Happy Mountain

2009-02-14T18:46:00.000-08:00

Asia Postscript

Tokyo-Osaka-Batangas-Manila-Hong Kong in 16 Days

Sometimes it feels so wrong but you know it's the right thing to do.

It was the worst possible time for me to take a trip being in the middle of finishing construction of Casa Montana Alegre and a 16 day absence wouldn't help. Also, major trip details like where to stay in Manila and a flight from there to Hong Kong did not get chosen until the night before I left. There were also too many connections with too many people in too many airports and train stations that I felt a connection was bound to be missed somewhere. How do you plan for that?

But I knew it was a trip I had to take, a real once-in-a-lifer, do it now or never have the opportunity again. With the exception of leaving my laptop at Narita Airport, everything worked out. Eventually even the lost laptop reappeared 10 days later.

This was not a trip about countries and cities. I'd been to Japan and Hong Kong before. This was a trip about people, my family's people.

On behalf of my sister and myself I would like to thank Emma Gutierrez for making this trip happen. From the beginning when she learned that I had a Philippine background, she wanted to introduce me to her homeland. This opportunity in particular, during the week-long celebrations of her graduating class, was especially rewarding. We got to meet and spend time with some of the people who were close to Emma during her time in the Philippines. This was an experience my sister and I will carry for the rest of our lives. Thank you Emma.

2009-02-12T23:30:00.000-08:00

Emma Gutierrez -- A Pioneer Planner

Recently my sister and I had the pleasure of being escorted in the Philippines by a pioneer and innovator in planning, Emmanuela Gutierrez. Emma is from a city called Batangas, about a two hour drive south of the capital Manila via expressways. Batangas is a city of over 300,000 and Emma was the City's first planning director and developed it's first general plan. And that general plan is unlike most I've seen in the U.S.

Emma came to planning from a teaching background. However, through the efforts of ex-dictator Fernidan Marcos and a U.S. aid agency, a decree was issued that Philippine cities be comprehensively planned so a training program was established. As a new friend said to me in Manila, "For all the bad things you can say about Marcos, he did do some innovative things."

Emma said the hours involved in that program are more than what is done in planning schools today. I can see why. Pictured above is today's Planning Director, Januario B. Godoy. He is holding the current General Plan, currently undergoing revision for the third time since it's creation. Their plan covers much more than land use. It includes: economics, social (including health and education), environmental protection, infrastructure, utilities, and development administration (implementation).

Pictured below, Emma and Januario are holding the first fruits of her efforts, Batangas first General Plan, published in 1978.
It has been almost 20 years since Emma left the Philippines but everyone at Zoning and all over the Planning and Development Office seemed to know her.

The reason for Emma to take the trip was to celebrate with her classmates the 50 year reunion of their high school graduation. My sister and I tagged along to be part of the party and get introduced to a part of our background we have never experienced. There were around 300 people celebrating for a week going from one function to the next. In this picture Emma is with one of her classmates of the 1959 Batangas High School graduating class, the Honorable Eduardo B. Dimacuha, mayor of Batangas. This party was an outdoor event on a farm featuring a barbecued cow and two pigs as well as bands and entertainers. Oh, and we all got these fragrant leis.

2009-02-08T21:24:00.000-08:00

Origins of Happy Mountain -- Part I

Translated into Spanish my last name means "happy mountain." In English it's Montealegre. Last week I got to explore some of the roots of the happy mountain people--they are rooted in the capital of the Philippine Islands, Manila.

My father was from the Philippines where the dominant language is Tagalog and English. However my father spoke Spanish, it was a colony of Spain for over 400 years, and my mother, being Puerto Rican, also spoke Spanish. However, my sisters and I grew up not knowing the Philippine part of our background because he left when he was 16. That was in 1921. He died in 1972. It took us till January 2009 to bridge this gap when we went to the Philippines for the first time. And as it turned out we found a living relative, his youngest brother, Severino.

Severino, or Vero, at 82, is the last surviving child of Antonio and Juana Bartolome Montealegre. Before him there was, in ascending order, Remedio, Alberto, Guillermo, Vicente, Cleotilde, Iluminada, Carlos, our father Julio, and Leopoldo. They are buried in Makati, a neighborhood in Manila, along with two of their children in the grave pictured above and below.
Uncle Vero did not appear in this world until six years after my father left in 1921. However, on my father's only visit to the Philippines, in 1972, he and Vero were close. Uncle Vero remembers that visit very well. Shortly after returning from that visit our father died.

Uncle Vero could not remember his grandfather’s name but did know he was from Spain and who had also died there. His grandmother's name was Adela Lalinda, who was born in the Philippines.

Meeting Uncle Vero for me felt like visiting the past, as well as seeing the future. My father and his family thought they each had died in the war. My father was working on a ship with his brother Vicente when Vicente became ill and sent home. At some point the ship landed in a U.S. port, probably San Francisco, and my father jumped. At that time the Philippines was an American colony.

In this picture Uncle Vero is in the same cemetery where some of his siblings and their spouses are buried.

It felt like seeing the future because everyone said I look like him. He also confirmed some of my inclinations and arthritic joints. He likes red meat, doesn’t eat vegetables, likes to exercise, and moves like a dart. He also speaks English and is alert and astute. Is this the future me?

P.S. If you want to see some video of Uncle Vero please let me know.

P.S.S. Juan Garcia-Maruri is a Spanish architect practicing in Los Angeles. In my office we would talk and he would remind me that he grew up in a city near a very small town called Montealegre. He said I should stay in the family hotel and check it out. I guess that's Part II.

Dad and Mom

2007-11-24T01:00:00.001-08:00

November 24, 2007

Jason and I are sitting in a booth at Casita del Campo, the local quasi gay neighborhood Mexican restaurant. Jason, my cousin’s 13 year old grandson, was hungry after the movie so I was delighted at the prospect of going to Casita and having Margaritas while we went over his homework.

It was math. And it wasn’t algebra. And I didn’t know quite how to relate. In college I wasn’t bad at math, I got an A- in Calculus at Berkeley, but I never felt I could put it all together despite getting good grades. I looked through his book. 35 years later I still felt a disconnect.

Despite getting soused on margaritas, with Jason’s help I was able to figure out how to divide fractions. However, when it came to how many feet were in a mile I turned to Jay, the maitre ‘d, who promptly responded 1760. This didn’t seem right and upon questioning he clarified that this was actually yards. The food arrived before we were able to move on to the next exercise.

But it was the following conversation that really struck and motivated me to blog tonight.

Reaching into my inner core I was able to get out the question:

“Should kids be controlled by their guardians?”

