The Wanderer Returns...

We're having one of those truly British days where the fog is so thick all I can see out my window is the tree directly beside it. I can imagine the mysterious heaths rolling along in front of my housing rather than the actual paved housing complex that sits just below me. It's quite magical really. What isn't very magical is that it's only 3:30, and it will be dark (and I mean night-time dark) in the vicinity of an hour. Right about this time, I am uber-tempted to curl up with my bee on my snuggly (sort of) single bed and watch something in the Julia Roberts oeuvre, most particularly Pretty Woman. But, dear reader, my dedication to you is much greater than my dedication to Julia, so I will recount the sordid tales of my transcontinental voyage... it is far over due.

Spain

You know the London part: noshing with Queer Pigeon (a relative of Queer Duck), losing a wheel on my suitcase (big fun), spending WAY too much money on a cab, etc. I didn't mention my glutting at the airport bookstore, but long story short when they're having a 3 for 2 sale, you've gotta embrace literature (that is, if you call airport reading literature). When I finally got to Spain, I was confronted by a VERY excited Kate and her Italian friend Gino (my "ride"--snicker, snicker). It reminded me how good it was to see old friend(s). I think I go through most of life forgetting what it feels like to really enjoy things. Kind of like how you often don't realize you're hungry until you start eating and then it becomes quite clear that you were starved. Anyhow, I made it clear that I will never, ever succeed in Italy. I tried to say the simplest sentence but was so nervous and inept that it mainly consisted of "fuck"s and "shit"s in English. Worthless.

The next day was a nice break. Sleeping in in another country is perhaps even more enjoyable than sleeping in here. Perhaps. Kate & I walked around, enjoying the Spanish sites of lovely Logroño. I was a kitschy tourist and bought postcards. Then we were about to return to Kate's for dinner and stumbled upon her friend Sara(h) from Reed College. Sara(h)'s a lovely girl, and I don't think I overwhlemed/scared her with my sometimes larger-than-life personality. We were fast friends, as fast as you have to be when you're only in town for one day. Then we all went to aerobics class together. I know what you're thinking, "Aerobics class?!" Yes, kids, aerobics class. It was step, my old fave. Granted it wasn't as fun as it could have been since I haven't physically exerted myself in... ohhhh... 3 months, but I did gain some confidence in the fact that I didn't have any problems understanding aerobics parlance in a completely foreign language.

Then we went back home and ate pineapple... yummmmm... anyhow... and got ready for a night on the town -- HA-CHA! We went to this place called Cafe Luna and listened to "Estorias," which basically consisted of a magician, some guy performing poetry and slamming eggs into the faces of an unsuspecting audience, a marionette with a little chick and me not being able to see or understand ANY of it. But sometimes I think it's better to not be constrained by the parameters of reality when watching performance art. I gave Sara(h) & Kate a play-by-play of the goings-on between the chick and his marionette, devising in media res a wicked double entendre/metaphor for the word "bow". Let's just say, by the end of the night we were talking about "bowing together"... Also by the end of the night Sara(h)'s friend-cum-lovah Victor had given me the golden invitation of a quick hump on the bus stop -- SCORE!

Paris

The next day, we set our sights on Gay Par-ee -- more gay for me than for others, if you know what I mean. The bad news: Catherine couldn't come because she had to move into her new (internet-non-Greek-equipped) housing. The good news: Because Catherine wasn't coming, we could stay with Katie & Mary in their shagadelic apartment practically at the base of the Eiffel Tower. The bad news: We already had a hotel booked, so I had to call the guy and explain that "my plane was stuck in Madrid," at which point he screamed at me in broken English and charged me for a night's rent. Oh well... coulda been worse.

Arriving at Katie & Mary's was a blessing and respite. After lugging my one-wheeled suitcase for a day, the hands and calves were hurtin', so it was nice to know that I could clear my mind of any suitcase responsibility for a good couple of days. The night was low-key, but did include the charming Mr. Joseph/Joe/Giuseppe/JoSEF/JuanSeppe Manganiello joining us for drinks at a bar called Malone's. I, of course, had a Cosmopolitan since I've been thoroughly deprived of them since this summer. Then Katie didn't like her White Russian, so I said "Don't mind if I do!" Woohoo alcoholism!

The next day I was awoken to the angelic chorus of Mr. Karl Peter Whittington and Miss Bernadette Gunn entering Katie & Mary's. Once again, SO good to see old friends! After initial gabbing and catching up over pain au chocolat, we all went our separate ways with Kate and me tagging along with the K&M along to H&M (clever, aren't I?!). The real highlight of Nov. 8th, however, was the night to follow. We began at a lovely bistro (or would it be a boîte? I don't know...), where we indulged in wining and dining in the truest sense of the words. Three courses and much food-sharing later, we were ready to hit the town in grand style. It was previously established that it was Homo Appreciation night, so we searched various Parisian travel books and settled on a place called The Mixer to start out. As the name would suggest, it was a mixed club, but the clientele and the streaming projection of catwalkers on the wall suggested otherwise. It was mainly gay men, which I of course loved and which I don't think anyone else minded because there were not legitimate lezzies in our crowd (a deficit, no doubt, but we mustn't dwell, not on Rex Manning day!). We had to struggle to find a seat because it was crowded like you wouldn't believe. About an hour and two rounds later, everyone's eyes were tearing up from the profuse amounts of smoke, so we decided to leave and seek a more dance-friendly environment. Of course, this was only after some random-randomness Italian man started talking to me. I wouldn't say he was chatting me up because we were in a gay bar, but it was definitely weirdness.

