Always sorry

You’re always sorry, you’re always grateful

After the relative ease and delay-free nature of my journeys so far, I guess I was due some travel problems and duly got them in bucket loads on my trip from Chicago to Toronto.  It should have been straightforward – a 6pm flight that should have taken 90 minutes, getting me in at 8:30pm Toronto time. From there it would simply be a short taxi ride to the centre and to David’s apartment. Things started off ok, I arrived at the airport in plenty of time and went to check in. I had booked my flight using the BA miles I had racked up over years of travelling for both work and pleasure. American Airlines charges $25 to check in a bag but the check-in machine asked if I wanted to upgrade to business for $45, which then gave me free checked baggage and free drinks on board. I figured at $7 a drink I could get through $20 of gin on the flight even though it was only 90 minutes long.

Sat waiting for the plane the departure time kept creeping slowly upwards. I counted at least half a dozen revised times. I texted David on the number he had given me to give him an update of my new arrival time, which was rapidly descending from a respectable mid evening time to late night. I knew David had a very busy work week and the last thing he would want was to have to be waiting up to let me in once I finally arrived.  We finally started boarding the plane around 9:30pm, catapulting AA to the top of my delays list, a new tab I had added to my spreadsheet while I was waiting for the flight. I gave David a quick call to let him know that we were boarding, give him an updated arrival time and apologise. He didn’t answer the phone and it went though to voicemail so I left a message. For good measure I dropped him a message on Facebook too.

I settled into my seat and was offered a drink while everyone else boarded. I asked for a large gin and tonic, which the steward was only too happy to get me. He asked if I had been on one of his flights last week, which I hadn’t. During the short flight I got through another 2 gin and tonics (gins and tonic? Gins and tonics?) and came out $1 up. We landed at around 11:30pm Toronto time. I was first off the plane, switching my phone on & calling David to let him know that I had arrived. Again there was no answer and it went to voicemail. I started to worry slightly that he hadn’t answered either call.

I headed to immigration and got asked a few questions by the man at the booth. He wrote some sort of number code on my landing card and sent me on my way. As I headed out another guard was collecting the landing cards. He asked for mine & I handed it to him. He looked at the code on it, gave it back to me and pointed to a large room at the side. Everyone else handed in their cards and sailed straight through to the baggage reclaim area. I went in the room and waited for an immigration officer to be free. There were two on duty, both involved in long conversations with other travellers. I could feel my heart rate pick up as I stood waiting to talk to an immigration officer, conscious of the 3 gins I had consumed on the plane. I can only assume that they didn’t like the fact that I am coming from the US to Canada but have a UK passport. The man asked me where I had come from and I started to explain my year of travels. I stopped short of explaining the full 80 Gays concept as he didn’t look like he would be very interested in that. He asked a few more questions which I answered and then he let me go. I grabbed my case & headed out of the baggage reclaim area. I now only had to find a cash machine and then get a taxi. The first two cash machines I came across were both out of service, not a great start. I considered getting in a taxi and asking him to stop at a cash machine on the way but think that might not go down so well. I spotted a member of staff from the airport and asked if there is another cash machine anywhere. They directed me to one, which was thankfully working. I got some cash and made my way to the taxi point, aware that it was now gone midnight.

There was a very long queue for the taxis but luckily David has told me that the limo service from the airport is only $5 more than the taxi (there is a flat fee in place) and a much nicer ride. I bypassed the queue and grabbed a limo. It is not like a limo back in London that you see driving through central London, normally with some drunken Essex girls hanging out of the roof and windows on a hen night. It is just a large car. The drive into the centre of town was mercifully quick. I phoned David again to let him know I am in a car on my way. I got the answerphone again.  The driver dropped me off at the address David had given me, which turns out to be a very large residential tower. I pressed the entry buzzer, spoke to the porter and got buzzed in, letting myself in to the lobby, realising that David has not given me his apartment number. I tried his phone again, but it went through to voicemail once again. I waited around, deciding what the best thing to do would be as it was approaching 1am. I buzzed the porter again who told me to come up to the lobby on the 9th floor.