“Mostly,” he said. That was a positive and open answer so I searched for clarification and asked what me meant.

“Their guardians may not always be right and kids should be able to think for themselves.”

Whether it was the margaritas or the validity of his statement, it rang so true that I had to write it down on the place mats and also ask Jay what he thought.

Jay agreed but also threw out that guardians knew better.

Having been with a few parents I knew better then to think that guardians know better. But they still had the right to know better. I asked Jason about this and appropriately enough said he didn’t feel they always knew better.

Well, there it is. Teenage-hood in a nutshell. Guardians have the right but are not necessarily so. Teenagers have the right to think for themselves.

Guardians have veto power.

How the hell do you reconcile this?

2007-11-18T22:03:00.000-08:00

November 6, 2007

EGYPT – THE GAY TOUR

On Board The Tiyi, Up River -- The Nile

After a whirlwind of activities including a 21 hour marathon, today there is time to reflect on the five thousand years of human history we’ve witnessed the last two days.

It’s hard to get a handle on how to process it all. It’s not that I wasn’t prepared. For the last two weeks I pulled out and read all the dozen or so National Geographics I’ve saved on Egypt. I knew there was three thousand years of ancient history and another two thousand since Christ. I knew the country was an archeologist’s Disneyland and that most of it was probably still undiscovered.

But then to come face to face with it was something else.

As Omar Sharif’s voice said at the Sound and Light Show at the Pyramids; the Sphinx has faced the dawn each day for over five thousand years and to gaze upon it feels like looking at time itself.

Furthermore, walking into the tombs of some of the pharaohs who constructed these incredible monuments in order to pass from one reality into another felt like I was confronting not just time but also who we human beings are on this planet.

No one knows how many ruins and civilizations are still to be discovered, but the ones in Egypt, I believe, go back further than any discovered so far. Their size, complexity, and sheer amount of cultural history behind them appears to dwarf any single ancient civilization known so far.

How did they build these things? How did they develop their art and architecture, writing system, mummification process, belief systems? There is so much of it.

No wonder it’s hard to process.

November 9, 2007

Abu Simbel -- Up the Nile, Egypt

The boys paid a visit to Ramses II and his wife Nefertari today. It was a short hop, 45 minutes by plane from Aswan, and the monument is the only reason to go to Abu Simbel.

It is worth flying around the world to see.
I can’t decide if the monuments are a testament to military power, love, engineering, or vanity. It’s probably all of them.

Ramses II, for whom the condoms are named after, had over a hundred children and loved his favorite wife so much that he built a temple alongside his for her. He also loved her so much that when she died early he married two of the daughters he had by her.

That’s something to wonder about.

He also built this incredibly imposing edifice as symbol of his power on a bend in the Nile so the conquered Nubians can see just how tough a guy he is. The walls inside contain many scenes, beautifully preserved in some of their original colors, of many of his military conquests.

Our guide Rhonda said it was as much boasting as reality.

I wonder how he felt when modern day Nassar, by ordering construction of the Aswan Dam, was prepared to let his legacy flood. It was the efforts of the international community in 1960 that meticulously broke it down and reassembled it on higher ground.

That was almost as an incredible feat as the original construction but in 1960 they least had things like electricity and cranes and the wheel.

November 10, 2007

Our tour guide David, is a Canadian from Montreal with a mother in Florida. This is his fifth tour to Egypt and at 22 men, his biggest group so far. This is also my first organized tour. Putting 22 strangers together, all queer adult males, for nine days in a strange place and in close quarters, somewhat dependent on each other, gave me pause to think when I first booked the this trip.

But after only a few days, and because of David, I began to notice how well we all got along. I asked David what he thought. He thought we got along very well.

“No one is getting on the bus and saying things like, ick, I have to sit next to that person,” he added.

Traveling with these men did give a unique perspective on everything, a gay one of course. There were few stock observations or comments with this group. I can see why straight people enjoy gay cruises so much. Queer eye for the Pharoahs, so to speak.

One of the defining characteristics of the trip was our guide Rhonda frequently calling us together in crowded places with the words: “This way Pharoahs.” It sounded too much like, well, you know.

November 11, 2007

One my way home today, looking at a 12 hour flight to New York and another six to California.

Yesterday we explored Islamic Cairo: the mosque at the Citadel and some of the old quarter. This turned out to be one of the interesting surprises of the trip. It gave me an introduction to the schisms within Muslims today, that between the Shi-ia and Sunnis. Even though I didn’t visit it, the literal and physical head of this schism, the head of Al-Hussein is buried in a mosque in Cairo. 500 years after his death, in 1153 AD, his head was buried in the Cairo mosque Sayyidna. He was the husband of Mohammed’s daughter and his followers are Shi-ia. Those who did not believe in this line of succession are Sunni’s.

Like everything else in the Middle East, it goes back that far and the schism continues today. How did this little history escape Bush’s attention?

A Note to My Fellow Travelers:

I want to express the pleasant and unexpected pleasure I derived from traveling with this group. It added immensely to the enjoyment of the trip. Not only do I feel that we got along very well but we seemed to have developed a special camaraderie. I didn’t feel any self-consciousness. One could turn to the person next to them and joke or chat like we were old friends.

Thank you for enhancing my Egyptian experience. I will always be grateful and hope to see you in the future.

2007-10-22T16:26:00.000-07:00

READY TO GO

I've been inspired to post something on my page because of today's developments. It's been awhile since I've posted but when fate stops one dead in their tracks what else can I do?

Dress up and move on!

For a couple of Halloween parties this season, and in honor of my up-coming trip to Egypt, I bought this outfit. This year there was no guessing, no angst over what to wear, a simple decision made even simpler by Hollywood Outfitters.

However, the tour guide already told me not to bring it along.

What stopped me today was my soils engineer taking and holding on to my three sets of plans. What I thought was going to be a $500 plan stamping festival instead was a drop-off and see you soon. It made me very nervous dropping them off, orphaning them so to speak.

Those of you who know me know these plans represent one of the biggest challenges of my life. So much of who I am is tied up in them. "Casa de la Montana Alegre" is the name of this house, double entendres everywhere. Boyfriends have been easier to get through than this project.

I thought I had it all worked out; the Zoning Administrator Thursday, the Plan Check Engineer next Tuesday to get the permit, leave Wednesday.

I always say to staff that one works better when they are rested, fed, and vacationed. As the details of this project drone on and on and on, what has kept me going is knowing that I have this great little break coming.

I also believe that the anticipation is as much fun as the trip itself and at the moment that couldn't ring truer.

