastic wrap getting paint jobs, grinders screaming, teak decks being re-caulked, engines being taken to bits, generators getting replaced, new rigs going in, new sails arriving, interior refits, galley upgrades… contractors and crew juggling seventeen jobs at once and surviving almost entirely on caffeine and mild panic.

Then the sun comes out… and everything speeds up.

Boats that have been cocooned for months are suddenly unwrapped like very expensive Christmas presents. Fresh paint gleaming, stainless polished to within an inch of its life, teak looking suspiciously perfect. 

Meanwhile, all the yachts which were winterised and kept quietly ticking over in the marinas start to wake up, like Sleeping Beauty after a particularly splendid slumber. 

For a brief, glorious window, everything seems pristine.

Give it a week.

Because as the yachts emerge from their winter chrysalises… so do the crew.

Palma in spring turns into a live-action job hunt, and it can be savage. Dockwalkers everywhere. CVs clutched like golden tickets, trying to look casual while very much not being casual. There’s always one in full whites (ambitious), one wildly overdressed for 8am, and one who has clearly underestimated just how much walking is involved and is now rethinking their life choices and footwear somewhere between STP and Club de Mar.

The cafés fill up fast. You’ve got returning experienced crew swapping winter stories like they’ve come back from war, and green crew trying to decode what “just keep showing your face” actually means in practice, making one coffee last three hours. 

Meanwhile, onboard… Spring is when captains are having a quiet crisis.

That creeping realisation that recruitment for the looming summer Med season was meant to be sorted weeks ago has well and truly landed. Now it’s an inbox full of CVs, a couple of key gaps, and guests arriving far sooner than feels reasonable. Cue the frantic scrolling, the “we’ll just trial them and see” hires, and a sudden appreciation for anyone who can tie a decent fender knot without Googling it first. And that’s usually when I come into my own, as a superyacht recruiter of nearly twenty years, this is The Most Wonderful Time of The Year (yes ok, I sang that). Captains? Call me. Let me take the strain. 

Whilst the bridge desk floods under the captain’s tears of frustration, down on deck, it’s controlled chaos.

The job list is endless, the pressure is on, and just as someone finally gets stuck into something important… another dockwalker appears. And then, inevitably, there’s Gary.

Many yachts have a Gary. Lovely guy. Solid worker. Absolutely incapable of just taking a CV from a dockwalker and moving on. What should be a five-second interaction turns into a full breakdown of Gary’s “journey,” his three previous boats, a full CV review, and a story that definitely does not need to be told right now.

Somewhere behind him, the deck team is mid caulking, someone’s holding a power tool, a can of varnish got knocked over and Gary’s still chatting. This is when the First Materesorts to placing a basket on the passerelle labelled “CVs here please” alongside a note that might as well read:  Please do not engage Gary. He has no self-control and we are on a deadline.

And then – just as the mayhem peaks – along comes the Palma International Boat Show.

This is it. The unofficial but very real start of the Mediterranean season. Palma sharpens up, the docks fill with immaculate yachts, red trousers, bare ankles, and suddenly everyone is exactly where they’re meant to be. Meetings, deals, reunions, a little bit of gossip… and a lot of people pretending they’re not already slightly exhausted.

From here, it’s game on. Boats leave, ready or not, charters begin, and Mallorca slides effortlessly into full summer mode.

But this bit – this slightly frantic, sun-soaked, slightly unhinged build-up known as Spring – this is where the magic is.

It’s hopeful. It’s chaotic. It’s full of opportunity.

And somehow, despite the panic, the pressure, and the Garys… it all comes together.

Just in time.

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #26/0056. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew.

Day in the Life: Confessions of a Superyacht Recruiter

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.

