From Eric and Mitcho’s land, Covelo, Mendocino County, CA:
How amazing to be back out in the country camping on the land. During the Queer Freedom Day festivities, Eric (aka Cattail) invited me to come to a Fourth of July camping weekend at his and Mitcho’s land in Covelo. Coincidentally, Yoyo (aka Joe), who I met at Antler’s Comfort & Joy Afterglow party, is the current caretaker and Eric and Mitcho’s place. So, I got a ride up with Andrew, his boyfriend Nori, and Anthony. We talked radical politics for part of the ride, considering my proposal for limiting income from all sources to $7 million a year.
We ate at a Chinese buffet restaurant on the way up, after getting a jump start for the van from a neighbor on Bernal, near my house.
We arrived fairly late at night, but I really wanted to set up my tent so I could feel fully landed and grounded in this beautiful place. So, I asked Eric, who was kind of helpful, and Yoyo, who brought me to a fabulous camping spot in a madrone grove not far from the main cabin. The path to the location feels like it is magically warded somehow because I have to concentrate very hard to remember the path even though it’s within shouting distance of the cabin.
Jack T., former housemate, is also at the Covelo gathering and it is great to have an informal environment where we can reconnect.
So far today, I’ve done my yoga — been keeping up a good practice, although my lower back seems tight — and helped with installing a solar water pump down by a creek, which was fairly hard work, but I got to jump under little waterfalls in the creek afterwards. Apparently, there is a bigger river to play in nearby which I hope to check out a bit later today. These are all tributaries of the Eel River, which Mitcho tells me is one of the last few clean rivers around here.
Buck and his friend Prickly made magnificent Hawaiian macademia nut, mango, blueberry pancakes for breakfast, which I ate along with a mimosa from Eric. I skipped the bacon and eggs.
Yesterday, the mystery of what happened to Guille was solved. I noticed him online and chatted him up. He was cordial and even friendly and loving, yet he was on there to call his sister for her birthday. The day before he had sent me an email explaining that he had received the funds for his mother’s medical treatment, that the treatment was going well, and that he had been busy traveling around to take care of her. In other words, he was very busy, so didn’t have time to answer my emails or phone calls during that week. Then, while we chatted online, when I realized he was preoccupied with his sister’s birthday, I offered to wait and chat with him whne he finished with her. He seemed glad about that and said, “Dale,” in Spanish, which means, “Let’s do it.” So, I waited and waited for him, then I noticed that he signed off chat, then briefly back on, then off again, without chatting with me. I can’t help but feel disappointed. I’m feeling like the best move now would be to let him contact me, rather than throwing so much of my energy into what may be a lost cause.
No, that is too harsh. I want to let him contact me so that there is a balance in desire to connect within the relationship.
Interestingly, Paul T., who I met in Rio on my last trip and who now lives in Cordoba, Argentina, started chatting me up yesterday. This after I had decided not to seek him out any fruther since he didn’t want to meet with me while I was in Argentina. I told him that I didn’t feel like he was really a friend because chatting online once every several months didn’t make a friendship for me. I asked him if his boyfriend had broken up with him, and of course that was the case, probably because he gave his boyfriend the same on-and-off again attentions he has given me. He thinks a deep connection with me isn’t possible because of the distance, or so he says to me, even though he is now coming to the States on a regular basis. We left it that he will contact me on his next trip to the States and we will meet in person to see how things work out between us. Basically, I feel like it’s up to him at this point.