This trip seems even more special because I believe it's the first organized group I've ever traveled with, at least with people I don't know. We're all strangers, 23 gay men, from everywhere, and we've been sharing bios and pictures of each other before hand.

I smell a reality tv show somewhere.

2007-07-07T13:25:00.001-07:00

48 Hours in Nicaragua

I’m sitting on the steps of the small plaza in front of the Iglesia de la Merced in Granada, Nicaragua, feeling like I’m in an obscure movie at a gay film festival. I don’t know if this movie is going to be boring, interesting, funny, tragic, or a combination of any of these. Whenever I see a film at one of these festivals, no matter how boring, I always stick it out to see how it ends.

I’m waiting for Danilo to get off work so that we can maybe get a bite to eat, jump in the hotel pool, fool around; who knows where the afternoon and evening will lead.

I know where I would like it to lead. It’s my last night of a 10 day vacation and I’d like it to lead to where it went to last night—my hotel room.

Danilo works around the corner so I’m waiting here to not make it obvious to his employer and neighbors that there is this American Queer waiting for him. Granada is a small town, maybe a hundred thousand, and while not prosecuted, homosexual activity is illegal--and that is exactly what I want to do.

Danilo says he is not gay. He has a two-year old daughter, Nicole, named after Tom Cruise’s ex (start counting the clues). She lives with her mother and grandmother and goes to school while he helps support them. Danilo is 27 and she’s 19. Yesterday he did not have pictures of them in his wallet.

I’m studying the façade of the church. The guidebook says it was completed in 1539 but reconstructed several times. The inscription on the tower says it was reconstructed almost 200 years ago. The architecture and condition of the tower, however, doesn’t appear similar to the Spanish Colonial baroqueness of the rest of the church. And the tower is relatively clean compared to the grime, mildew, and moss of the rest of the church.

As I waited I remind myself that tropical humidity is a natural moisturizer and good for the skin. The grime and mildew may look good on the church but I can do without that part. I want to look fresh, I’m going on a date.

I get tired of melting so I leave the plaza and go to check on Danilo. I walk to the end of the street where he can see me and calls me over. His employer has not returned so we hang out on the street talking.

I’m confused now on how to proceed with this story. If I do dialogue in Spanish few people will understand and I’ll have to think all this through in two languages. The entire 48 hours I spent in Granada was done in Spanish but I think I’ll dispense with the whole issue and instead describe how I ended up on the plaza in one of the oldest cities in the western hemisphere.

The story begins with a wedding. When my nephew and bride-to-be announced they were going to be married in Costa Rica I knew I had some planning to do: flights, hotels, etc. Studying maps and the internet I discovered how close Nicaragua was to the wedding location and how gay Costa Rica is. Since I’m in the area, why not explore?

San Jose, the capitol of Costa Rica, was only a 45 minute prop flight from the wedding site and had many gay options, including a gay hotel that had branches both in the capitol and in Granada. I decided to fly into Costa Rica and out of Nicaragua, stay with this mini gay hotel chain, and later work out transportation.

Sensing my inner gay-self rise to the surface, I instead booked a male-only, clothing optional, guest house, and the other hotel for Granada.

The wedding was in Playa Grande, Costa Rica, an area encompassing the Parque Nacional Marino Las Baulas, an national park full of birds, lizards, crabs, crocodiles, monkeys, and according to Lonely Planet, one of the most important nesting sites for the world’s largest turtle, the leatherback, or baula, weighing in at 300kg.

Nesting season is between October and March so they wouldn’t be coming to the June wedding. That would be fortuitous because the wedding was on the beach, presumbably on top of their nesting grounds.

The combination of this raw natural beauty with the formality of a wedding created a striking and spectacular experience. Picture this: a white tent on an undeveloped tropical beach with a roaring surf in front and clouded mountains in the distance. From 2500 miles away come a group of two families and their friends, dressed up, and deposited on an unknown and wild beach, to celebrate the formal union of two people.

The wedding was scheduled at sunset but in the late afternoon a heavy tropical rain came down. No one was sure how long it would last but it eventually cleared up but left dark overcast skies. And to further add to the contrast, during the ceremony the setting sun broke through the clouds.

One more contrast I need to note. The wedding dinner was held at a small 12 room hotel near the wedding site that was also in the nature preserve. In fact the Park Ranger’s office was at the hotel’s dockside. It was a 15 minute boat ride to town on an estuary with crocodiles or a 35 minute ride over rough roads. But here at the jungle’s edge, Todd and Walter, a gay couple from Pennsylvania, four years ago opened up their hotel and restaurant. At the end of the evening, the bride, groom, and myself sat at the bar and toasted their 15 year anniversary the next day.

After a few more days in Playa Grande I broke off with the family and checked into the all male clothing optional guest house in the capitol. It was also in a beautiful setting but quite removed from all the gay activity in the city. Nonetheless it was staffed with young men in their early twenties. A few guests came in and out but I was largely alone with staff and got to know some of their stories.

And that’s all of them I got to know.

I left the hotel only once to take a city tour so I never made it to any of the gay venues. Maybe because of this, or was it the porn that was piped into the room’s televisions, or because of the young (and clothed) staff I left the capitol feeling a little, well, do I have to spell it out. My family is going to read this.

Landing in Granada the “gay” hotel picked me up and I checked into a room that I couldn’t live with. After scopeing out the rest of the hotel, and making sure of this realization, I decided to walk around town and see what else there was. I spent a few hours looking around as Granada’s third world Spanish colonial charm began to grow on me. I found a very nice hotel with a room that had a balcony over looking the main plaza. I took it and went back to retrieve my luggage.

On the walk back I spotted Danilo sitting in front of his post. Or he spotted me first. My gait slowed and I noticed he was still looking. I looked back but continued. If it weren’t for the country I was in I know what was happening. Nicaragua has a dangerous reputation and the guide book said nothing about gay venues except that it’s illegal. This must be one of those situations where hotels and other businesses use the gay card to lure our money. I walked on.

With luggage in hand I walked past him again and asked if it was safe to be walking around at dusk with my luggage obviously looking like a tourist. He said it was fine but don’t do it in Managua. We chatted for awhile and I learned that he takes care of properties owned by foreigners. He offered to show me some and arranged to meet at 8:30 in the plaza.

As I waited in my room I wasn’t concerned about safety. Right, I was going to go into some strange house with a stranger in a strange country. But we were meeting in the town’s main square, so what about a meal and a drink instead, as in let’s keep it in public places.

As we wandered to a restaurant I wasn’t sure about the streets we were walking. The restaurant said they ran out of food so we walked back and he started to show me some of the places he took care of. Danilo talked about their prices and how properties have appreciated. Like any American from over-heated real estate markets, I have to see how it compares, and lookout for ambushes.

