I changed my mind. I´m not ready to go home after all. I had a great afternoon & I´m back in the ´don´t let this life end´frame of mind.
I was wrong about La Malba yesterday. It wasn´t a film actress that shut the place down - the were screening a film about an activist who challenged the dictatorship, and the right-wing had threatened to bomb the museum. They´re going to screen the film tonight regardless. Freedom is not just another word here.
Hollis spent most of the day in bed; I spent it at the museum. I went for Frieda Kahlo (Still Life with Monkey and Parrot), but stayed for the hundreds of other artists whom I had never heard of. It was all 20th C Latin American art, and it was more dynamic and exciting than any modern art that I´ve seen before. There was also film - they were screening silent films from the 1920´s and 1930´s in one room - and music, from Kurt Weil to Ravel, taken from the museum´s founders collections. I wasn´t alone; it was a beautiful sunny day yet the Malba was full of young people. I was one of the older patrons, and I loved being in a place were art was actively relevant. It was fantastic.
The street fair was in full swing when I got back. They took all the tables out of my square (like that? One week and it´s already "my square") and it´s full of antiques dealers and the queens that love them. The side streets are full of musicians, including half a dozen barefoot and scruffy tango orchestras. It´s a great day, and it´s too bad it has to end, but it´s time for me to pack.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Last Hours in Buenos Aires
And I´m ready to go home. I´ve stayed away just long enough, or maybe a day or two longer. It´ll take a bit over two days to get home, so there´s still a long way to go.
I don´t think I´ve done Buenos Aires right. There´s been parties in the old plaza outside our hotel all night for the past few nights. The city here only really comes to life after 1 am. The people I´ve met, or traveled with, have been more conservative. They go out, for a few hours, but don´t dive in. I want to dive in. There´s so much here I haven´t done. I´ve seen the main sites and taken the photos but haven´t lived the full experience. And so it´s been fine, and in most cities that would be more than enough - I´ve been coming home between 3am and 6am each night - but I know that that is only a nibble. I know because I hear the party every night. Even now, at 10am, I can hear the musicians in the plaze. Last night it was flamenco, formally, then a South American street jam, informally, when the stage was taken down.
If I make it hear again I want it to be with the wild friends who stay up all night and sleep all day. I think Hollis and I saw most of the Daytime Sites. Not all, but most.
So. Tuesday. Hollis and I arrive, and head to Siga la Vaca for our first parilla. It´s an all you can eat grill featuring every part of the cow and quite a few from the sheep. I have bif de chorizo (porterhouse) and morcillo (blood sausage) and mollejas (sweatbreads) and lamb ribs that a juicy, crackling skin. The lamb was the best. Lunch came with .5 liters of wine, and Hollis doesn´t drink, so I had to finish the carafe myself. Napped, and then wandered to Plaza Mayor and on to the Obelisk. We get caught in a cold rain, and wait out the storm in a cafe along Corrientes, the theater strip. We´re off to a good start.
Wednesday. We head to Recoleta. The streets there confuse me, and we walk and walk and walk trying to find the cemetery. We finally do, and it is fantastic. It´s a marble necropolis that houses all the famous poets, leaders, villains, and revolutionaries of the last few centuries, and some of the tombs were beautiful works of art. Hollis wants his photo taken in from of Evita´s tomb, and I refuse to take it at first, it seems disrespectful, but everyone else is doing it & I start to feel silly sticking to my point and give in. Later we hit the Museum of Belles Artes. It´s a great collection, with a number of sculptures by Rodin. He was the surprise for me; I knew The Thinker but had no idea how raw and sexual his main body of work was. I loved it. Hollis was bored.
Wednesday night I want to go to a all-male milonga, but can´t find anyone to go & it sounds to intense to do solo and without many language skills. Instead I take a wander through downtown, hitting two smaller bars that I had marked on the gay guide to Bs As, Toms and Flux. I love walking the city at night like this. The first joint is pretty cruisy, but the guys are odd. One tries to force me into a back corner, which: fat chance. Guys here are slim, and I have a dozen pounds on most of them. I don´t hurt the creep, just twist his arm hard enough to give him the message that that macho shit doesn´t fly with me. The second bar was run by an ex-pat UK and Russian couple, and everyone inside it spoke English. That was a nice surprise. They drank like the English too - everyone was totalled. I pretended I didn´t speak English to one shit-face American. Good times. The bartender made me a Negroni that was awesome. I taxi home.
Thursday we took a ferry to Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay. The highlight is a centuries-old village on a promontory that has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. There are now lots of artists living there. We have lunch on a garden on the Rio de la Plata. The second highlight is the exchange rate: 25 pesos per dollar. I go shopping for the first time in two weeks. I really like this town. Hollis and I are back on the same page.
Thursday night. Did we sleep? I forgot what we did Thursday night. It´ll come back to me, I hope.
