Is WhatsApp sinking the art of old-school yacht service? Nina Wilson certainly thinks so...
Buzzzzz… My watch vibrates, and I glance down at the notification. “We are at the table” (sent by the primary charter guest).
Panic ensues as the stews rush to begin service and we swing into action, feeling very much on the back foot as the guests have seated themselves.
It has become de rigueur to have a combined guest and crew WhatsApp group for every charter. But what began as a simple tool for coordinating trips ashore, tender pick-ups and cruising plans has spiralled into a chaotic stream of demands for impromptu massages, warm milk for the baby, and endless last-minute menu changes.
Phones on board are nothing new. Back in 2017, I thought it was all a big joke and would answer the galley phone with “city morgue” or “Domino’s Pizza”. Back then, service requests came to me through the safety shield of the service stews, who would generally keep things under control. They can skillfully guide the guest with gentle suggestions and realistic time frames. Now, it’s a different story—my number gets tagged in the group by everyone from the nanny to the primary.
During one particularly demanding charter, with guests of different ages and erratic dining schedules, there was no way for the stews to be everywhere at once. The WhatsApp group served its purpose, keeping guests happy—albeit at the expense of the crew’s sanity.
I’ll admit that I’m struggling to reconcile with this obsession with text communication. It feels flippant and impersonal. Wording must be carefully considered. There is none of the nuance present with body language and tone. There are EMOJIS (!) and spelling mistakes, and photos sent to the wrong group and hastily deleted (to the chief stew who sent pics of stained sheets to the guest chat instead of laundry chat, I’m looking at you).
This particular charter also created an anxious environment for those responsible for replying to messages. It was made clear that responses were expected promptly. Was I supposed to never nap? Shower? If someone hadn’t replied to a message within one minute, we made a pact to jump on the radio and ask said person to check their phone.
However, as always, it comes down to the guest’s needs. If they are like normal people, they can wait the three minutes for a stew to walk by. But for some guests, the moment an idea pops into their head, they must get that request sent ASAP because they cannot go another eight minutes without freshly pressed carrot juice.
I mourn the lack of mystique and old-school glamour. I think it ruins the service element of the job — the part where the service team and I get to preempt guests’ wants and needs and perhaps pleasantly surprise them. The new guard has arrived and it doesn’t look pretty. It may even look like the stews putting out breakfast, sending a WhatsApp to say it is on the table, hiding away in the pantry and only emerging upon receiving a message saying guests are finished and have returned to their cabin, avoiding all face-to-face contact (true story).
It’s not only the chef and service team that are under text attack, as all HODs are added to the group. The chief engineer laid low for a little while, observing in peace, until he was ousted by the chief stew and started receiving videos of faulty cupboard hinges and bathroom taps.
A fellow yacht chef informed me that high-end hotels have started using WhatsApp. I could get on board with this; when dealing with language barriers, text communications are an excellent middle ground. On yachts, however, I want it gone — or limited to the night-time communications of drunken port pick-up requests. Bring back service stews who are eager to please. The noises of delighted surprise when we send out snacks that no one asked for. Oh my, WhatsApp, you are the death of the yachting service industry. RIP.