I could give a whole other discourse on property with what I observed in Granada, Playa Grande and San Jose. The talk and signs were everywhere. Needless to say, the rules are the same. In Nicaragua, however, the recent re-election of Daniel Ortega of Sandinista history, has had a chilling effect. But I suppose that is another rule, markets like stability, even if there are charming old colonial homes that can be restored and resold handsomely.

And this is what Danilo showed me, homes in various stages of restoration or speculation, even while I looked around every corner for an ambush.

We found a Thai restaurant that served margaritas so Andy was very happy, and safely out in public. During dinner I noticed there was a gay flag in the restaurant doorway. The power went out and everything proceeded under candlelight. Capping off my first nine hours in Nicaragua, we went back to my hotel.

After a relaxed day by myself seeing some of the ancient architecture, visiting museums, and the lake Granada is situated on, Lago Nicaragua, I’m rested, showered, and talking to Danilo in front of one of the houses he takes care of. We talk, waiting for the owner to arrive, so he can leave and I can start my last evening of vacation.

We talked on the street for over an hour. He asked me what I wanted to do, I asked if he was hungry. I mentioned jumping in the pool. He mentioned calling up and getting together with a friend.

I’m wondering how it’s going to go. One would think that the sexual pressure is now off. But it’s not, at least for me. I try to resign myself to not thinking about this and just enjoy Granada, and the company, and whatever else the evening may bring.

Finally he was free to go and he went and called up his friend Holman. With the sunset a light rain began to fall as the three of us looked for a place to eat that also had margaritas. I was inclined toward the more touristy places but since I wasn’t particularly hungry settled for one of the local corner chicken joints.

The open-air room was hot and they asked if the fan could be turned on but the electricity was out. Holman was gregarious, unlike the serious Danilo, and we joked with him about this. As they ate I again had the feeling of being in a movie. Giving up on the margaritas I joined them in their national beer, Tona, and ordered some salted fried bananas called tostones (just like my mother use to make).

Holman and Danilo told me about a gay coronation held several times a year in Granada with a parade and ceremony at the lakeside discos. In the US a gay royal court is equivalent to a Kiwanis or Rotary club, only in drag. But in Nicaragua?

After dinner we went to a mini-mall: the courtyard of a large colonial building containing restaurants and bars with large screen TV’s playing sports events and old rock music that was patronized by foreigners and locals. It had its charms but I’m not the old rocker type. Okay, I knew all the music being played, but I’ve been there, done that, and not even the exotic locale and exotic natives make me nostalgic for my roots.

By now Danilo had stopped drinking so Holman and I started up even while I sensed this movie dragging. Finally I got hungry so we left the trekkers mall and looked for something more, contemporary, and found a roasted chicken place in a more decidedly upscale courtyard.

Holman ate again and said he didn’t get fat because he exercised, and proceeded to lift his shirt and show us his flabby stomach. Check please.

It was getting late as we left and started walking around the town again. I was tired of sitting and didn’t want to go to another bar. I just wanted to get laid again. But walking around Granada has its charms so we settled on one more outdoor café where another friend joined us. Holman and the new friend started playing music on their cell phones. Nicaragua may be the second poorest country in the western hemisphere, after Haiti, but somehow cellphone culture is firmly rooted.

Danilo and I noticed two young feminine looking men walk by. This place was getting queerer every minute.

The cafe closed at ten and the three of them asked if I wanted to check out the discos by the lake. I felt it was time to leave the theater and go home and pack. Quit while I’m ahead, walk off into the sunset, end a fabulous vacation in a beautiful square with three young men as company. We left and walked toward the plaza.

POSTSCRIPT: Ever since I’ve been back I’ve been wondering if much of the locals socializing with foreigners is gay for pay. I paid for everything but while Holman asked for a cell phone card and cab fare, Danilo never asked for anything. I believe Danilo is relatively naïve but Holman had been around the plaza a few times which says to me Danilo really is in the closet and Holman is for pay. Lonely Planet says to support local economies and I don’t see why this couldn’t be included in that philosophy.

Upon arrival in Nicaragua I was struck by the numerous billboards of Daniel Ortega announcing “Rise the Poor of the World.” The fighting in Nicaragua, of which the United States has historically been part of since William Walker in 1853 through Ronald Reagan in 1985, is hopefully over for good. Danilo says Ortega was elected with only a 35% majority because the right split the vote and the legislature can keep him in check. He lost two brothers in what he calls a civil war and others called a revolution. Upon leaving the airport for the States, the plane was filled with missionaries completing their service.

2006-11-07T20:04:00.000-08:00

October 24, 2006 Acapulco

At our first port of call it was time to join the parallel world and put our feet on the ground.

Or was it?

On the ship waiting for our tour to be called I realized it was going to be all gay men and as we lined up on solid ground to board the busses with Mexican staff guiding us, the straight world was again there to serve us.

I had signed up for a turtle sea rescue tour where a Mexican national was gathering turtle eggs and saving them from getting picked off by predators. He incubated them in a protected area on the beach and as tourists we could release them to the sea as their hatching time came due.

When we got to the beach there was another group seated and waiting for the introductory lecture. It was a breeder group and they had their progeny. I felt we were now going to lose our protection and sanctuary.

The man in charge, Victor asked us to name our turtles before we set them on their journey. Resembling a ritual or a religious ceremony we lined up on the beach, at sunset no less, as Victor handed each of us a little turtle. On signal he told us to let them go.

“Go Dominic” I said to mine.

The symbolism had been welling up in me for some time.

Acapulco – Later that Evening

I don’t like to use the word fabulous because it’s so stereotypical but it is a good word still worth using on special occasions. Let me paint the setting and you decide if it’s appropriate.

The main dining room of the ship was an elegant two-level affair consisting of dining balconies overlooking a central level. At one end of this area was a 15 by 10 faux impressionist oil painting. At the other end was a double grand staircase surrounding a water-fall that also served as a backdrop to a platform with a grand piano. The support columns of the room, as well as some of the walls were decorated in luxurious fabric very au courant for designers.

The only thing missing were dining beds, which would have suited this crowd well, but I’m trying to describe fabulous here. Actually that would have been even MORE fabulous.

I got seated at an upper level table over-looking the central core of the room joining a group of men. As I took in the surroundings I noticed the group of large windows along this upper level and it looked like a stage back-drop. Little twinkling lights, mostly white, dotted the entire surface of the windows. But this wasn’t a stage set, they were real lights, those of the homes and buildings that overlooked Acapulco Bay.

It was fabulous!