Friday we go to the La Boca neighborhood. It looks pretty rough and tumble - wide dusty streets and lots of poverty. In the center are a few smaller streets that have been renovated and have become a major tourist attraction. Friday night we head to La Canitas on Dave G´s suggestion, meeting Dave, Eli, and Donielle for dinner at the famous Campo Bravo. This is my fist taste of the beautiful life in Bs As. San Telmo, where we stay, is full-on bohemian - narrow buildings and plazas with old men drinking wine and cobble stone streets; I expect Garibaldi to come along and liberate it at any moment. La Boca was rough and tumble, Centro was major urban inner city, and Colonia was artists. La Canitas was fashion and glitz and the newest place to see and be seen. It was quite a change. Mariano was supposed to join us, but turned Latin on us - he called and was surprised that we had grabbed a table so early. At 9;30 pm. By 3am The rest of the crew goes to bed. I try one last club. I skip the mega club in favor of a smaller place, and get more macho weirdness. Think 20-year olds who want me to call them ¨Papi." It just doesn´t work. To make it extra weird, the exact same kids who would try to come on macho would then melt in my arms when I´d stop them from biting or grabbing or squeezing or whatever.
Yeah. Biting. I´ve never had so many men try to bite me. At least not in public and at the bar. I get home at 6am. Back in my barrio the party in Plaza San Dorrego is still going strong, but I´m still dressed trendy from La Canitas and don´t really blend well with the working-class vibe.
Saturday I want to go to the Malba, the Latin American museum. I never make it. Hollis and I decide to walk. We spend a few hours wandering, then Hollis gets pickpocketed while we watch a tango show. The criminals are good - the opened his bag and opened his wallet and got 300 pesos without being seen. All I saw was a flash, and I couldn´t tell where the hand came from. It was amazing, really. It puts Hollis in a capital-f Foul mood. Of course. I've been there to, and there's nothing much to do but slowly work through it. No museum for him. We have a late lunch at an outdoor cafe. A thief rips a necklace off of another patron and darts into the street. She screams and cusses, la puto! and ladrone! And half the men jump up and chase the thief down the boulevard, but he is too fast. That´s enough crime for one day. Hollis goes home, I go to the Malba, but we are evacuated after a half hour so that a film-star can tour the collection. I don´t know which one, but if I find out I will forever hate them. The collection looked awesome, and I´ll try to visit again before my check-out.
Saturday night, and it´s no disco for MC. Poor me. I go to a parilla with some guys from the hotel. It´s good. The steak is far better than what we get in the states, but I still haven´t had that piece of so-soft you can cut it with a fork slab of meat that this country is famous for. The hippie member of our party, who was already getting on my nerves both for his slimy bragging about how much ···· he gets from his young boyfriends here and for his lack of fashion sense (red and yellow Pippi Long Stocking socks with Birkenstocks, commits a fatal error at dinner and I let my inner monster out and slash into him, hard and loud.
If anyone is actually reading this far, here´s a warning. I tip well at restaurants. It´s my choice. Do not try and stop me. Last night we divide the bill, then I throw an extra ten pesos in. Hippie announces it´s too much and takes the money as his change. I throw another ten pesos in. He again insists its too much, that the waiter was rude and doesn´t deserve the tip, and redistibutes it to the other members of our party.
Can you say dead in the water? The bitch was nothing but road kill after that. I threw in more money, he started to reach for it, and I laid into his ass hard. That pretty much broke up our party. I went to a small bar with two guys from Montreal, but I think they were a bit nervous around me and things were too subdued for a Saturday night.
And now its Sunday in San Telmo and I only have a few hours left. I´ll go to the museum, pack, and spend my final hours drinking wine in the plaza, as I should have been doing all along.
I don´t think I´ve done Buenos Aires right. There´s been parties in the old plaza outside our hotel all night for the past few nights. The city here only really comes to life after 1 am. The people I´ve met, or traveled with, have been more conservative. They go out, for a few hours, but don´t dive in. I want to dive in. There´s so much here I haven´t done. I´ve seen the main sites and taken the photos but haven´t lived the full experience. And so it´s been fine, and in most cities that would be more than enough - I´ve been coming home between 3am and 6am each night - but I know that that is only a nibble. I know because I hear the party every night. Even now, at 10am, I can hear the musicians in the plaze. Last night it was flamenco, formally, then a South American street jam, informally, when the stage was taken down.
If I make it hear again I want it to be with the wild friends who stay up all night and sleep all day. I think Hollis and I saw most of the Daytime Sites. Not all, but most.
So. Tuesday. Hollis and I arrive, and head to Siga la Vaca for our first parilla. It´s an all you can eat grill featuring every part of the cow and quite a few from the sheep. I have bif de chorizo (porterhouse) and morcillo (blood sausage) and mollejas (sweatbreads) and lamb ribs that a juicy, crackling skin. The lamb was the best. Lunch came with .5 liters of wine, and Hollis doesn´t drink, so I had to finish the carafe myself. Napped, and then wandered to Plaza Mayor and on to the Obelisk. We get caught in a cold rain, and wait out the storm in a cafe along Corrientes, the theater strip. We´re off to a good start.
