Chapter (8) RED WINE & COLA ( Part 2)

Boredom was not an option.

As I strode out from the changing room, refreshed from an invigorating shower, my tool belt around my waist and heavy on my hips, I stopped for a second or two and looked up toward the rig. I did this every morning to convince myself that all this was real.

The sun was now over the horizon and higher in the sky. It was getting warmer by the minute. The sky was a clear bright cobalt blue.

She was floating high in the water this morning and that meant a long ladder climb to my work level on section 6. It would take about 20 minutes of walking and climbing to get from the changing blocks to level 6, thirty meters above the rig deck. Not having seen any of my team I wondered if any of them was already up on work station, I knew this was not likely. I had discovered quite early on that my French work team were particularly lazy and did not enjoy the same enthusiasm for this construction as I did. Familiarity had probably made them immune to the awe and beauty that was all around them.

The rig was being built on a series of 7 hollow concrete barges joined together by giant rubber 'hinges'. This allowed the rig sections to move slightly when the seas became rough. The barge sections were used for gas storage when anchored at the drill site, but for now they could be filled with water to raise and lower the rig to make it easier to get large objects on and off  by crane. She could be raised by up to 25 metres and it looked like she was up at max this morning.

  

Perched on the edge of the Camargue, and not far from the famous Aigue Mort, this is an isolated and beautiful area surrounded by huge flat shallow rectangular salt pans with soil banks. At certain times sea water is flooded in and then allowed to evaporate in the hot Mediterranean sun. When the water has almost all evaporated, workers arrive and rake up the sea salt into mounds about 4 feet high and leave them to drain off and dry out completely.

In the early mornings huge flocks of pink Flamingos fly in to feed on the myriad of small brine shrimp, micro snails and other zooplankton that thrive in the sea salt evaporation flats.

 

    One of my very favourite things was to arrive as early as I could and watch the Flamingos arrival by looking down from a vantage point high on the rig.  The soft whistling of their flight was calming and the sideways morning light gave wonderfully colourful flashes in various shades of pink. This spectacle lasted only a matter of minutes and if I was lucky I'd get to see it maybe 2 or 3 times during my time on the rig. 

 

               The worker contingent was made up from a huge variety of nationalities. As well as most of the white European nations there were also many transient workers from Algeria, Tunisia,  the Sudan, Morocco, Egypt, South Africa, Vietnam, India and many others. All of us working side by side and over and under each other to get this gigantic metal jigsaw puzzle put together and operational.

               During the time I'd been working on the rigs I'd had the pleasures of meeting some really nice people as well as some other more colourful characters.

Amongst the later were a pair of Italian twin brothers, called Sabino and Angelo, from Pavia in Italy. They stood just 1.5 metres tall, that's about 4ft 10". Over the previous weeks we had become good friends and spent a fair bit of our free time together whenever we could. Along with Christian we had been given the nick name of " the 4 musketeers."

               Sabino and Angelo were about the same age as myself. Sabino was a rugged faced, hard working and serious chap, whilst his brother was more relaxed with a softer face and a knack for finding as little to do as possible. They both had a good sense of humour and we had many laughs together.  They were plumbers by trade and were working on the large 2 ft diameter sea water drenching pipes. These would be used to supply sea water to the fire suppression systems all over the rig. For several weeks they had been on the same section of the rig as myself and so our paths crossed frequently whilst at work.

 

Lunch time lasted a couple of hours, during the hottest part of the day. Dehydration was a real threat and affected a dozen workers every day. The oil company provided drinking water from coolers situated on every level of each section. Still the heat inside the rig could be unbearable and it was not unusual to drink 2 or 3 litres of water every shift.

               Many days of the week we would find a sheltered spot at lunchtime and amuse ourselves with tasting and comparing various bottles of wine that one or other of us had purchased.

               Now we all knew that our work was serious and that there was an element of danger all around us. With this in mind we never had more than half a small cup each midday but often finished the bottle after work, and maybe another one too. My friend Christian would also join us whenever he could.

               On several occasions over the last couple of weeks, a large French chap had approached our little group and insinuated himself into our conversations. Not wanting to appear rude we always offered him a small cup too. But this had now become a real habit with him and he would seek us out amongst the many buildings and car parks and he now presumed to help himself to a second cup. It was clear he enjoyed the fruits of the vine a little too much and we felt that he regarded us as source of free drinks.