Meanwhile, on the eve of Queer Freedom Day in San Francisco, I met up with Robin Hood, who I had met previously at the Vancouver Green Body radical faerie gathering. He is a faerie who lives on an island on the Canadian coast. He and I set up a ritual (or scene) where I met him at the dinner that Kirk R. and his partner Ed had set up for Canadians coming to Witch Camp in Mendocino redwood territory. The scene involved a whirlwind tour of San Francisco’s queer underbelly, with him blindfolded and on collar and lead. We had a great time at various venues, such as navigating through 20,000+ people at the Pink Party on Castro Street, where I showed him the center of gay mecca as well as Harvey Milk’s camera shop, while we danced, him blindfolded, in the streets. People tried yanking his chain, removing his blindfold, and other shenanigans, sometimes without permission, but apparently the protective spell we cast to initiate the ritual on my back deck held well throughout the evening. We also visited the Hole in the Wall, where we removed the blindfold briefly so he could appreciate the visual panoply of this historic dive, then to the Powerhouse which we checked out and kissed and got blown on the rear patio after navigating stairs jam-packed with sweaty guys, all while he was still blindfolded and on collar and lead. Then, to Blow Buddies, the first time for both of us, where they made us remove the blindfold, and we watched lots of mindless sex in little cabins with glory holes and got blown again by a cute boy who sat on a toilet seat after we pissed in the nearby urinals. I liked how Robin Hood shared the boy freely with me and I loved the feeling of his short dark hair in my hands as my dick slid in and out of his sweet throat. I pet him as he sucked me, then kissed him after I came in his mouth, tasking my own cum on his lips. Then, we left Blow Buddies and headed to Afterglow, a Comfort & Joy party at Antler’s place in the Inner Richmond. There, we released our scene of Beauty (Robin Hood) and the Prince (moi) by Robin Hood saying, “And they lived happily ever after.” We partied a bit more there and I met a delicious faerie named Yoyo who Robin Hood urged me to get to know better, so I made out with and smoked a little pot with him. It turns out he is caretaking Eric (Cattail) and Mitcho’s cabin up at Covelo, and the next morning, after riding groggily with Mikes on Bikes (gay guys on bicycles) just after Dykes on Bikes (lesbians on motorcycles) who start the Queer Freedom Day Parade in San Francisco, I was at a brunch with Cattail and Mitcho where Cattil invited me to a little gathering over July 4th weekend at their place in Covelo. Thus, a possible time to hang out with Yoyo some more, although he may still have a “friend from New York” visiting him at that time. I’m trying not to get too attached to the notion of him falling for me, although I bet I could fall for him.
I saw him again on Queer Freedom Day when I went with the brunch boys from Johnny Thunder and Brian’s place in the Haight over to the Faerie Freedom Village. We weaved our way through the humungous crowds to drop our bikes off at the cool valet parking offered by the San Francisco Bike Coalition. The Faerie Freedom Village seemed more packed than usual, and with a lower proportion of faerie faces I knew to those I didn’t. That still meant hundreds I did meet and greet, including Ron and Rog who are real sweeties. A photographer friend persuaded Ron and me to get nekkid for pictures in the Vilalge, including some with the grease-covered buy in overalls who organizes Mikes on bikes each year. Hopefully, she will email copies of the pics as promised. I even had enough energy to stop in at the Mikes on Bikes party at Marty’s place on 14th St. on my bike ride home. I was hoping Yoyo might show up there as well, but he had been up all night since he stayed at Antler’s and probably crashed out somewhere before heading to the Mikes on Bikes party. I called and left a message with him about potentially hanging out a bit in Covelo over July 4th weekend. I will go anyway because it sounds like a fun group and an amazing place, even if I don’t get to hang with Yoyo.
Meanwhile, I’m focusing this week on Egypt, reading history and learning hieroglyphics. My project is gradually coming together and I’m very excited to be working on my true passion. Let’s hope the money side of things works out as well.
I’m really loving riding my new bike with the raised handlebars, so I don’t have to worry so much about my neck/spine trouble, and I’m ready to check out local swimming pools to get even more exercise. I’m doing yoga almost every day before I work on the novels, and I’m eating carefully to keep my weight down. I’m experimenting with going off my blood pressure medication and, so far, the blood pressure reading averages appear to be the same as when I was on the medication.
Storm’s buddy Hawke is visiting us for awhile and we are still searching for another housemate since the departure of Joannes (aka Janice) and Kat. I saw them at the Trans Rally and March on Friday, which I attended wearing a paisley skirt on my new bike.
Taking care of Grampy in Washington, D.C., along with my mother, was important.
Sending money to Guille in Montevideo may have been foolish. I’ve been trying to reach him by phone every day since I got back here with no success. I’m not sure why it’s so much worse for me not knowing what has happened then, let’s say, hearing from him that he no longer wants me to contact him. The uncertainty of not knowing if something has happened to him is part of it. Perhaps it’s part of my “wanting to rescue a boy” complex like Nikas talked about.
I met Nikas when I invited Storm out for a night dancing at the End Up. Storm flirted with him first — we both thought he was real humpy. It surprised me when he said he wanted to spend the night with me instead of Storm. He actually gave Storm $20 for a taxi home when I mentioned I was worried about him getting home OK. Storm seemed happy with the arrangement and Nikas didn’t seem like a psycho-killer, so I went home with him.