October 25, 2006 Ixtapa, Mexico

I haven't had time to flesh out the details of the next two days so I will summarize.

At our second port of call, Ixtapa, I joined a group for a three hour catamaran sail into the ocean and around the large bay. The straight crew, one ex-pat captain of the ship and three Mexican crew members, two men and a woman, were there to attend to us.

The ship's music system played the theme from Gilligan's Island.

Sailing far out into the ocean we anchored and jumped in. The water was wonderful. It was too deep to see anything but the deep blueness of the water was inviting. And it was warm.

Returning to the ship that afternoon the classic disco t-dance was soon to begin.
I headed back to my cabin, took a little nap, and cleaned up.

I made my way to the upper deck as the t-dance was in full swing. Costumes, hair, colors, tie-dye, John Travoltas and rthymic vocals and incessant beats blared from everywhere. Is it age that makes it seem like it was more special then? I came out in this scene, in San Francisco no less, at the height of the gay seventies.

I shed a tear as I watched, not knowing if it was for Dominic or for the the lost disco era.

October 26, 2006 Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

Getting back to the inverted world of the ship I tried to catalogue some images. There were too many so I will summarize.

What the crew and the world see of the gay boys:

Lots of kissing (lips, cheeks, hands), hugging, holding, embracing
Lots of friendships, large groups, new friends, instant bonding
A large kinship, a community, a village
Lots of parties, costumes, special activities

What the crew gets from the gay boys:

Lots of kissing and affection and love directed to them
Lots of interaction between crew and passengers, bonding, camaraderie
Women on the ship, crew members and some straights along for the ride, being appreciated probably like nowhere else

October 27, 2006 Sometime Before Dawn

It happened all so fast, I didn’t see it coming but I can remember the details even though I don’t know if I want to. My biggest recall is a fear of becoming involved in a three way between myself, Paul, and a big girl named Allison. I have never been with a woman before and have never planned on being with one. Ever. For some homosexuals it is their biggest fear.

Allison is very sweet, a good singer, smokes, works for the cruise ship, and likes to take Xanax. Kind of an unusual drug of choice but who am I to talk because I had half a Vicodin earlier and took another half a Xanax when Paul gave it to Allison and myself.

Allison took two. Neither one of us knew how many milligrams they were and Paul, who’s Xanax they were, didn’t know either. At least I had the sensibility to ask even though I took them without knowing how strong they were.

But it isn’t the usual party drug on these cruises.

Paul? Oh yeah, he’s how the whole thing started. I had finally caught up with a friend from home after being on the ship for six days so he bought me a drink, we chatted for awhile, and went to the dance floor. After awhile we separated and I went to sit down at the bar. I don’t know if Paul was already there or he came up shortly afterward but from that point everything hyped up.

Paul liked me, his actions, and his hands, said so, but I wasn’t sure. It's my nature to not jump in without knowing someone. The night was young.

We were joined at the bar by Allison. The three of us moved to a chaise lounge, hands were all over the place. Allison wanted her tits felt up and examined. She kissed us. We were three-way kissing. She encouraged Paul and me, alone with her side-line participation, to get into it. She also asked if anyone had Xanax. Paul said he does.

But the alarms had not gone off in my head although I could see now that I needed to find where the nearest exit was just in case I had to use it.

So we went to Paul’s room wherein Allison takes two and I take a half. Fortunately Paul shares a room and his roommate was sleeping so we stayed outside.

That’s when my alarm went off.

They both knew I had a solitary room and I couldn’t think of any excuses as to why we couldn’t go there so I found myself going up four floors and across the ship to cabin 8166 with Allison and Paul. Just outside my door I was thrown a life raft.

Four doors down came the beat of a dance music mix joined with a warm tropical wind that blew through a normally quiet and cold air-conditioned hallway. It was a major distraction.

“A party, let’s check it out,” I said grabbing the raft tightly.

Allison, Paul, and I walked into a room of four beautiful naked guys.

It’s the fantasy of every cruise, no matter if it’s gay or straight, for young people or old, to have some sex and romance. Suddenly I had all of that and more at hand. Put another way, be careful what you wish for, you might get it.

October 27, 2006 Northbound off the Baja Coast

George, a teaching doctor with two grown kids is from a small town in central Kansas. Paula has a sixteen year old and they are apparently both on second marriages. I say apparently because one can’t ask everything at once, especially when there are more burning questions at hand. Paula kept saying George always feels guilty and George says Paula puts up with him.

Guilty about what, I wondered.

“Just guilty about everything,” she responded. As I tried to dig they kept going back and forth about guilt and tolerance the way two people who have known each other for a long time bicker with the end result being none.

The last dinner of the cruise I sat with them and a young pharmaceutical rep from Kentucky who shall purposely remain nameless.

“How did you end up on this cruise?” I asked in-between the bickering.

“I’ll never go on a straight cruise again,” George stated.

“Never. You boys are so much fun, the parties, the outfits, the entertainment,” added Paula.

“And there are no children or wheel chairs to run you over,” George enthused along with Paula.

I still hadn’t gotten an answer as to why they were here.

“Did you know that per capita there are more gay people in Joplin, Missouri, and Eureka Springs, Arkansas, than everywhere else in the country except San Francisco? 99 percent of our friends are gay,” related George.

“99 percent?” I asked incredulously.

“”Well, 90 percent,” said George.

Everything this man said made me suspicious, especially as I kept glancing at the rather large diamond stud in this 60 something year old Midwestern doctor. At one point in the conversation he used the word “fag.” Only a fag would use the word fag. They sure looked like a marriage of convenience.

Except for the bickering part. That made them seem like a real couple.

Eventually I began to lose my suspicions and believe them wholeheartedly. They booked the trip when two gay friends who were scheduled to take it cancelled and offered it instead to George and Paula.

“Hurry up and finish your dinner George. We’ve got to catch the comedienne’s show,” Paula said.

At least she didn’t say The Lesbian’s show.

2006-10-27T02:03:00.000-07:00

October 21, 2006, Southbound Off the Coast of Baja on the Serenade of the Seas

Dominic was brought into my life to give me some incredible sexual excitement and very close personal companionship. The way our relationship began, the timing of it at the end of a mostly solo two-week sexual and scenic whirlwind, makes it seem like he was particularly put into my life for these reasons. I’ve always maintained that one of his strongest attributes was that he was always willing to do whatever and whenever anything I wanted to do. He was always there for me.

And still is.

But he’s not with me on this cruise, which I originally booked for the two of us. It was my decision to exclude him but this evening, on the first night out, I’m feeling lonesome and evil.

Nonetheless it was the right decision; a little tough, but the right one.