Wednesday. We head to Recoleta. The streets there confuse me, and we walk and walk and walk trying to find the cemetery. We finally do, and it is fantastic. It´s a marble necropolis that houses all the famous poets, leaders, villains, and revolutionaries of the last few centuries, and some of the tombs were beautiful works of art. Hollis wants his photo taken in from of Evita´s tomb, and I refuse to take it at first, it seems disrespectful, but everyone else is doing it & I start to feel silly sticking to my point and give in. Later we hit the Museum of Belles Artes. It´s a great collection, with a number of sculptures by Rodin. He was the surprise for me; I knew The Thinker but had no idea how raw and sexual his main body of work was. I loved it. Hollis was bored.
Wednesday night I want to go to a all-male milonga, but can´t find anyone to go & it sounds to intense to do solo and without many language skills. Instead I take a wander through downtown, hitting two smaller bars that I had marked on the gay guide to Bs As, Toms and Flux. I love walking the city at night like this. The first joint is pretty cruisy, but the guys are odd. One tries to force me into a back corner, which: fat chance. Guys here are slim, and I have a dozen pounds on most of them. I don´t hurt the creep, just twist his arm hard enough to give him the message that that macho shit doesn´t fly with me. The second bar was run by an ex-pat UK and Russian couple, and everyone inside it spoke English. That was a nice surprise. They drank like the English too - everyone was totalled. I pretended I didn´t speak English to one shit-face American. Good times. The bartender made me a Negroni that was awesome. I taxi home.
Thursday we took a ferry to Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay. The highlight is a centuries-old village on a promontory that has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. There are now lots of artists living there. We have lunch on a garden on the Rio de la Plata. The second highlight is the exchange rate: 25 pesos per dollar. I go shopping for the first time in two weeks. I really like this town. Hollis and I are back on the same page.
Thursday night. Did we sleep? I forgot what we did Thursday night. It´ll come back to me, I hope.
Friday we go to the La Boca neighborhood. It looks pretty rough and tumble - wide dusty streets and lots of poverty. In the center are a few smaller streets that have been renovated and have become a major tourist attraction. Friday night we head to La Canitas on Dave G´s suggestion, meeting Dave, Eli, and Donielle for dinner at the famous Campo Bravo. This is my fist taste of the beautiful life in Bs As. San Telmo, where we stay, is full-on bohemian - narrow buildings and plazas with old men drinking wine and cobble stone streets; I expect Garibaldi to come along and liberate it at any moment. La Boca was rough and tumble, Centro was major urban inner city, and Colonia was artists. La Canitas was fashion and glitz and the newest place to see and be seen. It was quite a change. Mariano was supposed to join us, but turned Latin on us - he called and was surprised that we had grabbed a table so early. At 9;30 pm. By 3am The rest of the crew goes to bed. I try one last club. I skip the mega club in favor of a smaller place, and get more macho weirdness. Think 20-year olds who want me to call them ¨Papi." It just doesn´t work. To make it extra weird, the exact same kids who would try to come on macho would then melt in my arms when I´d stop them from biting or grabbing or squeezing or whatever.
Yeah. Biting. I´ve never had so many men try to bite me. At least not in public and at the bar. I get home at 6am. Back in my barrio the party in Plaza San Dorrego is still going strong, but I´m still dressed trendy from La Canitas and don´t really blend well with the working-class vibe.
Saturday I want to go to the Malba, the Latin American museum. I never make it. Hollis and I decide to walk. We spend a few hours wandering, then Hollis gets pickpocketed while we watch a tango show. The criminals are good - the opened his bag and opened his wallet and got 300 pesos without being seen. All I saw was a flash, and I couldn´t tell where the hand came from. It was amazing, really. It puts Hollis in a capital-f Foul mood. Of course. I've been there to, and there's nothing much to do but slowly work through it. No museum for him. We have a late lunch at an outdoor cafe. A thief rips a necklace off of another patron and darts into the street. She screams and cusses, la puto! and ladrone! And half the men jump up and chase the thief down the boulevard, but he is too fast. That´s enough crime for one day. Hollis goes home, I go to the Malba, but we are evacuated after a half hour so that a film-star can tour the collection. I don´t know which one, but if I find out I will forever hate them. The collection looked awesome, and I´ll try to visit again before my check-out.
Saturday night, and it´s no disco for MC. Poor me. I go to a parilla with some guys from the hotel. It´s good. The steak is far better than what we get in the states, but I still haven´t had that piece of so-soft you can cut it with a fork slab of meat that this country is famous for. The hippie member of our party, who was already getting on my nerves both for his slimy bragging about how much ···· he gets from his young boyfriends here and for his lack of fashion sense (red and yellow Pippi Long Stocking socks with Birkenstocks, commits a fatal error at dinner and I let my inner monster out and slash into him, hard and loud.