When we arrived in his bed, he told me has been HIV+ for years. We still hugged and kissed. I was horny, so jacked him off, which he liked, and he then did the same for me. It was comfortable hanging out with him, even though he confided in me that he’s had a speed addiction, shooting it up. Although he says he’s now off it, I get the sense that it may rear its ugly head in his life again. We ate a nice brunch at a place called Cafe 69, or something like that, on Maiden Lane. Then, we went our separate ways. It’s been a few days and I haven’t heard a peep from him. He has my info and Storm has his phone number in his cell phone.
From Alexander Bloomfield’s apartment in Rockville, MD:
I caught a cold from Grampy’s helper Bertila on Monday, so I’m feeling congested and have a sore throat. I’m still cooking meals for Grampy and the rest of us with Mom’s help. Grampy’s spirit seems to rise when he eats good food, although sometimes he claims not to care about what he eats. He definitely has a sweet tooth, consuming a lot of cake and chocolate. Luckily, getting him back on his blood pressure medication has lowered his blood pressure to acceptable levels. Twice a day, Mom, Grampy, and I sit around the table taking our blood pressure and we all remind each other to take our pills each morning.
I went down to the front dest of the apartment building yesterday where I met Bev(erly) and asked her where I could go to buy a boombox. She told me where I could go, but then mentioned that she was trying to give an old one away and she’d be happy to bring it in the next morning. I told her a few times I’d be glad to pay her for it, but she said she didn’t want anything for it. When I asked ni9cely one more time when picking it up from her this morning, she mentioned that if I really wanted, I could get her three or four mangoes, so that’s my mission before leaving here on Saturday.
I’m lying around listening to the music I got in Brazil and trying to recover rapidly from this cold. I’m homesick for San Francisco and lovesick for Guille. I want to get myself set up at home to do yoga then write for a couple of hours each morning. I want a bicycle that won’t strain my neck when I ride it. I want to start swimming 2-3 times a week in a nice swimming pool.
The next morning when we woke up, I got all the money Guille would need for his journey and gave it to him. Then I told him that morning was our last chance to be intimate with each other for a long time and I wanted to be intimate with him, but I would understand if he wasn’t interested. He went for the intimacy! đ
After we got cleaned up, packed, ate breakfast, and checked out of the Hotel El Sol, we bought Guille’s bus ticket and brought my laundry to a lavaderia where they agreed to have it ready within a few hours. We walked through town, had a drink after sitting for awhile on a park bench, then picked up the laundry and headed back to an Internet cafe where I called in a hotel reservation, and emailed my uncle about not being able to cover him on grandparent duty during his trip to South Africa because it would start a day before I return from this trip and because things are crazy at home in San Francisco — I heard from my housemates Kat and Joannes that they will move out and the contractor working on the roof of the rear bay window has apparently really screwed things up. I told my uncle that I would of course be available on an emergency basis to fly to Rockville and help my mother take care of the grandparents if necessary. I haven’t heard back from him in almost two weeks — he didn’t even reply to email from Pierrette, our relative who I visited in SĂŁo Paolo (more about that later).
It was rough hanging out in the Puerto Iguazu bus station waiting to say goodbye to Guille — as I write this tears are springing from my eyes. I think I really fell for him. I heard from him later, after calling him, that he made it back home just fine, then went to his hometown to visit his sick mother. He asked when we will meet again. I asked if he’d like to come study English in San Francisco. I haven’t heard back from him yet — it might be a bit much for him.
The bus ride to Foz do Iguaçu, the town on the Brazilian side of the border, was uneventful. I had to get off at the border, go through the formailities, then board the following bus. I walked from the bus stop at a supermarket to the Posada Evelina. Evelina’s adopted son let me in with the minimum hospitality required. Later, Evelina returned to the hotel and gave me an orientation with a bit of motherly advice. I met an Israeli woman named Elizabeth who, aside from her recovery from bad weather in Rio where she had brought some friends, was friendly and fun to converse with in French. We decided to go for dinner at the soup bar restaurant she had found with lots of vegetarian options — the first since Buenos Aires in my meaty travels.
After dinner, we walked to a restaurant in the center where a charming fellow was singing and playing guitar. We delighted in sample the creme mamĂŁo (papya) with cassis dessert and each had a different flavor of caipirinha. Elizabeth danced a bit and even dragged me to the floor for a reggae tune at the end of the evening. We went off in search of more fun in town, convincing ourselves that it really wasn’t as dangerous as the guidebooks and mother Evelina had warned us. But the town was dead, so we just walked back to the hotel and went to sleep.