I made my way up & to the reception desk. I explained the situation to the porter and his colleague. They looked at me rather sceptically. I offered to show them the exchange of messages I have had with David on Facebook. They asked what phone number I have for him. I tell them. They tell me they have the same one but it is his work number. That explains why he hasn’t been answering his phone at gone midnight then. One of them asks me how well I know him and would he get annoyed with being knocked up at nearly 1am. I say that he would be fine & they take me to his apartment. I knocked on the door. Nothing. We waited for a while. The porter suggested I knock again, a bit louder. I did and am relieved to hear movement from inside. A bleary eyed, pyjama clad David answered the door. I am grateful I don’t have to spend the night sat in reception waiting. I apologised several times, David gave me a hug to welcome me, told me to be quiet as a colleague of his is asleep in the spare room and pointed me towards the sofa, on which is a pillow, a sheet and a blanket. I slept well after such an epic journey.

“You’re always sorry, you’re always grateful” 
Lyrics from Sorry-Grateful from the musical Company

Through the revolving door

New friends pour, through the revolving door

View from the boat

New friends pour

As stomach lining meals before a big night out go, a salad with hardly any carbs is probably not the best choice, but I felt like I needed to eat something green & healthy again. The day had been taken up by a great brunch at Bakin’ & Eggs (definitely not healthy but very tasty), then a spot of cruising, checking out some impressive erections.  I can thoroughly recommend the architectural river cruise if you are ever in Chicago. Our guide talked constantly for the 90 minutes we were sailing, imparting pearls of wisdom about the buildings we pass and the history of Chicago. I walked back through downtown Chicago and back to Bob’s to get ready for our night out.

After dinner (the aforementioned salad) we headed to Sidetracks, a very large bar in the middle of Boystown.  The venue played good music and was filled with a mixed, friendly crowd. We met up with some of Bob’s friends, Jorge & Wes, and spent a few hours chatting, checking out the boys walking by and drinking.  Bob and his man headed home for a fairly early night and I was duly handed over to his friends like a big gay baton.  We got another drink and then headed to a different part of the bar – it was like a labyrinth – several rooms on different levels, numerous bars and lots of boys.  I got chatting to some of Jorge’s friends who had joined us. I did the standard speech about my trip when asked if I was here on vacation (holiday) and asked the new people what they did for a living etc.  In another example of it being a small world they both work for the same company I used to work for. I explain how I used to chair the LGBT employee network in the UK (my unofficial title being Head of Gays) but also know some of the network chairs from the US and Canada from various calls we have had. They know the names I reel off.  I moved the conversation away from work.

Jorge and Wes decide to head home and I am once again passed on, baton style, to my new friends. We grab one more round in Sidetracks before heading to Minibar, a much smaller venue with a much younger crowd. I feel old. Here my new friends bump into some of their friends, out celebrating a birthday. I get introduced to the birthday boy and wish him a very happy birthday. He asks if I am English. I tell him I am. He then makes a suggestion that makes me blush. The Americans do like the English accent. I decline his offer. I finally head home at gone 2am having met some great new friends.

Through the revolving door 

The Hancock building

The next day I am up fairly early and surprisingly hangover free. I see the lodger in just his shorts again as he walks to the kitchen to get a drink. He heads back to his room and I can hear him chatting to someone. The other voice is female. A relaxed Sunday follows, which is not too dissimilar to the Saturday before. We head for brunch, a phenomenon I am getting used to. I’m not sure back in London that I would ever wait quite so long for a table but here it seems to be the done thing. While we wait we have a few drinks. I head to the bar to order 3 mimosas. The barman points out that for a few dollars more I can buy the bottle of bubbly which will give us plenty of mimosas while we wait for our table. That is the sort of economy that I like so I buy the bottle and return with that, 3 glasses and a jug of orange juice.  I eat a meal of poached eggs, sausage patties, hash browns, tomato, biscuits and gravy.  I am beginning to understand why there are a lot of big people in the US.  The meal lasts me for the entire day. A few early evening drinks at Sidetracks, where on a Sunday they play showtunes, rounds off the evening. I have a couple of beers and enjoy chatting to Bob and his man. 