It seems the Day in the Life series was quite well received and I have been asked for more – mostly from the members of the yachting community who operate shore based and behind the scenes… so stay tuned for more! Today? Well today I’m giving you a sneaky little peek into the routine of a recruiter. Which I guess I know a fair bit about… 

06:00 – Coffee & Existential Dread
The phone pings before the kettle’s even boiled. A captain in the Caribbean wants a new deckhand-slash-engineer-slash-chef-slash-stew “who can drive a tender, fix the aircon, cook a steak, and preferably has a golden retriever’s temperament.” I check the time zone. It’s 01:00 his time. Either the aircon’s broken again, or he’s having a breakdown. Possibly both.

07:00 – Inbox Roulette
Enter office clutching bucket of coffee with both hands. Power up computer. 187 new emails. Half are crew applying for roles that don’t exist, a quarter are clients who “urgently need” a crew member (but haven’t decided what salary, start date, or what qualification/experience they need yet), and the rest are out-of-office replies from people who will neverreturn. I start inhaling caffeine. Lots of it.

08:30 – CV Triage
Scroll through a stack of new CVs. Spot three with no surnames, one with “manifesting a deckhand role” as the career objective, and a particularly strong contender whose email address is partygirlforever@something.com. Delete. Immediately. Somewhere out there, a genuinely great candidate has formatted their CV in Comic Sans and I can feel it.

09:30 – Captain Call No.1
He wants a stew “who can also mix a decent margarita. For me.” I nod. Service skills, cocktail game, emotional support human… got it. Another perfectly normal Tuesday.

10:45 – Crisis Management
One chief stew calls in tears because her new hire (not through me) has ghosted her mid-season. Another just found out their new deckhand can’t swim. Yes, really. Also, no, not hired through me. I send consoling words, then immediately update my database: “DOES NOT SWIM.” Add extra bold.

12:30 – Lunch Break (ish)
Attempt to eat a sandwich while proofreading a CV where someone claims to have “fluent” French. In reality, they once ordered a croissant unaided. Decide it’s easier to skip lunch than sanity.

14:00 – Reference Roulette
Call a reference for a chef candidate. The voice on the other end sighs deeply and says, “How honest do you want me to be?” I brace myself. The next ten minutes are a mix of admiration, trauma, and recipes for revenge. I hang up and write: “Brilliant but volatile. Keep near fire extinguisher.”

15:30 – The Optimist Files
Interview a bright, eager greenie who says, “I don’t mind starting at the bottom.” I smile and gently explain that the bottom is wetter, smellier, and pays less than they think. They nod enthusiastically. Bless them.

17:00 – Client Debrief
Another captain calls. “Do you have anyone with strong deck experience, excellent service skills, advanced medical training, a master’s in psychology, and preferably doesn’t talk too much?” I tell him I’ll check Hogwarts.

18:30 – Database Deep Dive
Search for candidates. Lose three hours and half my will to live. Discover six people I placed years ago are now captains. Feel ancient.

20:00 – Wine & WhatsApps
Finally close the office door, pour a glass of rosé, and immediately get a WhatsApp from a junior stew asking if she should “follow up her follow-up.” I tell her to go for a walk, not a war.

22:00 – Midnight Manifestations
Lie in bed, mentally sorting candidates. Think about the ones who’ve made it, the ones who quit, and the ones still trying. Remember why I love this job. Because somewhere out there, the right crew will find the right boat. And when they do, it’s magic.

Then my phone pings. It’s the captain from earlier. He’s changed the job spec. Again.

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #26/0046. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew.

Day in the Life: Paper Seas — Diary of a Yacht Manager

By Erica Lay, Superyacht Crew Agent and Author of Superyacht Life: How to Start, Succeed, & Stay Sane. Out now on Amazon.

06:30 – Wake, Panic, Repeat
Wake up, check phone, immediately regret it. Twelve emails marked urgent arrived overnight. None actually are. One’s a crew member asking if his Wi-Fi allowance covers Netflix, another’s a captain forwarding a ten-page spreadsheet with no context, and one’s a yacht owner wondering if VAT is “optional.”

07:15 – Coffee & Crisis
Boot up the laptop. My inbox looks like a live crime scene. Crew contracts, insurance renewals, flag-state inspections, MLC compliance — all due yesterday. I make a list, then immediately lose it under another pile of lists.