Luckily our trip to the Argentinian side of the Iguazu Falls was a great success. We headed to the falls on the first available bus and the place was virtually empty when we arrived. We walked almost the entire “Upper Circuit” path of the falls before encountering another person, so it was a magical and romantic experience. That trail and the “Lower Circuit” trail make it possible to see many of the falls up close, far away, and from all different angles.
The falls are much more spectacular than what I remember of my trip ages ago to Niagara Falls, especially the part called Devil’s Throat (Garganta de Diablo). Guille fell into a bit of a trance there, whereas I started to get a bit motion sick and had to step away for awhile. We also took a boat ride which brought us right up under the falls so we got totally soaked. It wasn’t that warm a day and we ended up shivering for awhile on the boat and on a truck ride through the forest back to the center of the park.
On the truck ride, we learned that the true palmito tree is an endangered species with not many living anymore in the park or elsewhere. The palmitos we usually eat are another species cultivated on farms in Brazil.
Before the boat ride, we had walked on an island trail which was quite wonderful as well. To round out the day, we took a last hike on a trail where we saw another guinea pic like creature and some coatis, which look like a cross between raccoons and anteaters and travel in little packs. We caught a bus on the road back to town and we were completely exhausted.
Guille grew more and more agitated about returning to Montevideo. He was worried about his mother’s health, about finding work, and about keeping his apartment with Santiago. So we agreed that he would head back to Montevideo via Buenos Aires the next day, while I would continue on to Brazil. I drew a tarot card which confirmed that was the best idea… the Hermit! I felt a bit hurt especially because he didn’t want to be very affectionate with me. I think he may have worried that I would try to keep him with me. So we slept in two separate beds. Of course, neither of us slept well at all.
We crashed for a long time, then woke up too late for breakfast. I tried cuddling with Guille but felt like I was waking him up, so instead lay awake in the darkness feeling a bit frustrated. When he finally did wake up, we had a long talk in which he said we had to “adapt” to each other. Honestly, after talking with him I couldn’t see how he was adapting to me and he couldn’t give me any descriptions of it either.
Guille and I had some conflict, which at times seemed resoved, but at other times seemed like it could present ongoing difficulties. He likes to use tons of deoderant and can’t kiss without brushing his teeth or chewing gum. I guess I could adjust to that by trying to find a deoderant that we both like and by keeping gum close to the bed. He’s fascinated by operations and treatments to make people supposedly more beautiful, whereas I am generally repelled by them.
{May 24: In hindsight, I wish I had just adjusted instead of continuing the conflict.}
We drove in a 4×4 from Ypa Sapukai posada in Colonia Pelligrini to Posadas. We stayed at a lousy hotel. We walked around town, spent a couple of hours catching up on email at an Internet cafe, and ate a couple of meals, the first at a pizzeria and the second at a fancier pasta place, where one waiter dropped some dishes with one broken piece sliding dramatically across the entire length of the restaurant, coming to rest under a table by the front entrance, to the surprise of many of the guests and seemingly unnoticed by the staff. We ate too much at the restaurant but, perhaps bolstered by the bottle of wine we drank, decided to get ice cream as well. I suggested the small dish but Guille insisted on a larger one. Dirty children came by our table begging for spare change. I tried to give them the ice cream but Guille was horrified and the kids didn’t want it and quickly moved on. Guille thought I meant for him to share the ice cream with the kids, rather than just giving it to them.
We wandered the streets of Posadas a bit more, heading toward the walkway by the port, but suddenly I didn’t feel so well in my digestive tract, so we headed back to the hotel. Sure enough, I had a bit of diarrhea. That settled my feelings about Posadas.
The next day, the new guests headed out on the boat ride while Guille and I spent the day jogging and swimming in the pool on the hotel grounds. He can do cartwheels and even flips on the lawn and can run much faster than I can. He’s also easily embarassed by things I would never even think to worry about — for example, he insisted on holding a small towel over his swimsuit while running after swimming in the pool, yet he snuck his swimsuit off to swim completely naked a couple of times too.
In some ways, travelling with Guille is idyllic. He’s gorgeous for one. When he touches me, I go crazy. And most of the time when he’s not touching me, I’m still lusting after him.
He’s a big fashion fan and loves the stars and everthing that has to do with them. He fantasizes about helping stars who are in trouble and loves the music of Madonna (which I kind of like) and Britney Spears (where are my ear plugs?!), and others. He has little interest in local film, prefering horror and suspense films from the U.S.