If anyone is actually reading this far, here´s a warning. I tip well at restaurants. It´s my choice. Do not try and stop me. Last night we divide the bill, then I throw an extra ten pesos in. Hippie announces it´s too much and takes the money as his change. I throw another ten pesos in. He again insists its too much, that the waiter was rude and doesn´t deserve the tip, and redistibutes it to the other members of our party.
Can you say dead in the water? The bitch was nothing but road kill after that. I threw in more money, he started to reach for it, and I laid into his ass hard. That pretty much broke up our party. I went to a small bar with two guys from Montreal, but I think they were a bit nervous around me and things were too subdued for a Saturday night.
And now its Sunday in San Telmo and I only have a few hours left. I´ll go to the museum, pack, and spend my final hours drinking wine in the plaza, as I should have been doing all along.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Gear Shift
You could here the gears grinding in my brain when I tried to switch from Portuguese to Spanish. It didn´t help that one of the guys at the Bed and Breakfast is from Paris, and that the guy who works in the evening is actually from Brazil. I couldn´t even speak basic English; the best I could spew was some unintelligble mush of four languages.
Doing better today. The Spanish here is pretty damn different than any I´ve heard, but since I don´t actually speak Spanish that isn´t much of an issue. I´ve been doing ok if I can think of what I need to say ahead of time, but I am not having much luck in speaking on the spot. And even then only a few people actually understand what I am trying to say. Luckily one was a bartender. ´Punt e Mes´ is on all the menus here, and I´ve read about it & that it´s great in manhattans and negronis and the elusive sazerac, but I´ve never found it. I finally got to try it. It´s a bitter, a vermouth I think. It was a bit of a production - the bartender brought a tub of ice, some orange slices, sparkling mineral water, and the bottle to the table. He put in an orange, added ice, some Punt e Mes, muddled it, added another orange, another cube, more vermouth, muddled it again, then added a bit more vermouth, another ice cube, then topped it all with the soda.
It was tasty, and I´ll be bringing some back.
Doing better today. The Spanish here is pretty damn different than any I´ve heard, but since I don´t actually speak Spanish that isn´t much of an issue. I´ve been doing ok if I can think of what I need to say ahead of time, but I am not having much luck in speaking on the spot. And even then only a few people actually understand what I am trying to say. Luckily one was a bartender. ´Punt e Mes´ is on all the menus here, and I´ve read about it & that it´s great in manhattans and negronis and the elusive sazerac, but I´ve never found it. I finally got to try it. It´s a bitter, a vermouth I think. It was a bit of a production - the bartender brought a tub of ice, some orange slices, sparkling mineral water, and the bottle to the table. He put in an orange, added ice, some Punt e Mes, muddled it, added another orange, another cube, more vermouth, muddled it again, then added a bit more vermouth, another ice cube, then topped it all with the soda.
It was tasty, and I´ll be bringing some back.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
South America Update
I´ve been doing Facebook more than blogging this trip - the days have been too packed to sit down and do this properly.
Our group had a mixed reaction to Brazil. I loved it, but I was one of the few who found a life down here outside of the race. For most of them they were Kamehameha CC 100% of the time, from the moment they stepped off the plane. For me, I had met two guys - Marcos and Cim - and spent a fair amount of time hanging out with them. Hollis came down from NYC on the weekend, so we hung also. Friday to Sunday I was all Kamehameha. I think there were some tensions among those who never escaped the group, though I didn´t even notice until I was set to leave.
The breakdown:
Tuesday - arrive, and I am so beat I can barely function. It´s a bit cold and grey. I take a walk along Ipanema beach. I meet one guy, Marcos, and make plans to go dancing later in the week. At night I have coffee with Cim, a friend of a friend of a friend, and we hit it off and also make plans for later.
Wednesday - it´s cold and rainy. I run into Ruby by chance - she had been down here camping - and we head downtown to the museums. They weren´t that interesting, and Rio´s downtown was standard: beautiful old buildings and thousands of people bustling and hustling. That night more of the group arrives, but I can only convince Allen to go out with me. We hit Galeria Cafe, a small art studio that turns into a gay dance party at night. We meet Marcos, and dance until late at night. Everyone dances; there is no standing still. It´s all Brazilian music, and the crowd is cute and friendly and surprisingly normal - no twinks, muscle heads, or fashionistas. Just guys having a real good time.
Thursday - I work out for the first time in a week, then chill with Jake and Allen and Roz at Ipanema´s gay beach. The men are drop dead hot. I get too much sun. That night, our last night of freedom, no one will go out with me. Lame. I have a great time with Cim on my own.