08:00 – Budget Ballet
Open Excel. Discover someone spent €2,400 on “miscellaneous supplies.” I dig deeper. It’s candles. Scented. “For ambience,” says the purser. I breathe deeply and remind myself that prison orange isn’t my colour.

09:30 – Call with the Captain
He’s in the Med, I’m in Mallorca, and the Wi-Fi sounds like it’s routed through Mars. “Can you hear me?” he asks. No. I can’t. Not his words, not his excuses, not the sound of my youth slipping away. We discuss fuel budgets, provisioning, and crew turnover. He ends with, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” That’s the most worrying sentence in the industry.

10:45 – Insurance Insanity
Broker calls. The owner wants to add “two experimental water toys” to the policy. They’re basically floating jet engines with Bluetooth. The insurer says no. The owner says “but Elon has one.” I email everyone a polite, professional “we’ll review coverage options,” while muttering, “we absolutely will not.”

12:00 – Lunch (Theoretically)
Half a sandwich, eaten one-handed while drafting an email about an incident report that somehow includes the phrase “slippery sushi.” A chef slipped, a guest laughed, and now there’s a medical bill in Monaco and a lawsuit in motion. Pass the antacids.

13:15 – Crew Drama Hour
Chief stew wants to fire her second stew for “bad vibes.” Engineer wants a pay rise “to reflect his value.” The captain wants to swap both out “for morale.” I suggest team-building. They suggest I walk the plank.

14:30 – Compliance Purgatory
Open an email from the flag state. It’s 14 pages of regulation updates written in legalese and spite. I forward it to the captain with the words, “For awareness,” which is yacht-management code for I’m not reading this either.

15:45 – Owner Check-In
Video call with the owner, who’s sitting on his terrace in the Bahamas, cocktail in hand. “How’s my boat?” he asks. I glance at the report showing an engine alarm, a damaged tender prop, and a missing deck cushion. “She’s in great shape,” I say. “Just routine maintenance.” He smiles. I smile. We both lie beautifully.

17:00 – Accountant Acrobatics
Reconcile invoices. One crew member submitted a €600 charge for “crew motivation.” It’s tequila. I question it. He says, “It lifted spirits.” Hard to argue with that logic. I approve half. For science.

18:30 – The Paper Tsunami
Finish one report, start another. Compliance logs, budget forecasts, meeting notes — all due before the next full moon, apparently. My screen time is obscene, my caffeine intake criminal, and my left eye has started twitching Morse code.

19:45 – The Twilight Texts
Just as I’m packing up, the captain messages: “Small issue with the generator, but we’re managing.” Small issuetranslates to “half the yacht is dark, and someone’s crying.” I pour another coffee and reopen the spreadsheet.

21:00 – False Finish Line
Close laptop. Feel fleeting satisfaction. Phone pings: WhatsApp group chat, “URGENT – FIRE DRILL REPORT.” The drill was today. They set off the wrong alarm. Again. One stew fainted, one guest complained, and the dog’s still traumatised. I reply with: “Noted, thank you,” which in yacht management language means “I hate all of you equally.”

22:15 – Rosé & Reflection
Pour wine. Sit on the balcony. Watch the lights of the marina twinkling below. Every yacht out there runs because someone like me spends their days neck-deep in spreadsheets, bureaucracy, and diplomacy. We’re the invisible life support of floating empires.

Then the phone pings again. Another “quick question.” There’s no such thing as quick. Not in this job.

I sigh, sip, and type back with my best fake cheer: “Of course – happy to help!”

Because in yacht management, you don’t retire – you just eventually merge with your inbox.

With Courtesy of Erica Lay & The Mallorca Bulletin. #26/0039. Erica Lay is owner of EL CREW International Yacht Crew.

Day in the Life: Hull Yeah – Diary of a Shipyard Project Manager

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.