There is no reason why I should feel bad, but I do. Our relationship in the past four and half weeks since he returned from Florida deteriorated to the point where I no longer feel committed to a future with him. These problems have been going on for a long time before that trip.

He thinks the problem is my blowing up where I maintain I blow up because it’s the only way to communicate with him. It was just yesterday where he said this was what he hated about his growing up and he agreed that it is what he’s familiar with but I have no confidence that his saying this won’t take more blowing up in order for him to understand something.

Our relationship was not progressing. Despite therapy, lengthy discussions, separate places to live, communication was not getting any easier. The right words may have been said but the actions failed to live up to them.

I feel bad because I miss him and his companionship and because I took away something he wanted. I could have brought him along but I’m ready to move on. I’m not giving up, well, I am giving up, I have given up, on the relationship, but not the friendship.

I’ll leave open the possibility of a future together but I’m not looking for it.

So in the meantime despite feeling bad I need to turn these feelings around and look at the glass half-full: I have time to myself to slow down and meditate, read, watch a few movies; I’m on a boat full of men where I may make some new friends or something else; I’m healthy, attractive, with a great supportive network of friends and family including one on the boat; and my future, despite being almost 54, has a lot of great things coming: the house, job, family gatherings, trips with Dominic . . . other dates.

The feelings of lonesomeness and of having taken away something from someone, well, I’ll get over them. It’s stupid to let them get the better of me when I’ve got all these other things going on.

For right now, I am going to move on and just enjoy being with myself.

October 22, 2006 Southbound off Mainland Pacific Mexico

I was feeling hungry as I watched the servers bring out the cheeseburger and fries. But these plates were not for me even they were headed my way and this is what I had ordered. I caught the servers’ name tags as Nadim from India told Diego from Chile to take the food to another man opposite me across the deck. I would have to wait a little longer.

While I waited I looked back over the children’s pool. A bunch of guys, in their 30’s and 40’s, were sliding down the flumes of the children’s pool. The noise of a children’s pool was missing, it was eerily quiet for an active play area. The boys were also quiet, I think I was expecting a few shrieks here and there, I mean, how often do men their ages, probably liquored up, go down a water slide? Show me some feeling guys, you’re on vacation.

The boys had taken over a ship for a gay cruise and for eight days this is what it was probably going to be like to live in a gay man’s world. The staff of a big corporation, from all over the world, was catering to a clientele that was 99 percent gay. For eight days their world was at our feet. Their training and livelihoods was focused on how well they satisfied us and they were taking us on an exotic vacation liberated from the cares of everyday existence and putting us all together in luxurious close quarters.

Wow, a gay mans’ nirvana.

October 23, 2006

“We’ve been counting the days till you got here. Two cruises to go, one cruise to go, I’ve been looking forward to this, the energy you guys have, the parties, the music.” The skin technician was positively beaming as she said this.

As I was getting my first facial Emma couldn’t contain herself even though I’d asked her to explain every step of what she was doing to my face. The screening form asked what I’d hoped to get out of the facial and I put down “an education” but Emma was eager to explain what she’d hoped to get out of us.

Men holding hands with abandon, shirtless men kissing in corridors or while waiting for elevators, in the pool and Jacuzzi. Outfits on them that the staff were not accustomed to, especially those from third world countries. Let me leave out the outrageous parts until I’ve experienced them first hand but I’m sure that is part of the expectation and reality of a gay cruise.

I’ve heard that the alcohol consumption on a gay cruise increases four times and the food consumption halves as compared to a regular cruise. The hours and routines of a gay cruise ship are reversed from the normal.

After two and a half days at sea their world, and ours, had completely inverted itself.

2006-10-07T11:09:00.000-07:00

Origato (Obrigado)

Pulled into the port town of Santos, Brazil, this morning. The boat shakes when the motors are reversed but I somehow managed to sleep through it while dreaming I was back in California during an earthquake.

The day before, Mario and I had a wonderful time at a island in Porto Belo. We had a little lunch, walked around the beach, and I went into the water for a long swim. When I got back I found Mario surrounded by angels: four crew members of the ship´s dance team had parked themselves around him in their bikinis sunning themselves.

They were so quiet and didn`t move, oblivious to us. Even though we talked in Spanish I didn`t assume they couldn`t understand. We ended up taking a bunch of pictures, how often do angels come and lie by you?

This is the power of the digital age. Later that night I shared them with Emily, the ship´s late night purser, and a fellow traveler, Roger. Emily and Roger are both from the Phillippines, and when we gather late at night, we share stories. I was walking around with my laptop last night and they both asked to see what pictures I had taken that day.

They were both floored. Roger put one picture on my screen saver and Emily, a married woman with a husband in the Phillippines, wanted a copy of some of the angels. I flipped the CD out of my computer and gave it to her. Meanwhile, Glen, an Atlantis staff person who shares the counter with Emily, also wants to see the pictures.

So, these guys pictures are around the world by now and all they thought they were doing was taking a nap.

Found a fast computer this afternoon where we can send pictures. The two pics are me with Ariel, and the Mary Kay cocktail party back in Buenos Aires. Unfortunately, I didn`t bring the CD with the pictures of the angels with me so you can put them on your screen saver.

andrecito in Brazil

I saw something I have never seen in my jaded life. Twice now street kids stopped traffic to perform acrobatic tricks for money from the motorists and pedestrians. In Ipanema a kid did a sideways somersault over another at least 5 feet in the air as he held a rope over it and the third kid stopped traffic.

Two guys downtown stepped in front of the fast lane of traffic and one got on top of the other guys shoulders and started juggling.

And last night at around 11 pm Mario stepped into the streets of Rio. We are at the dock area of downtown, there are warnings from everyone what not to do, including the fact that this is not the safest place. But with an empty ship, everyone either going to a circuit party somewhere (yawn) or the 7 hour sambadromo lasting till dawn (when do we sleep) what were we to do but throw our carnavale masks to the wind and venture out.

I said to Mario, let´s just stick our heads into the streets and see what we find, as I finished my second margarita.

Bob was upstairs having cocktails and MJ was probably still sleeping.

The street was dark, we were told conflicting stories about activity nearby but I couldn´t hear any drumming so I wasn´t sure. There was a light rain. Mario wanted to turn back but it felt okay, as long as we walked fast and didn´t look too much like tourists and didn´t carry a lot of cash or valuables.

So we walked fast and then started hearing the drumming.

Soon enough we walked into a gathering of thousands of people congregating for the start of a parade. There were about a half dozen samba schools, but it wasn`t moving. It wasn´t a fancy parade with big floats and lavish costumes. It was more a working class parade, but the drumming and percussion was there. And the enthusiasm was infectious. People dancing all over, people watching and partaking. Lots of kids, carnavale is a family event, and spontaneous outbursts of song and dancing common.