My final morning in Chicago I plan to go downtown to see the views from the Hancock building. The locals all tell me that instead of paying to go up to the observation deck it is better to go to the bar that is one floor below and use the money I would have spent on a ticket to the observation deck to buy a drink and enjoy the views from the bar.  A massive thunderstorm and torrential rain stops me from making it downtown though, so I never do take in the Top of the Cock. At least I have an excuse for going back to Chicago again sometime.

“New friends pour, through the revolving door” 
Lyrics from Old Friends from the musical Merrily We Roll Along

Posing for a picture

There are worse things, than staring at the water, as you're posing for a picture

There are worse things

The flight to Chicago is fairly uneventful. I exchange pleasantries with the man sat next to me. He asks about my accent, asking if I am from Australia. I get mildly offended. After I tell him I am English we duly chat about the weather. The forecast is for a weekend of rain and thunderstorms, he tells me.  I arrive in Chicago at the same time as my host, “Bob” (his coffee name not his real name) is leaving for a night in Toronto.  I head downtown to collect the keys from Bob’s colleague and then head up to his apartment & get settled in.  He has sent me a rather detailed email explaining that when I get to his I will be greeted by a cat, Molly, and a lodger, Toby. He also tells me that Toby, who is extremely easy on the eye, is straight. I’m not sure what he was expecting me to do to the lodger that he felt it necessary to inform me he didn’t bat for our team.

I decide to have a quiet evening in so that I am fresh for the morning and can hit Chicago at a pace. Bob has lined up a chaperone/tour guide, Robert, for the next day so I text him and we make plans to meet in the morning for breakfast. I spend the evening relaxing listening to the radio and looking through the photos I’ve taken so far.  Toby comes in, shirtless, to ask if his music is too loud. It isn’t. He stays in the doorway to tell me that if it gets too loud then I should let him know. I thank him. Shortly after he comes in wearing just a towel, with a pair of jeans in his hand, which he explains belong to Bob. They were hanging over the shower rail & he didn’t want to get them wet when he had a shower. I text Bob to double-check the lodger is really straight, having now seen him in a state of undress twice within the space of a few minutes.

Than staring at the water

I wake the next morning, opening my eyes to find Molly asleep on my pillow right next to me, which makes me jump, which makes her jump.  After 2 weeks of travelling and sleeping in 5 different places I’m still learning I need to remember where I am when I wake up. I shower and get ready, and get a message from Robert asking me if I am dressing “American” or more “Euro”. I reply that I have a t-shirt and shorts on. I am curious as to what “Euro” would be – maybe a stripy t-shirt, a beret and a string of onions? He also suggests I wear comfortable shoes, a trait that comes naturally to lesbians. I follow their lead and put on my Birkenstocks.

We head to a lovely little café for breakfast, walking via Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago somethings baseball team. They are playing the New York somebodies that day and he asks if I fancy watching the game. I’m not a big sports person so I pass, opting for a schedule of more cultural tourism. I was always one of the last to be picked for sports teams at school and don’t really enjoy anything where there might be balls flying towards my face…

Crystal Palace

Over breakfast we chat about what I want to do and see while I am in Chicago and I go through the list that Craig gave me. On my list is a trip up the Hancock building, one of the taller buildings in the city which has an observation deck at the top.  Robert (and his colleagues) found it amusing that I called it “The Top of the Cock”.  I had been led to believe that this was what everyone referred to it as. We chat about where we are both from & now live, work and my travel plans. After breakfast we get the metro downtown and go to get tickets for the architectural river cruise.  They have all sold out for the day. I book myself a lunchtime cruise for the following day as half the cruises for tomorrow are also sold out.  We then head to the Art Institute of Chicago, where there are a couple of specific pieces that I really want to see, as well as just have a look round.  Robert takes me to the Thorne Miniatures Room first, a hidden gem tucked away on the lower ground floor. Inside are dozens of recreations of rooms done in various styles from England, France and the US. The scale is one inch to one foot and the detail in them is incredible.  After that we head upstairs to see some of the paintings. There is a little confusion caused by my attempted map reading and my failure to realise that what I call the ground floor is called the first floor over here, making what I call the first floor the second floor. Such fun!