Friday - Roz has us meet at 7:30 for a team work out - core, a bit of strength, and a run on the beach. Ouch! I hurt after that! The rest of the crew arrives, and we head to Urca to get the canoes ready and meet Nicholas, our Rio Vaa rep. The water is big, and it´s an intense trip from Urca to Copacabana and then back to Praia Vermelha. Luckily Mariano turns out to be an amazing steersman, with a talent for riding the backwash of the waves as they crash against the rocks and cliffs. It is either exhilerating (most of my crew) or a bit scary (yours truly). We ride the cable cars up Sugar Loaf after. That night I ditch the crew to hang with Cim. I wasn´t impressed with the restaurant choices, and it was getting too expensive to always be eating with a group at nice places. I love having dinner with groups like this, but it was getting to be too much. Plus, well, yeah you´re seeing a pattern.
Saturday - We put together a Master´s Crew for a 6km race: Jake, Allen, Jake, MC, Steve, Mariano. The water is choppy and confused, and I can´t say that we blended very well together, though it was the first time we had paddled together in this lineup and it was different. We come in 4th. Out of 4. We spend all day at the beach, then nap and later head to a nice Italian Restaurant for our team dinner. I have a Rosa de Bacalhau, a pasta stuffed with codfish in a tomato sauce, and it´s great. The first great meal I´ve had, really. We get to bed later than I wanted to.
Sunday - Race day. And I remembered, once again, and as usual too late, why they call these races "iron." Because of course if it were easy it wouldn´t be iron, or impress anyone. If anyone is impressed. We went from Praia Vermelha to Ipanema and back, and then into the Bay to Urca and back to Praia Vermelha - 42 kilometers without rest through all kinds of water. And I was loving it and later hating it then loving it and then just kind of delerious. Our line up was Eli, Jake, Lance, MC, Steve, Mariano. And we came in last, but I´m ok with that - we were a master´s crew, and the only Master´s Crew that even attempted the full iron course. That night we partied with the Rapa Nui guys at Baixa Gavea, which was basically a standard issue college type party where everyone drinks in the streets until the late hours of the night.
Monday - Ah sweet freedom! No tensions or anxiety, no worries about training, and one mean hangover (Eli and I had to keep one step ahead of Donielle in her caiparinha intake, cause it just would not have been right to let her drink more!). Those two took off to Buzious, the rest of the group took a cab ride to Corcovado, and Hollis and I climbed the mountain. ´Cause I haven´t been physical enough the past week, I guess. It was nice, though it sucked up the last of my body fat reserves. I have abs again! That night I finally got people to come dancing with me - Pam, Roz, Phil, Ruby, Lance and I went to Carioca de Gema in Lapa to hear some live Samba. We ran into the Tahitians, and had a great time dancing. I can, almost, I think, at least in my mind, samba and keep in step with the slower dancers here. Fun times.
And now Hollis and I are in Buenos Aires and a whole new movie has started. It´s a world apart; our neighborhood is cobblestone streets and narrow houses and could be Cervante´s La Mancha if it were on a different continent and you removed the buses running up and down the street. And I´m liking this too, but more on BA later ...
Our group had a mixed reaction to Brazil. I loved it, but I was one of the few who found a life down here outside of the race. For most of them they were Kamehameha CC 100% of the time, from the moment they stepped off the plane. For me, I had met two guys - Marcos and Cim - and spent a fair amount of time hanging out with them. Hollis came down from NYC on the weekend, so we hung also. Friday to Sunday I was all Kamehameha. I think there were some tensions among those who never escaped the group, though I didn´t even notice until I was set to leave.
The breakdown:
Tuesday - arrive, and I am so beat I can barely function. It´s a bit cold and grey. I take a walk along Ipanema beach. I meet one guy, Marcos, and make plans to go dancing later in the week. At night I have coffee with Cim, a friend of a friend of a friend, and we hit it off and also make plans for later.
Wednesday - it´s cold and rainy. I run into Ruby by chance - she had been down here camping - and we head downtown to the museums. They weren´t that interesting, and Rio´s downtown was standard: beautiful old buildings and thousands of people bustling and hustling. That night more of the group arrives, but I can only convince Allen to go out with me. We hit Galeria Cafe, a small art studio that turns into a gay dance party at night. We meet Marcos, and dance until late at night. Everyone dances; there is no standing still. It´s all Brazilian music, and the crowd is cute and friendly and surprisingly normal - no twinks, muscle heads, or fashionistas. Just guys having a real good time.
Thursday - I work out for the first time in a week, then chill with Jake and Allen and Roz at Ipanema´s gay beach. The men are drop dead hot. I get too much sun. That night, our last night of freedom, no one will go out with me. Lame. I have a great time with Cim on my own.
