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In Africa, on the way the new crop of cocoa.
In one West African country, I was at the behest of his Dutch employer, the company engaged in a contractual trade cocoa. They are bought on the stock exchange the entire cocoa crop, a local high-quality varieties, especially for shipment to Russia. Well, I like Russian or something, sent to observe the loading, and at the same time keep an eye on the quality of the product. Very often, African guys do not send it.
The trip promises to be difficult, the goods are paid, the ship chartered by London, loading and other rubbish that is paid. He received a two-month visa and forth. As I was wrong! No cocoa ready for loading at the port of IUU is not in sight, and it is not in the city. He took the car and drove on the plantations - the goods look. Found cocoa, then searched the trucks that would bring it into port, etc. etc. Desired grade was not more than 20% of the party had to fight with the seller for a refund. Fun. It flew a half months.
Product began to arrive at the port, and then I remembered about such a trifle as the absence of the vessel. That is, it should have been for a long time, but it was not. It all began on the new, calls Shipbrokers, vague explanations. Everything, but also the worst, sooner or later come to an end. When my ship was still on the road, I realized that the end was coming to me. This rusty and shabby crockery I have never in my life seen. Captain - drunken German exec - sometimes sober Romanian crew - all of Southeast Asia. This transatlantic liner to Peter will not come exactly.
On the third day we began to be loaded. Stand and dockers do not want to work, and did not apply to them, and who does not complain. The holiday season all at once. Demurrage drip fines visa is expiring in two days, and there is no one to extend it, the local Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the whole vacation! Here all white people - piece-thing, no Russian at all, there is not even
our embassy. I myself, by the way, everything is taken for the Dutchman. But he tormented me the eternal question of the Russian intelligentsia: What should I do? Rescued Dane Paul, he is in the country for three years, almost native. Over a glass of viskarik he told me a terrible story about what holds all the local port dockers union, thugs down and out, all of them are afraid, but without them nobody will solve.
Directs them a man named Boss Man. Just like a movie about America and theirs Italian trade unions.
The choice is not rich, the food at the port. Office found quickly. Long wooden hut with a sign (in translation) "The General Secretariat of the Trade Union of Dockers and port workers of AAAA."
At the office walking two burly black man in faded shirts with the inscription Security guard and armed with guns, these eagles are the Anglo-Boer War. He breaks through the inside, where it was intercepted by a secretary with a typical African named Manda. Over a bottle of SHaneli she admitted me to the Vice-Secretary, Mr. Marsel Zalupa Makumba. What strange their names remembered a song about Limbaugh Meladze.
Mr. Zalupa was a man of affairs - with a ton of dollar in cash and all Okay! I had to communicate with the Netherlands, the question of money.
A ship had almost 35 million tons! By the end of the next day I had a decent green nalom. I went to the union. I have waited and taken personally to Boss Menou. Boss Menom proved huge white (brown from the sun) man, weighing 200 kilograms on decorated beard a la Tolstoy. Zalupa reverently stood at the back of the chair Boss. I put the bag on the table and say, "Here, half of the rest the next day.»
On the boss he grinned in his beard, and very politely said that his assistant made a mistake and called the price not right, and I have one and a half dollars per tonne. Here is me and pereklinilo. And I do not randomly shouted in Russian: "Yes, what are you doing goats!" What happened next no one could have foreseen. Boss Man in one leap flew from behind his desk, grabbed me in his arms, slightly strangled and bellowed: "lands, b ... I py-at-sky !!! And I'm Russian, I Petrenko, boatswain Petrenko! »
The next six weeks I remember only sporadically, a continuous drunken stupor. I went through the army, he worked on the railway, but it had not been drinking. Vaguely remember signing the shipping documents not only the first but also the second boat as I was the extended visa, how he got to the airport. I remember only a boatswain Petrenko and his bodyguards with typical African names Mudak and Kozel.
In Amsterdam, my guide met me extremely friendly, month and a half I did not get in touch, and Vidocq was I still have one. And when you consider that I do not know what all the same, these two ships loaded (if not loaded!), The shameful dismissal was obsessive reality.
Somehow he justifies me that money for peresortitsu returned to us. I sat in the hotel and tried to come up with a report on the work, as it became known that the first ship arrived in port. The very rusty trough for a month and a half crawled to Amsterdam at the most can not laden selected cocoa varieties of the most expensive. The second ship, which I had never seen, was the same.
The owner changed his temper justice with mercy and gave two months holiday for my health.