As you're posing for a picture

We find the galleries that I want to explore and I’m about to point out a picture that reminds me of Crystal Palace. I’d tried explaining what the Crystal Palace was as this is the area I live in back in London.  The painting turns out to be a Pisarro and is of Crystal Palace!  During the course of our time in the Institute we see the Suerat painting A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, the inspiration behind Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park with George, the morning version of the Houses of Parliament picture that mirrors the evening one I saw in DC, American Gothic by Grant Wood (the Desperate Housewives picture) & the Marc Chagall America Windows. We head out of the Institute over the bridge to Millennium Park where we stop to enjoy a beer. I try the local brew, opting for 312.  I’m asked if I want a small or large. I order large, thinking it will be pint. It is 32oz, which is over a pint and a half. It’s a nice refreshing brew on a warm day.  We head to see the bean, a giant polished metal sculpture which is crowded with tourists doing wacky things & taking photos of their reflections. From there we head to the lakeside and walk up along the shore of the lake (stopping for a beer) before heading through Lincoln Park (stopping for a beer) before finally returning to Bob’s. I thank Robert for his chaperoning and company, another new friend made. It has been great to spend the day with a local who has been able to point out lots of things I would otherwise have missed.

Dean at the bean

I bump into Bob, and his man, leaving for dinner as I am getting back. While they go grab a bite to eat I shower & change, grabbing a snack before they return to take me out for a few drinks.  We head to a rather interesting place called Big Joe’s which apparently is known for its Friday night entertainment of turtle racing.  When you buy a drink from the bar you are given a numbered ticket.  Once the turtle races begin the host draws six numbers out & the lucky people are effectively the “jockeys” for the turtle race. Each one picks a numbered ball & is allocated a turtle, which are all waiting in the centre of a large board with a circle painted on it.  The first turtle to leave the circle once the race starts is the winner.  There is a t-shirt for the winner and a free drink for the person who comes in last.  As we quickly discover after two heats, the free drink invariably goes to the person who drew Yolanda. When her name is called out the host, and the turtle racing regulars all shout in unison that she is “the slowest f***ing turtle in the world”.  We don’t get drawn as jockeys for the first two races so we head off, missing the action of the last four heats & the final race, which the winners of the heats compete in for a place in a prize draw for a holiday to Vegas. It certainly made for an interesting experience! We head to a bar called Big Chicks, which despite the name, is not a bar for the gay ladies. A nightcap there and then back home to bed rounds off my first day in Chicago. 

“There are worse things, than staring at the water, as you're posing for a picture” 

Lyrics from Sunday in the Park with George from the musical Sunday in the Park with George

Hear the bells

I can hear the bells, just hear them chiming

My arrival into Philadelphia was somewhat unspectacular. The Megabus was not so mega, arriving nearly an hour late, circling the drop off point twice waiting for a space to free up so we could park and get off the bus. Still, for $19 I don’t suppose it was too bad. I get a train to Ambler, to meet up with Sean & Keith, Gays 4 and 5. I’ve decided to count couples as two gays although I think that might take me to more than 80 by the end of my travels. We head back to theirs and Keith tells me what he plans to cook for dinner. Yet another great welcome from the gays. I feel like I have been really lucky so far and hope that it continues for my whole travels.