Friday - Roz has us meet at 7:30 for a team work out - core, a bit of strength, and a run on the beach. Ouch! I hurt after that! The rest of the crew arrives, and we head to Urca to get the canoes ready and meet Nicholas, our Rio Vaa rep. The water is big, and it´s an intense trip from Urca to Copacabana and then back to Praia Vermelha. Luckily Mariano turns out to be an amazing steersman, with a talent for riding the backwash of the waves as they crash against the rocks and cliffs. It is either exhilerating (most of my crew) or a bit scary (yours truly). We ride the cable cars up Sugar Loaf after. That night I ditch the crew to hang with Cim. I wasn´t impressed with the restaurant choices, and it was getting too expensive to always be eating with a group at nice places. I love having dinner with groups like this, but it was getting to be too much. Plus, well, yeah you´re seeing a pattern.
Saturday - We put together a Master´s Crew for a 6km race: Jake, Allen, Jake, MC, Steve, Mariano. The water is choppy and confused, and I can´t say that we blended very well together, though it was the first time we had paddled together in this lineup and it was different. We come in 4th. Out of 4. We spend all day at the beach, then nap and later head to a nice Italian Restaurant for our team dinner. I have a Rosa de Bacalhau, a pasta stuffed with codfish in a tomato sauce, and it´s great. The first great meal I´ve had, really. We get to bed later than I wanted to.
Sunday - Race day. And I remembered, once again, and as usual too late, why they call these races "iron." Because of course if it were easy it wouldn´t be iron, or impress anyone. If anyone is impressed. We went from Praia Vermelha to Ipanema and back, and then into the Bay to Urca and back to Praia Vermelha - 42 kilometers without rest through all kinds of water. And I was loving it and later hating it then loving it and then just kind of delerious. Our line up was Eli, Jake, Lance, MC, Steve, Mariano. And we came in last, but I´m ok with that - we were a master´s crew, and the only Master´s Crew that even attempted the full iron course. That night we partied with the Rapa Nui guys at Baixa Gavea, which was basically a standard issue college type party where everyone drinks in the streets until the late hours of the night.
Monday - Ah sweet freedom! No tensions or anxiety, no worries about training, and one mean hangover (Eli and I had to keep one step ahead of Donielle in her caiparinha intake, cause it just would not have been right to let her drink more!). Those two took off to Buzious, the rest of the group took a cab ride to Corcovado, and Hollis and I climbed the mountain. ´Cause I haven´t been physical enough the past week, I guess. It was nice, though it sucked up the last of my body fat reserves. I have abs again! That night I finally got people to come dancing with me - Pam, Roz, Phil, Ruby, Lance and I went to Carioca de Gema in Lapa to hear some live Samba. We ran into the Tahitians, and had a great time dancing. I can, almost, I think, at least in my mind, samba and keep in step with the slower dancers here. Fun times.
And now Hollis and I are in Buenos Aires and a whole new movie has started. It´s a world apart; our neighborhood is cobblestone streets and narrow houses and could be Cervante´s La Mancha if it were on a different continent and you removed the buses running up and down the street. And I´m liking this too, but more on BA later ...
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Rio
Arrivals are always the same. I think that I am doing pretty good with the language, but can't even order a coffee at the airport and so switch to English. I plan on diving right in and taking the bus, but I'm tired and confused and so splurge for a taxi. The route from the highway passes through tenemants - tall, crowded, brick or cement, half-finished buildings that seem to radiate heat and oppression, and I wonder how anyone survives here, much less brings a new generation to life.
The City and its poverty always goes on and on, and I wonder how many days until the next revolution. I get to my hotel, and crawl into bed. I need to shower. I'm hungry, I'm tired, I have no local money, and I don't want to leave the room. I don't know what the week will bring and I can't imagine that I will ever make sense of this particular city. I wonder why I travel, and put myself through this. I debate spending the week in my hotel room.
Hunger wins, and I eventually shower and head out into the street for a quick bite before taking a much needed nap. I leave the hotel, without a map, never with a frikkin map, because I don't intend to wander far. And I end up wandering far, and taking wrong turns, and spending hours putzing about.
So that's the part that's always the same. From there on out it's all particulars.
Rio has been fantastic. I slept half of Tuesday, but still managed to meet a guy, Marcos, and make plans to go dancing later, and later to meet up with Cim, who I had friends in common with.
Wednesday it was cold and rainy. I ran into Ruby, and we headed downtown, to Centro, to explore the museums. The museums were just alright, but it was fun being in the middle of a big city again with all it's 19th Century architecture and bustling crowds and chaos. The second crew came in that night, we met Mariano, our steersman from Buenos Aires, and then Alan and I went to Galeria Cafe, met up with Marcos, and danced until 3am. It was a gay bar designed by a local artist, so the space was great and the crowd was fun. It was all Brazilian music, but a wild mix of faro and samba and hip hop and techno and who knows what else. And Marcos turned out to be an amazing frakkin dancer, so that was special to be dancing with him.
