Barely 24 hours in Madrid, I’m sitting at my favorite tapas place in the gayborhood. Drinking a red wine, munching away on a tapas. I left the office at 7.30 and felt I’d put a good day in, despite the jet lag, I was functioning. Now I’m functioning again. OMG – this place is crawling with Asians, all speaking with a Spanish accent. I check my pulse, I may have died and gone to heaven.
I’m watching a couple, old guy with a young Asian. Is this how TC and I look together? Disgusting. In fact, homos together are fairly revolting at some deep level for me. It’s just wrong. Some caveman instinct kicks in on me, I try and apply some higher order thinking. Slowly I do become more comfortable.
I wander back to the hotel. Everyone is thin here, no fat Americans. I wander with ease. Meandering with no purpose, it’s the European way, the ability to derive pleasure from doing virtually nothing. It’s a struggle for most Americans to grasp. There must be a sale going on somewhere. Not necessarily universally loved, but not hated as well.
Gay bars, bear clubs and unspoken places hidden behind imposing metal doors line my way home. With a new smoking ordinance, the streets are lined with those seeking a ‘puff’, mainly older guys.
But I go home. I am married, twice over. The Siberian Tiger is likely pacing his cage. He will be enroute soon enough. Not matter how much I think I might enjoy this wee bit of freedom, the reality, I like having my regular rules, a warm cage each night and saucer of milk before bed. I continue to defy the odds.