We are joined for dinner by Christopher, their next-door neighbour. A bottle of wine is cracked open and soon both the wine and the conversation are flowing. We discuss how we each know the mutual friend, David, who put is in touch. We also watch The Tony Awards show on TV, the Broadway Oscars, and possibly one of the gayest programmes on TV. If you don’t believe me check out the opening from this year.

The next morning I am awake fairly early so I do some admin. I managed to book myself a flight from Chicago to Toronto using some of the many BA miles I racked up while I had a job. The flight costs me 12,500 miles and £1.50. Bargain.

We have breakfast round at Christopher’s and Keith suggest a drive out to a little town called New Hope, on the Delaware River, on the border of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The three of us jump in the car (Sean having gone to work earlier) and we head out. It is really nice to be out of the city and New Hope is a great little town to wander round. We walk along Main Street, look in some of the shops and I buy some postcards from the local bookshop. I’ve promised to send mother and my sister some postcards while I am away. We cross the bridge, taking us into New Jersey, stopping to watch a man in a kayak being attacked by an overprotective swan with cygnets. After a little walk round Lambertsville, the town on the New Jersey side of the Delaware we head back to Pennsylvania for lunch. A thoroughly relaxing day is rounded off with a few local beers with Christopher at a pub in Germantown.

Nelson Mandela/Morgan Freeman

My first full day in downtown Philadelphia, I spend being a proper tourist. I queue up to see the Liberty Bell. I know that it is a bell and that it has a crack in it but other than that I don’t really know anything about it.  There are lots of schoolchildren in the visitors centre but I try to read all the information boards about the bell. Basically it was made in England, shipped to Philly where it was placed in the State House. It promptly cracked the first time they rang it, a true mark of English craftsmanship. The exhibition included a couple of photos of famous world leaders at the Liberty Bell. The teacher showing round one group of children pointed to a photo of the Dalai Lama and asked if any of the children knew who it was. None of them did. Next she pointed at a photo of Nelson Mandela and asked the same question. One child responded with “Morgan Freeman”. I laugh out loud and have to walk off.

After getting some photos of the bell I go and see Independence Hall and Carpenters’ Hall. Independence Hall, as you may have guessed from the name, was where the Declaration of Independence and US constitution were debated and adopted. The Declaration of Independence was adopted there on 4 July 1776 so in a couple of weeks time there will be some big celebrations happening in the area. Carpenters’ Hall was the meeting place of the first Continental Congress.

After a morning learning about American history I head to go get a Philly Cheesesteak, a local delicacy that is basically a heart attack in a bread roll. The guidebooks tell you to go to Geno’s or Pat’s. The locals tell you lots of other places are better and it is one of these, Steaks on South, that I go to. I opt for the traditional choice and have mine with Cheez Whiz, cheese from a tube. I finish the whole sandwich, which takes some doing. I feel like I should walk to Chicago rather than fly in order to burn off the calories I’ve just consumed. I spend the rest of the afternoon walking round the quaint side streets of Philadelphia.

The evening we (Sean, Keith, Christopher & I) head out for a few drinks in the Gayborhood, the local term for their equivalent to Soho in London. We hit Woody’s first, a long-standing local pub. A couple of drinks later we move on to the Tavern on Camac. There is a piano bar downstairs but we head upstairs to where there is karaoke.  I don’t sing but Keith gets up and does a Coldplay number. Several drinks and a slice of pizza later and it’s a 3am finish for us. I have a lie in the next morning.

My final full day in Philly and I wake up to a message from my sister saying that Auntie Beat has passed away. She had had a good innings as they say but the news is still upsetting.

Eastern State Penitentiary

I go visit the Eastern State Penitentiary, a former prison, now a rather creepy museum.  They apparently open for night-time tours at Halloween and have actors who jump out at you from the old cells. The self guided audio tour is really good. There are some parts of the prison where there is nobody else around and despite it being broad daylight and warm I get goosebumps. I’d recommend a visit to anyone visiting.