This morning I worked out and then a group of us went to Ipanema Beach to sun and cruise. Later we all met Mariano at Praia Vermelha and went over the course. It looks hard core. I might race a second race - there are some women from Maui looking to put together a mixed crew for Saturday. Then we took a hike through the forest, then took the cable cars up to the top of Sugarloaf. Tonight I ditched the crew. Some are taking naps, some are going out for sushi. I had planned to meet up with Cim, but he had to work late. And though I love my crew, they're all going to be early and I have no plans to. There's another club I want to check out designed by the same artists as Galeria, so I'll grab an acai and head there and see what the night brings.
Not bad for only 2.5 days. I have to switch back into training mode tomorrow, with a 7am practice, so this is my final night to be a bit wild. Then I have to be very good for three days. I can do it.
The City and its poverty always goes on and on, and I wonder how many days until the next revolution. I get to my hotel, and crawl into bed. I need to shower. I'm hungry, I'm tired, I have no local money, and I don't want to leave the room. I don't know what the week will bring and I can't imagine that I will ever make sense of this particular city. I wonder why I travel, and put myself through this. I debate spending the week in my hotel room.
Hunger wins, and I eventually shower and head out into the street for a quick bite before taking a much needed nap. I leave the hotel, without a map, never with a frikkin map, because I don't intend to wander far. And I end up wandering far, and taking wrong turns, and spending hours putzing about.
So that's the part that's always the same. From there on out it's all particulars.
Rio has been fantastic. I slept half of Tuesday, but still managed to meet a guy, Marcos, and make plans to go dancing later, and later to meet up with Cim, who I had friends in common with.
Wednesday it was cold and rainy. I ran into Ruby, and we headed downtown, to Centro, to explore the museums. The museums were just alright, but it was fun being in the middle of a big city again with all it's 19th Century architecture and bustling crowds and chaos. The second crew came in that night, we met Mariano, our steersman from Buenos Aires, and then Alan and I went to Galeria Cafe, met up with Marcos, and danced until 3am. It was a gay bar designed by a local artist, so the space was great and the crowd was fun. It was all Brazilian music, but a wild mix of faro and samba and hip hop and techno and who knows what else. And Marcos turned out to be an amazing frakkin dancer, so that was special to be dancing with him.
This morning I worked out and then a group of us went to Ipanema Beach to sun and cruise. Later we all met Mariano at Praia Vermelha and went over the course. It looks hard core. I might race a second race - there are some women from Maui looking to put together a mixed crew for Saturday. Then we took a hike through the forest, then took the cable cars up to the top of Sugarloaf. Tonight I ditched the crew. Some are taking naps, some are going out for sushi. I had planned to meet up with Cim, but he had to work late. And though I love my crew, they're all going to be early and I have no plans to. There's another club I want to check out designed by the same artists as Galeria, so I'll grab an acai and head there and see what the night brings.
Not bad for only 2.5 days. I have to switch back into training mode tomorrow, with a 7am practice, so this is my final night to be a bit wild. Then I have to be very good for three days. I can do it.
Rio
It's been fun so far, and I haven't had time to do emails or post. Just dropping a line here to let you all know I'm alive! I had to change my Facebook account after someone hacked in and posted obscene comments, so now I don't know if I can do that from my phone anymore. So much for technology.
All is good. More late. Off to the beach.
All is good. More late. Off to the beach.
Monday, December 01, 2008
White Party Miami
A guy walks up to me in a Miami Beach bar here and asks if I used to model.
I smile and tell him "no" ... and his eyes glaze over and he walks away as if he had never spoken to me in the first place.
And that was my experience with The Beach. These guys are so style obsessed they make West Hollywood look like a bunch of granola-eatin' love children. It was a bit much at times. I could see guys checking me out, but if I turned to look they'd get whiplash they's turn away so fast. Or maybe they weren't checking me out. Maybe they just had never seen a gay man who wasn't wearing Dior sunglasses.
It's early Monday morning, I've checked out of my hotel, and I have an hour until the SuperShuttle takes me on to the next adventure. Time enough to try and recap a bit ...
The Beach really was stunning; the architecture alone is worth a visit. They people, all blue-eyed Cubans, really are beautiful. It's a great place to meet up with friends, and I enjoyed the first few days of reunions and dinners and cocktails with guys I hadn't seen in awhile. Bill, John and Neil were in from New York, Mike was in from Maui, Steven K and his group were in from LA, and Ron stopped by on his way back from Puerto Rico. I got to catch up with Louie, who I had met in Montreal years ago. I tried to see Bugie, and ran into a sadly tweaked-out n... a few times.
So, with that, I didn't mind the attitude at the bars. Besides, I had some fabulous parties to attend.
I'll try to be objective here, and there were some great times, but this did not work as a "Circuit Weekend" for me at all. First the bitching:
SCORE: FONSECA - I skipped this night, but friends say Fonseca was On & that they think he's a great choice for Palm Springs. The club was crowded and smoky, so they didn't stay long.