I was able to buy a red glittery wig and mask to go with my wings and red bikini for the gay parade Tuesday.

But otherwise Mario and I got into it, joining the throngs of each samba school and shaking with other dancers. I bumped with one of the mulatto women vendors.

At one point the rain became heavy. Didn`t slow anything down. It is so hot and humid the rain is a relief.

Beats sitting at the sambadromo for 8 hours and we got to bed by 2!

andy in rio!

Speed writing

The internet connection says I have 16 minutes left before it explodes or something so I will have to speed write.

Taking the shuttle bus from the dock to the beaches we passed a bunch of floats lining up for carnival. The dock is near the Sambadrome, where each of the samba schools get an hour each night to parade, get on television, and be judged. It is a three day affair that starts at 10 each night and lasts for 6 hours.

And where tickets cost 275 unreserved. As we drove by they did look very colorful and were all being pushed by hand--they were as big as rose parade floats.

I think I am going to just go to some parade and don my red bikini and 99 cent store pink butterfly wings and parade behind some samba school. In case you missed that, nothing else. This is a rare thing for me. There is a gay on Tuesday afternoon.

The question is, which event shall we go to, and can we stay awake?

On probably the busiest day of the year here, Sunday before Carnival, the beach at Ipanema was, well if you have pleasant images of the song Girl from Ipanema, throw that out the boat.

I was looking for words to describe the scene when MJ said it was more like Mexico´s Chapultepec Park at the sea.

Even in the water the bodies were everywhere.

MJ and Bob have reached their saturation of all the parties and foreign countries. They are leaving two days early. I guess the party has to end sometime. He barely made it to the beach today and we were all back on the bus after only 3 hours.

The White Party was last night, after all. I thought it was a bit much to do the White Party, Atlantis´ biggest party, the night before the ship arrives in Rio for Carnavale.

But they did, and it was packed. Every crew member of the ship that could be there was. The Captain even got into it. Twice he blew the ships horn for an incredibly long time, around 1:40 am, with a short toot after each long blow.

I´m running out of time.

andy in humid and hot and humanity ridden Rio

Fat Tuesday

Eat all you can today, it’s Fat Tuesday. Carne Larvae, or something like that, shortened to carnavale, is the Latin derivative for eating of the flesh. Or, eat meat now before giving it up for Lent tomorrow. And throughout ancient history the act of indulging in meat and other fleshy endeavors today is well established.

With that spirit in mind Mario and I we ended up at the Sambodromo last night despite my misgivings about the crowds, cost, time of night, etc. But more on this later.

We started Monday morning looking for an internet café and money exchange. Downtown by the pier, and most of Rio, is closed till maybe Wednesday or Thursday, I don’t know which. Some neighborhoods have local stores open but we couldn’t find anything at 11 am by the docks. But we did find a lot of floats used for the big parades at the Sambodromo.

The drab architecture of the streets contrasted with the bright and gaudy floats being pushed either away from or to the Sambodromo. The floats that were in last night’s parade were worn out and torn in places. We saw a few big pieces left in the streets The ones for tonight’s parade were mostly covered up. There were people everywhere pushing and directing them.

Giving up I went back to our 5 star floating luxury hotel now located in a seedy neighborhood. Someone remarked to me one night, “it has a great few of the highway.” Our room was on the harbor side.

Later that day we ventured by Metro to a neighborhood where the City tourist office said was going to be a carnavale event. It was more like a street party, no percussion, samba schools, just a lot of people gathered around a small square drinking and singing and dancing. Many straight men were in some form of drag; apparently it is a carnavale custom for men to switch roles (we have photos). Women were of various costumes, but mostly people were not dressed and just hanging out.

Getting back on the Metro we got off at the Cinelandia station where Mario heard was gay neighborhood and thought there might be movie theaters there (read into this, remember Montevideo). It is the location of the Municipal Theater and a stage where people got up in their costumes and paraded around or lip-synced for a few minutes.

But all around this public square were a few thousand people, many in elaborate costumes, singing, dancing, or performing some routine, presumably for their turn on stage. It was quite a costume show and with the grandeur of the Municipal Theater as a backdrop made for quite an atmosphere. And mostly male groups wore the elaborate costumes—straight.

We had heard that cheap tickets could be bought for the Sambadromo but weren’t sure. When we talked to our favorite French somnomellier on the ship last night he was able to get some there for 30 US, so without hesitation Mario and I were going to see if we could get something. At least we would hang out by the Sambadromo and soak up the atmosphere.

It was too easy, walked out the pier dock and a taxi cab driver approached us with two tickets to section 13, and a taxicab for 75. Total. We were very suspicious, but it helps to speak Spanish. Portuguese is close enough. We checked the tickets he showed us, and after we had agreed and taken us to his cab, he showed us his license, picture ID, matching ID. It felt okay.

It was an incredible human mass of energy. Yes there were the costumes, the floats, the music, drumming, percussion, and Vegas flashiness, but the energy of the thousands of dancers, and the audience watching them, was incredible. It had started at 10 and goes to 6. We got there around midnight and the audience was up and shaking or dancing and waving to the parade. The enthusiasm and pure human energy was indescribable.

Now if I can have enough energy to put on my red bikini, wig, mask, and feather ear ring and dance in the gay parade tonight. I’m trying to find time to take a nap.

We leave Rio tomorrow. This may be the last entry. Let me know.

I’m giving it all up for Lent . . .

IMAGES FROM A DAY AT SEA

It was a fairly quiet day on the Insignia, probably because Mario and I were catching up on sleep having gone to bed after 4am the night before after staying up late to see the carnivale parade in Punta del Este.

Lest you think we missed much, however, let me describe the following:

I was dancing this afternoon at the classic disco t-dance on board the ship. Many of the guys were dressed for the occasion in polyester, bright Afros, shiny pants and shirts, or barely dressed at all. Donna Summer, Martha Walsh, Sylvester and other classic dance divas were singing in the late afternoon as the ship left the Rio Platt and rolled into the Atlantic.

I caught up with MJ and Bobby and some of their friends on the dance floor. Mario dragged out the camera and captured a classic MJ, er, outfit. Some of us had had a nap before the t-dance and some of us needed a nap after the t-dance, a pre-dinner nap, so to speak, or a pre-night disco nap for the rest of the evening. An Atlantis cruise is never quiet.