Afterwards I meet Sarah, a friend of my old secretary, for some happy hour drinks. We head to a place called The Corner, I arrive about 15 minutes before it opens so I start a queue, like a good Brit. The bar has a very small roof terrace and it is a warm sunny evening so everyone is heading for it. We manage to get a corner table and within 15 minutes the entire terrace is packed. I raise a glass to Auntie Beat. Keith joins us for a drink and then we head to Smokin’ Betty’s. I have a chicken & bacon sandwich which rivals the Cheesesteak for size and calorie content. I still manage to finish it though.

Keith (l) & Sean (r)

The next morning it is time to head off once again, my suitcase packed I say goodbye to my hosts and thank them for putting me up and showing me around. I tell them that if they are ever in London then I will repay the favour and host them at my place. I’m hoping that all the gays I stay with don’t try to take me up on that offer at the same time as I would not have the space for them all!

At the airport I queue to check in for my flight, getting told off by the American Airlines woman at the counter for not using the self-service machines when I get to the front of the queue. I put on my best British accent to apologise and she checks me in. Next stop, Chicago, the windy city!

“I can hear the bells, just hear them chiming” 
Lyrics from I Can Hear the Bells from the musical Hairspray

Rain on my parade

Don’t bring around a cloud to rain on my parade

Saturday I get up and go for a bimble into Georgetown, which is a pleasant half hour walk. It’s not as hot as the previous couple of days and even I, with my shocking sense of direction, manage to get there without having to resort to checking Google maps every five minutes. Yes, it’s one straight road from where I am staying but that is beside the point. I do a spot of shopping – four new t-shirts. I like American clothes, I’m only a medium and could possibly squeeze into a small if I didn’t want to breathe.

I head down to see the Chesapeake & Ohio canal and watch the world go by for a while. I pick up some lunch on my way back and have a quiet afternoon ahead of attending DC Pride. I’ve never been a big pride parade person, having only done the London event once in the twelve years I’ve lived there. A friend from back home has put me in touch with a friend of his, Cary, who lives in Washington so I don’t have to spend the evening alone. Simon has to go to work, chaperoning the school prom.

Just as I am headed out some dark clouds roll over and I get hit with some large splodges of warm rain. I immediately think of Barbra in Funny Girl. It’s a clearing up shower though and soon stops. I meet Cary on the parade route & we head to a small bar called Stoney’s, which whilst not a gay bar, is full of gays. It’s the birthday of one of Cary’s friends and he has the upstairs bar reserved for his birthday celebrations. We head upstairs and I am made immediately welcome by Marc, the birthday boy. It’s a great spot to watch the parade from and my camera, with its good zoom lens, doubles as a pair of binoculars for getting a good look at the totty down below. I do some mingling, and get chatting to a guy for a while, explaining my trip when he asks if I am on vacation. The guy I spend most time chatting to happens to be the only straight man at the party. Chatting to a straight man at a gay birthday party on the day of gay pride. This is what we call Sod’s Law. Perhaps my gaydar isn't quite calibrating to the US settings yet?

The United States of Gay-merica

After the parade we head to JR’s, a bar on the main gay street (17th Street NW if you are headed there). I show them my (provisional) driving licence as ID. The woman on the door says that she can’t accept it. Cary and his friends (Shawn & Mike) have already gone in & been given wristbands. They come back out. I explain that I can run back and get my passport which is the only ID they will accept. We decide to try another bar but Cary manages to slip off his wristband and I manage to get it onto my wrist without breaking it. We head back to JR’s and get in. A couple of drinks later we head off, stopping by a liquor store to get some beers and make for the roof terrace of Shawn’s apartment building. The views from the top are stunning and there is a cool breeze. We sit chatting (and drinking) for a couple of hours and in the space of one evening I have made three new friends. I head home around 1am, knowing that I shouldn’t have too late a night as I need to be up (and not hungover) in the morning to catch a bus.

Sunday morning arrives and my time in the capital is at an end. I say goodbye to Simon, thanking him for his kind hospitality and head to get the Megabus that will take me to my next destination, Philadelphia – city of cream cheese!