FRI: TONY MORAN & CHRIS COX - Again, I passed (tried to pick up online since the bars were a failure for me. Depending on who you ask, it was either a great party, an ok party, or a just regular club night.
SAT: POOL: NIZRI - There might be some wet angry queens after this ... the pool wasn't packed, but they were making people line up because it was 'full.' We were sent inside by a worker to use the restrooms because the outside line was too long. Security stopped us and sent us back. Management stopped her and had to escort us through the ballroom to the bathrooms! "They are our guests and you will treat them like guests" she snarled at one rent-a-cop.
SAT: VIZCAYA: BILL HALLIQUIST - Vizcaya was really beautiful, and I thought it was an excellent way to kick off a weekend. It was a mansion / estate built like some mini- Versailles. I had a great time, and Ron said it was the highlight of his weekend (he never does after-hours) and was thrilled. The other guys skipped it. BUT I think this event has changed a lot; it was not what we were led to expect. There were no fabulous arrivals by yacht. There was some food - I think four restaruants had tables. It was hardly 'dinner.' There weren't people in fabulous costumes, celebrities, A-list queers, etc. But it WAS a dance night for us - and we were told not to expect that! Bill's set was close to my favorite over the weekend - it was high on vocals and happy house, and most songs were new to me. I'd love to see a track list. He's not main-room style yet ... he wasn't able to maintain extended stretches of peak energy. But it was fun, and the dance floor was packed for four hours. Good job. Fun party. But One Hundred Fifty bucks? I won't do it again at that price.
SAT SHUTTLES - What's a party without shuttle drama. Our bus was re-routed for some unknown reason, a French guy accused another guy of 'hijacking' it, and we sat in traffic jam while the two of them and the driver had a bitch fight.
SAT: PARKWEST: JOE G - I love Joe G. Great remixes, he kept the energy up, I finally got to hear this "Like a Prayer" dance mix all of you have been talking about. I could have danced all night and been so happy, except that Joe was just the warm up, and the main act was ...
SAT: PARKWEST: VICTOR - who gave me a headache. I know some guys, including dj's, who love him. He has his fans, and I tried to find what they find. But it was all beat! No melody so no love; no syncopation so no sex; no groove and so no dancing. The guys who stayed all shifted into a dull march. Interaction ended on the dance floor. If you even brushed someone they would stiffen and pull away (and seriously, guys, if your job is folding clothes you might want to tone down the attitude, no matter how pretty you are). I tried. I went inside to find the groove. I went outside and tried to pick it up from the crowd. I chewed half my tongue off. I was not having fun. I left, and this was my last chance for Victor. Never again. I don't care that they were all "his own beats." Music is more than a fucking beat.
SUN: BEACH: PHIL B - Ooh did I wake in a bad mood! I don't attend many events, and it felt like there was a big hole at the center of this weekend. I didn't want to get out of bed, and so missed Wendy Hunt. Some of my crew never got out of bed, and missed the Beach Party entirely. No loss. At first, I was happy to hear love and vocals from Phil. It was a Victor antidote. But ... it was too vocal. It was just top dance remixes, one after another. No surprises, no progression, nothing that couldn't have been done randomly. I swear I'm not always a bitch like this! But most of my crew stayed home, it was cold and windy, the crowd was a bit aloof, and once you're in that bad place it's hard to pull out. After 2hrs Phil put on Kung Fu Fighting and I went home back to bed.
SUN: CAMEO: MANNY AND ABEL - Brothers, I was not feeling it by Sunday night. My original plan was to be the first in the door and the last out. Instead I drank Guiness and watched a football game at Jerry's Deli while a storm swept in from the ocean. And I found more brotherhood there than I had yet at any of the parties, and that's shameful. I was hating the Circuit, and thinking: yeah, maybe it is dead afterall. I finally went to Cameo around 12:30. Manny was good. Manny is always good. There were rumor mills going around that he had "fucked up" his last visit to Florida and that people were booing and throwing water bottles at him & so no one local was going to go. I don't believe these rumors. Then Abel came on, and did his thing, It was a great night, the music was hard and sexy, the guys were friendly and interactive, people smiled and danced with their neighbors, and I finally had the night I had come all this way for.
My theory, and I'm sticking to it, is that Rauhofer & Co., drew off all the assholes to Mansion on Sunday night. In which case, I am all for competing events. We should make them standard!
So overall, I reunited with friends, and had some good club nights. My legs are still sore from dancing all half the night Saturday and straight through til dawn last night. There was no Central Event (for the most part, the guys at Vizcaya were not the ones at the parties). There was no "progression" a la Palm Springs or Orlando, where you all share the same journey throughout the weekend. And so, no "circit." I would come again if other friends all came, but I won't be leading the charge.
On to Rio ...
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