P.S. As a native of Kherson Ukrainian Mykola Petrenko Polikarpovich, almost twenty years ago, I came to this country - I did not recognize.
P.P.S. In Africa, on the way the new crop of cocoa.
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The trip promises to be difficult, the goods are paid, the ship chartered by London, loading and other rubbish that is paid. He received a two-month visa and forth. As I was wrong! No cocoa ready for loading at the port of IUU is not in sight, and it is not in the city. He took the car and drove on the plantations - the goods look. Found cocoa, then searched the trucks that would bring it into port, etc. etc. Desired grade was not more than 20% of the party had to fight with the seller for a refund. Fun. It flew a half months.
Product began to arrive at the port, and then I remembered about such a trifle as the absence of the vessel. That is, it should have been for a long time, but it was not. It all began on the new, calls Shipbrokers, vague explanations. Everything, but also the worst, sooner or later come to an end. When my ship was still on the road, I realized that the end was coming to me. This rusty and shabby crockery I have never in my life seen. Captain - drunken German exec - sometimes sober Romanian crew - all of Southeast Asia. This transatlantic liner to Peter will not come exactly.
On the third day we began to be loaded. Stand and dockers do not want to work, and did not apply to them, and who does not complain. The holiday season all at once. Demurrage drip fines visa is expiring in two days, and there is no one to extend it, the local Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the whole vacation! Here all white people - piece-thing, no Russian at all, there is not even
our embassy. I myself, by the way, everything is taken for the Dutchman. But he tormented me the eternal question of the Russian intelligentsia: What should I do? Rescued Dane Paul, he is in the country for three years, almost native. Over a glass of viskarik he told me a terrible story about what holds all the local port dockers union, thugs down and out, all of them are afraid, but without them nobody will solve.
Directs them a man named Boss Man. Just like a movie about America and theirs Italian trade unions.
The choice is not rich, the food at the port. Office found quickly. Long wooden hut with a sign (in translation) "The General Secretariat of the Trade Union of Dockers and port workers of AAAA."
At the office walking two burly black man in faded shirts with the inscription Security guard and armed with guns, these eagles are the Anglo-Boer War. He breaks through the inside, where it was intercepted by a secretary with a typical African named Manda. Over a bottle of SHaneli she admitted me to the Vice-Secretary, Mr. Marsel Zalupa Makumba. What strange their names remembered a song about Limbaugh Meladze.
Mr. Zalupa was a man of affairs - with a ton of dollar in cash and all Okay! I had to communicate with the Netherlands, the question of money.
A ship had almost 35 million tons! By the end of the next day I had a decent green nalom. I went to the union. I have waited and taken personally to Boss Menou. Boss Menom proved huge white (brown from the sun) man, weighing 200 kilograms on decorated beard a la Tolstoy. Zalupa reverently stood at the back of the chair Boss. I put the bag on the table and say, "Here, half of the rest the next day.»
On the boss he grinned in his beard, and very politely said that his assistant made a mistake and called the price not right, and I have one and a half dollars per tonne. Here is me and pereklinilo. And I do not randomly shouted in Russian: "Yes, what are you doing goats!" What happened next no one could have foreseen. Boss Man in one leap flew from behind his desk, grabbed me in his arms, slightly strangled and bellowed: "lands, b ... I py-at-sky !!! And I'm Russian, I Petrenko, boatswain Petrenko! »
The next six weeks I remember only sporadically, a continuous drunken stupor. I went through the army, he worked on the railway, but it had not been drinking. Vaguely remember signing the shipping documents not only the first but also the second boat as I was the extended visa, how he got to the airport. I remember only a boatswain Petrenko and his bodyguards with typical African names Mudak and Kozel.
In Amsterdam, my guide met me extremely friendly, month and a half I did not get in touch, and Vidocq was I still have one. And when you consider that I do not know what all the same, these two ships loaded (if not loaded!), The shameful dismissal was obsessive reality.
Somehow he justifies me that money for peresortitsu returned to us. I sat in the hotel and tried to come up with a report on the work, as it became known that the first ship arrived in port. The very rusty trough for a month and a half crawled to Amsterdam at the most can not laden selected cocoa varieties of the most expensive. The second ship, which I had never seen, was the same.
The owner changed his temper justice with mercy and gave two months holiday for my health.
P.S. As a native of Kherson Ukrainian Mykola Petrenko Polikarpovich, almost twenty years ago, I came to this country - I did not recognize.
P.P.S. In Africa, on the way the new crop of cocoa.
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