So, off we went for gayer pastures. After much walking (and I do mean MUCH), we found ourselves at Le Tango. Now, I have not mentioned up to this point that Signor Giuseppe Manganiello was again in our company tonight. This is an amusing fact because JuanSeppe is this odd hybrid of American purely hetero and European ambiguous hetero, which I would wager is common to many young Italian men. Anyhow, we go to the door of the club, and we have to friggin' knock to gain admission. A pair of eyes appear through a slit, and I felt like any minute we were going to be asked "What's the password?" to which we would respond, "Clam chowder," and they would say, "Red or white?" Anyhow, the bouncer and Josef have a brief French conversation riddled with tension, since which I have learned that the man goes, "You are aware that this is a gay and lesbian club?" to which Joseph responds in the affirmative, and the bouncer goes, "Are you gay and lesbian?" At which point Giuseppe defensively (and in his perfect French) responds, "Yeah." And the bouncer backs off: "It's only a question..." Mwahahahaha... at any rate, we were in!

Le Tango was so much fun and then some! I can't say much for the girls in the group, but JuanSeppe was on the receiving end (snicker, snicker) of googly eyes from the moment he entered the club. But the MVP (Most Valuable PLAYA) of the night was most definitely Mr. Karl. In the words of my mom, "You go, girl!" I won't disclose too many details because it's not really in my liberty, but I will say that one doesn't need to necessarily know how to speak French to make friends at Le Tango. The other hit of the night was, as I mentioned, Joseph. He was being chatted up instantly and spent most of the night in conversation with the Don Johnson of Paris, who I think was actually from Switzerland, but whatevs... As we left at the end of the night, he got a little shake-a-shake hip action from one of his suitors--You go, boy! Meanwhile Mary, Katie & I were dancing up a storm to such hits as "Lady Marmalade 2001" and "It's Raining Men".

My favorites of the night were two guys dancing together wearing matching tight, white shirts with the word "DIVA" written on them in silver--yay French twinkies. In pure oddity there was "the Professor." This guy who looked just like what his nickname implies. For some reason, he was loitering around the three of us Middgirls for a significant portion of "It's Raining Men," and he apparently thought it was a brilliant idea to take his cane (yes, he had a cane) and stick it down in his pants so that it was shooting out of the top... My, my, professor, aren't WE overestimating ourselves? Later, I saw him leaving and putting on (I kid you not) the rest of his three-piece tweed suit. Oh yeah, and the other weirdness was the abundance of straight couples at Le Tango. There were at least 3 or 4 couples, one of which was swing dancing! You're not at a bar mitzvah. This is not a wedding reception! I don't swim in your toilet, so stop a-swimmin' in my pool! (I feel entitled to take offense to other straighties being at Le Tango because I was not flaunting my heterosexuality, as it were, and I was in fact scoping out a little lassie on the other end of the dance floor, but she was too busy dancing with her manfriend. Why they needed each other as shields, I'll never know.)

Okay, so that night ended finally around 5:30 with the departure of Karl for Edinburgh and JuanSeppe for Luxembourg via his apartment. Good times, a night to remember.

The next day was full of drizzles, sight-seeing and a failed attempt at finding Angelina's--home of "the best hot chocolate ever!" Kate & I met up with Gunnsy and Mrs. Gunnsy at the East Pillar of the Eiffel Tower, then making our way to the top of the Arc D'Triomphe (or however you spell that). It was a lovely experience after we finished scaling the 284 stairs. Then we went towards the Loeuvre to find Angelina's, but to no avail. After that we Metro-d it to St. Michel and had a lovely Italian meal -- mmmm, pasta -- and some delish Haagen Dazs. After that we returned to 1976 (a.k.a. Katie & Mary's apartment) and journeyed out to see Kissing Jessica Stein (La Tentacion di Jessica). The movie was pretty good, particularly as far "lesbian" flicks -- few and far between -- go, but I'm not sure whether I agreed with its ultimate statement, but that's another topic for another day.

The next day largely consisted of me & Katie Curler walking around in search of, at last, a baguette and a tarte, which we picnicked at her apartment and then me heading back to England, Europe. But I wouldn't have had it any other way. Maybe it's because I'm spoiled, maybe it's because I want to live in New York, but I feel beyond tourist stuff. I like to relax and veg in touristy cities because ultimately I am not there to see the attractions, I'm there to see my friends. And when you can do that in a '70s time warp, what could be better?

So, kids, those are the exciting details of my trip. Hope they were enjoyable. Hope you didn't mind my incredible long-windedness, but I'm sure that by now you're used to it, and if you're not, well SUCK IT! (hehehehe, love you guys!)