06:15 – Coffee & Consequences

Arrive at the yard to the sound of grinders, shouting, and someone swearing in Spanish about scaffolding. The air smells like paint, metal, and the faint tang of despair. First job: locate the foreman. He’s vanished again, probably “getting parts,” which is shipyard code for “breakfast beer.” I walk past three guys staring into an access hatch like it’s a portal to hell. It probably is.

07:00 – The Daily Download

Tool-belt meeting with engineers, painters, electricians, and one carpenter who still doesn’t believe in deadlines. I ask for updates. Everyone says “nearly done.” That phrase now triggers mild nausea. Someone tries to show me a drawing on a crumpled bit of paper that looks like it’s been through the washing machine. I nod as if it makes sense.

08:30 – Captain Calls Begin

Captain #1 wants to know if his yacht can splash next Friday. I tell him yes, if we invent time travel. Captain #2 wants to add a jacuzzi. Captain #3 has lost his will to live. I promise all three that everything’s “on track,” which, technically, it is – just not their track. One of them sighs so hard my phone vibrates.

09:45 – Paint Panic

The paint team is fighting with the electricians again. Overspray versus open junction boxes. I mediate like the UN, armed with coffee and sarcasm. “Let’s all remember,” I say, “we’re on the same team.” They stare at me like I’ve just suggested group therapy. A painter storms off muttering about respect; an electrician shrugs and says, “Welcome to my life.”

11:00 – The Mystery Leak

Someone reports a leak in the engine room. It’s condensation. Or seawater. Or possibly tears. Send an engineer down there with a torch and hope for the best. He comes back up shaking his head and muttering something about “gremlins.” Add it to the list.

12:15 – Lunch (aka Emails and Aspirin)

Try to eat a sandwich while answering thirty emails marked urgent. Only two are. The rest are updates like “client’s dog arriving Tuesday – needs dedicated AC vent.” Another message asks if the yacht can be made “more Feng Shui.” I take a painkiller and carry on.

13:00 – Owner’s Rep Visit

Cue panic. Crew start polishing things that don’t exist yet. The rep arrives wearing white trousers and judgment. I lead him around the yard using the sacred phrases: “as per spec,” “awaiting approval,” and “nearly there.” He leaves smiling. I need a drink. The chief engineer needs four.

15:00 – Delivery Doubt

Suppliers call to say the part we needed “yesterday” will arrive “maybe Thursday.” No mention of which Thursday. I hang up, take a deep breath, and email the captain a cheerful update about “minor delays.” Then I breathe into a paper bag.

16:30 – Scaffold Symphony

Painters blasting music, welders welding like they’re in a firework display, sparks flying past a pallet of solvent. Health & Safety would have a coronary. I take photos for documentation, mainly so I can prove I wasn’t hallucinating later. Then a forklift reverses directly into a ladder. Nobody dies. Miracles do happen.

17:45 – The Budget Ballet

Open spreadsheet. We are slightly over budget. “Slightly” meaning: catastrophic. Spend twenty minutes moving numbers around like a magician rearranging cards before admitting defeat and calling accounting. They laugh. I don’t.

18:30 – Client Update

Video call with the owner. He wants to see progress. I position the camera carefully to show only the freshly painted bits, not the chaos behind me. He says it looks amazing. I agree. Then a grinder starts up mid-sentence. I fake a bad signal and hang up.

19:30 – Sunset and Sanity

Walk the yard as the day winds down. It actually looks beautiful in the orange light; gleaming hulls, scaffoldingsilhouetted against the sky. For a brief moment, the chaos feels worth it. Then I trip over an air hose and remember where I am.

20:15 – One Last Crisis

Security radios: “Boss, there’s smoke in the paint tent.” Sprint over. It’s a welder reheating his dinner with a heat gun. I tell him to get a microwave before he kills us all. He nods like I’m the unreasonable one.

21:00 – Home(ish)

Leave the yard, phone already buzzing with tomorrow’s problems. I drive away humming the shipyard anthem: “It’ll be done next week.”
Because in this job, the deadline’s always moving, the dust never settles, and the coffee machine is the only thing that truly runs on schedule.

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.

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.