I’m in the ship’s library tonight, which overlooks the same outdoor deck where the afternoon’s t-dance was. Now it’s contemporary dance music and the lights and music pierce the library windows. The library walls are thumping to the beat as the first gay cruise to South America pierces the Southern Atlantic Ocean night with its rhythms and visual effects.

This is one of my favorite images of these cruises: a vessel at sea shattering the vastness of an ocean with its intense light and music and carrying on its top deck multitudes of gay men shaking and dancing.

Arising from the ship’s chambers like vampires at midnight, we have emerged to partake in the gay ritual. On cruises like these it is not just the youngins that partake, all ages sooner or later come to the party.

I’ve moved with my laptop from the library to the restaurant adjacent to the dance floor. It’s kind of a ludicrous image, me in the dark on a table in the restaurant at the edge of the dance floor looking at a bright computer screen while the music and lights bump away. I may typin’ but I’m also shakin’.

2006-10-07T10:44:00.000-07:00

WHERE THE RIO PLATA MEETS THE ATLANTIC -- Gay Cruising

Thump'a thump, bump ta bump, bump, bump, bump, bump, a bump, a bump, a bump . . .

As the ships tender approached the dock at Punta del Este, Uruguay, we heard this drumming in the distance. We were told they were having an early carnival in town and everyone on the boat wondered if the drumming was coming from it.

11.30 outside this internet office and the streets are crowded with dancers and drummers of all ages and costumes and the sidewalks filled with people watching and shaking to the beat. The costumed old ladies and children in the parades look especially cute and the paraders are mostly women. The younger women are in bikini outfits and heels, how long can they go in those shoes?

It is a constant infectious beat which I am told will go on all night although the internet office closes at midnight. Doesnt anybody work tomorrow?

I am staring outside the window and besides hearing the music I can see flashes of costumes and large colorful flags being waved in the street.

A large silver fabric crescent moon just ambled by.

Mario and I had an adventure, with photographs, in Montevideo before we left yesterday. Details to follow but let me leave you with this:

I had to take a taxi and drive around town looking for him, including an adult movie house (that is a euphemism), while I kept the taxi waiting and poked my heard into various darkened rooms calling out, "Mario, Mario."

I almost missed the boat.

Like I said, I have photographs.

I need to get back to the streets.

2006-09-27T20:53:00.000-07:00

THE FIRST GAY CRUISE TO SOUTH AMERICA -- February, 14, 2006

Mario and i walked around the city seeing most of the sights including the pink palace where Evita gave her speeches to the Argentines. The city is fairly clean and several of us remarked how few people use cell phones.

We are staying in a gay bed and breakfast run by a single guy which is nice, albeit a small place, but the owner is sweet and trying to get back into an ended four year relationship. His lover left him because he felt stifled being with only one person.

At the Hilton where most of the boys of the cruise are staying before we leave, there is a Mary Kay convention going on with at least 500 women. There are almost 500 gay men staying there too. Too easy to comment.

One of the most exciting things we did yesterday was ride the first subway in Latin America and probably the only wooden one in existence. The stations were made of wrought iron but they, and the trains, were real classics in a turn of the century style and made of wood columns, panels, etc.

We caught up with mj and bob later in the day at the Hilton, and went out for some shopping and dinner on a pedestrian street called Florida street. Street performers were doing the tango.

Prices in Argentina are very reasonable, like Mexico, inspiring me to replace my 15 year old leather jacket I originally bought in Tijuana.

I crashed early and slept a long time despite an aching hip where i got up at least four times to take an excedrin.

Hope to write more, Mario is anxious to get out on the hot and humid streets of Buenos Aires.

My thoughts are with Donna and how she is probably going through one of the biggest changes in her life.

Notes from Atlantis Mexican Riviera Cruise Aboard Carnival’s Pride, October 19-26, 2003

A young man seen wearing a T-shirt on board that said “It ain’t gonna suck itself.”

While passing art pieces for sale in the hallways of the ship a young man declared for all to hear: “I’m not here to buy art, I’m here to have sex.”

At a table for lunch on the ship’s formal sit-down restaurant, a group of four and another of two were seated at the same table. Three of the group of four were complaining to the group of two about the fourth member of their party: “One is suppose to go on vacation to get away from what causes us stress, we made the mistake of bringing you.”

At the same lunch table the fourth member complained of the women on board: “This is a gay cruise, it doesn’t say lesbian cruise. Why did they come?”

Further along the same lunch the fourth member says: “My friends are always reading my ass.” To which another replies: “That’s because there is so much printed on it.”

A senior passenger related the story of how, without warning, he had woken up at home paralyzed and was unable to move. He managed to crawl to the phone and dial the emergency operator and say: “I’ve fallen and can’t get up.” They both started laughing.

A male passenger, wheeling his male traveling companion in a wheelchair around the ship’s deck, stop for a drink and they strike up a conversation with another passenger. That passenger relates some of the ship’s more lascivious activities. “I had a five way in the steam room this morning,” he says. “At night there were 13 of us in the jacuzzi. The ship’s security told us to put our suits on. Carnival personnel told them to leave us alone, after all, there’s no women pushing strollers around.” Pointing to his companion, the passenger in the wheel chair replies, “except him.”

At lunch one afternoon an 81 year old man says that he has been matched up by Atlantis for a cabin roommate that is 85. The 85 year old came on to him, he says, and “I told him he was not my type.”

A passenger says that last night he found out that a Eucadorean passenger’s dick was huge. Another passenger asks how big it was and the passenger says he doesn’t know exactly how big it was. The other passenger, pointing to several points in his throat says: “Was it this big, this big, or this big?”

At the Mexican port of Mazatlan some local sailors assigned to the dock decided to have some fun with the big gay cruise ship. As the ship was leaving the dock they started adjusting and re-arranging their white sailor suits. Led on by cheers and cat-calls from the twelve-story high galley of gay men aboard the ship, they re-arranged their pants and underwear. For the fifteen minutes or longer that it took for the boat to separate itself from the dock, the boys on board taunted the boys on shore and they taunted back. One sailor even dropped his underwear and shaked his penis at the crowd.

A retired doctor recounts his difficulties withdrawing from a post-surgery pain killer. A passenger asks that after all his years of medical training and practice did he find it easier to stay off drugs now that he was no longer a practicing doctor. The doctor said no, that did not have an addictive personality, and it had been several years since he retired. After all, “I’ve only taken the same pill twice on this cruise.”

Finally, the same doctor related the story of how he was in bed with a 19 year old and noticed a scar on his chest. He asked the trick where he had the open-heart surgery. He said it was in the same town two years ago. The doctor realized that he had performed it and it was also the first person he had been in bed with whose heart he had actually touched.