I’m not really sure what attracts him to me — perhaps because I’m the first norteamericano he has made love with — or some kind of mythical association with the U.S. and all the stars? He has preferred older guys in the past. And he worries that I am just attracted to him for sex, which is definitely not the case, although I really love making love with him.
He likes to sleep until 1:00pm every day and recently lost a hairdressing job when the owner of the shop shut it down and didn’t bother to contact him. I have to decide how much further to travel with him. Considerations: compatibility, cost, experiences enhanced, experiences missed (like meeting other guys).
Anyway, after a lovely day by the pool, we joined the other guys for dinner at the hotel. The hotel staff, with whom Guille was by now quite intimate, prepared a local gaucho (cowboy) breakfast which looked really heavy and wasn’t vegetarian — they had forgotten to prepare a vegetarian dish for me but showed up with rice and eggs a bit later. Dessert was a flan with caramel.
After dinner, we all went for a couple of drinks — Quilmes beer in large amber bottles — at the only bar in town, which also served as a bike rental and souvenir shop. I met some cute guys from Entre Rios at the next table who worked a tractor in the countryside. I noticed a family resemblance between two of them and asked if they were brothers — turns out they were cousins. One of them laughed and looked at me in a kind of flirting way before leaving, which made Guille jealous.
A local mule trudged up to a window and stuck his head in as if expecting us to give him a beer. A cowboy sat with his pre-teenage son, both sharing a big bottle of beer. Strange black beetles flew into the light then flopped helplessly on their backs on the ground.
On the way back to the hotel, we tried without success to recognize any of the constellations in the beautiful starry sky.
After grabbing a quick breakfast at Hotel El Sol, Guille and I took a taxi to the bank where we kept the young driver waiting for more than a half hour while changing money. We made it to the bus station in time to catch the bus for Colonia Pelligrini, the site of the ecological reserve called Esteros de IbarĂĄ.
The bus ride was crazy — an old bus packed full of people and supplies. We traveled to several local homes looking for passengers before heading on our way to Colonia Pelligrini. The road was packed dirt and quite muddy in places where the rain from a recent storm gathered.
Along the way, we came across a broken-down van with several tourists and a drunk man, probably a migrant ranch worker, who we dubbed the “cowboy”. After shuffling people and luggage around for half an hour, we were ready to continue on our way.
About ten minutes later, the bus’ motor died and the driver and faretaker went through a complex procedure to get it started again. This gave us a welcome break to stretch our legs from the cramped position we were in.
The drunk cowboy offended Guille when he boarded with a muddy bag that he rubbed on Guille’s coat and hand as he sat down, practically in Guille’s lap. Finally, I told the guy to move over onto the wooden plank the faretaker had placed across the middle aisle for him to sit on. Guille said it wasn’t necessary — I replied that it was for me, not for him — and I could see that Guille was relieved when the guy did move over.
Then he started coming on to the Spanish woman seated nearby, which horrified most of the people on the bus. I wanted to help, but there wasn’t much I could do except ask her if she was upset and wanted to change seats. She said she preferred not to change, but eventually the outrage of the other passengers was so great that a forceful local woman practically dragged her to another seat, which she admitted afterwards was more pleasant.
A little while later, we noticed the smell of wine on the bus and a puddle of wine on the floor. Several people checked the cases of wine stored on the floor to see if they had broked, but it turned out that it was a box of wine in the dirty bag the cowboy brought on board that had spilled everywhere. He took the box of wine out of the bag and started drinking more. He was so drunk that even Guille couldn’t understand much of his Spanish. He claimed to have German parents and tried to speak a few words of German with me.
His skin was the texture of leather, hardened and bronzed by the sun. Had he not been eternally drunk, he could have been a handsome man. Finally, he got off the bus at a local ranch and tried to persuade a man there to hire him, or so it seemed.
As we neared the ecological reserve, we saw more of the diversity of animal and plant life, including the first capibaras, known locally as carpinchos, that I had ever seen. Guille calls them big rats, but I think of the carpinchos as huge guinea pigs and I find them adorable. For that reason, I gave Guille the nickname of “carpinchito” (small capibara).
The bus ride scheduled for three hours ended up taking six hours, but we did finally, after miles of “mud skiing,” end up at Colonia Pelligrini, where there is a charming campground and the wonderful Ypa Sapukai hotel where we are staying. After watching the sunset from a little tower on the hotel grounds, we had a vegetarian meal and slept well.