“Don’t bring a around a cloud to rain on my parade” 
Lyrics from Don't Rain on my Parade from the musical Funny Girl

Lost for words

I have never felt like this, for once I’m lost for words

I have never felt like this

Another hot day in DC. I’ve managed to time my visit on the hottest June days since records began in 1874. I’m up early as I want to get a ticket to see the permanent exhibition at the Holocaust Memorial Museum. They hand out free timed tickets at 10am each day on a first come, first served basis. Once they are gone for the day that’s it. I make it to the museum by 9:30am having walked down from where I am staying. There is already a big queue that I duly join the back of. Luckily it is in the shade as the heat is already getting to me.  At 10am the queue starts to move fairly quickly and I get a ticket that will let me in after 1pm. Not too bad. I decide to head back to The National Mall to check out some more of the sights until the afternoon.

Before I got to DC I knew that I wanted to go to the Smithsonian – what I didn’t know was that it is actually a collection of 19 museums and galleries. There is no way that I would have time to do them all in my few days in DC so I adopt a policy of picking a couple of specific exhibitions at some of the museums & galleries that pique my interest. I’m discovering travelling alone allows you to be selfish and do what you want to do. I’m also discovering it means I have to make all the decisions. I head to the Museum of American History. After a quick detour to see the ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz, I take a tour of the First Ladies exhibition, stopping to take a photo of Betty Ford.  The collection of memorabilia from the White House ladies makes for interesting viewing. The exhibition included a number of dresses from the debuts of some of the more recent First Ladies, arranged in pairs. Rather cruelly, the tiny white dress worn by Nancy Reagan shared a case with the rather more voluminous dress of Barbara Bush. They make them bigger in Texas apparently.

Afterwards I go to see the original star-spangled banner, the 200 year old stars and stripes flag that inspired the anthem. Again I am impressed by the sheer size of it. The flag is 30 by 34 feet, having originally been 30 by 42 feet (bits were cut off it as souvenirs, including one of the stars). It is now kept in a climate controlled chamber with very dim lighting, a setting that should generate a calm reflective atmosphere if American schoolchildren knew how to be quiet, which they don’t.

For once I’m lost for words

After lunch I head back to the Holocaust Memorial Museum. As you enter the exhibition you pick a small book from a big stack that contains the real life story of someone sent to the concentration camps. Over the course of the exhibition you read more about their story and ultimately find out their fate. It really helps put the entire exhibition in context.  I had prepared myself for the exhibition to be moving and thought provoking and it was. The way the exhibition was set out and the narrative made for a very good story. It was good to see that the full story was being told, there was no gloss or omitting details to make it more palatable. There was a small mention of the other people persecuted too, including homosexuals. It makes me realise that I’m fortunate to live in a country in a time when being gay is more accepted. Yes, there are still people who hate or preach that being gay is wrong and sadly I think that they will always exist. It will be interesting on my travels to see how the attitudes of the people in each country that I visit differ. There are a number of places that I am deliberately not going to as part of my trip as I wouldn’t feel comfortable going there.

At the end of the exhibition I learn that the person in my booklet, along with his entire family, died in the concentration camps. The whole experience really did get me thinking and is definitely worth doing if you visit DC. I spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet contemplation and wander up to the Capitol to get some photos of the immense buildings and then head to the Old Post Office, which has a tower that you can go up (free, very small queue) to get some great views of the city.

The evening sees me head out for dinner and drinks with Simon which gives us a good opportunity to chat about life in DC, Sondheim, the gay scene and, of course, the weather. We have a great Thai meal. Both of us order dishes that have a little chilli symbol next to them. The waitress warns us that they are spicy dishes. They aren’t. I’ve noticed that the spicy food in the US is not as spicy as back home. Perhaps I have been spoilt by being only a 20-minute train journey from Brick Lane and the curry houses that fill it? The food however was extremely tasty and after a couple of post dinner G&T’s I’m ready to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep ahead of DC pride the following day.

“I have never felt like this, for once I’m lost for words” 
Lyrics from Unexpected Song from the musical Song & Dance/Tell Me on a Sunday

Open a new window

Open a new window, open a new door, travel a new highway, that’s never been travelled before

Open a new window

My final morning in NYC, I can’t believe I am already one week into my big gay travel extravaganza. My bus leaves at lunchtime so I spend the morning sat in the theatre where Ray is directing a rehearsal of his show that opens the next evening. I’ve never seen proper actors rehearsing or a director directing so it is an interesting experience for me. Since I no longer have a job of my own I’m finding I am taking much more of an interest in the jobs other people do. I try not to get in the way until it is time for me to leave.  The bus trip, which cost me all of $13, is pleasant enough. The bus is about one third full so there is plenty of space, it’s air-conditioned and has free Wi-Fi so I am able to message my sister & mother for a while.

Open a new door

I arrive in DC just over four hours later & the first thing that hits me as I wheel my case through bus parking lot behind Union Station is the heat. I had checked out how far it was to Simon’s, gay number three, on the map and thought I might be able to walk it. I decide against that and get a cab. I let myself into Simon’s loft apartment, which is a lovely space. There is a DC guidebook, a welcome note and directions to the gin bottle waiting for me. Amazing hospitality! A quick shower & change and I’m back out to meet Simon and some of his friends at Nellie’s, a gay sports bar. They are upstairs on the outdoor terrace and there is a bit of a breeze, which combined with a pint of lager helps cool me down a bit. Simon & his friends are off to a Scissor Sisters concert, alas long since sold out, but we have a quick catch up before they head off and I head back to plan my DC activities. I call in to a Whole Foods on the way back and pick up a salad and some fruit as I feel like I haven’t eaten anything healthy in a while.

Travel a new highway

The next morning, after breakfast & some 80 Gays travel admin, I get on the Metro, alighting at Foggy Bottom. Yes, the name makes me giggle. I head over to the Kennedy Center, bristling slightly at the American spelling. I pick up my ticket for Follies.  From there I head to the Lincoln Memorial, a massive temple like building which houses a 20-foot marble statue of the man. The white marble statue looks pristine and lifelike but what strikes me is the sheer size of the thing. I’ve seen these places on the television but that doesn’t give you a sense of the scale of it. Everything is bigger is America! From there I head up to the Washington Monument, another massive erection…

After that I head to see the Old Executive Office Building, which used to house various state departments and leads neatly to the White House. I take the standard tourist photos of the façade through the fence. A kind lady offers to take my photo for me but I decline. I am more than happy to get photos of the amazing sights that I see on my travels but don’t feel the need to spoil the view by standing in front of them to be in the photo. I’ll leave that to Dean, although I daren’t try balancing him on the fencing in front of the White House in case he, or I, get arrested or shot.

That’s never been travelled before

That evening I am back at the Kennedy Center for Follies. It’s been a very long time since I went to see a show on my own and I feel a little self-conscious. I take my seat early and read through the Playbill. I’m joined by a guy who I find out later is 64 years old, a florist and lives up near the National Cathedral.  We exchange pleasantries. Being British I bring up the weather as a safe topic of conversation. He mentions that it reached over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, a record for the time of year. It is a curious trait of the Brits that when we talk about the weather we use Fahrenheit when it is hot but revert to Celsius whenever it’s cold. I refrain from telling the guy that after my day walking around I felt like I needed to wring out my pants (British pants, not American pants).

The show starts. Bernadette Peters walks out on stage and everyone, apart from me, starts clapping. She hasn’t done anything yet so I don’t feel the need to clap. Another difference between the British and the Americans duly noted.  Every time a new person walks out on the stage they get applause, more or less, depending on how famous they are. I feel like clapping when Elaine Paige walks out in a show of British solidarity.

The show is stunning. I’ve never seen it before but it has some of my favourite Sondheim numbers in it. I’m happy to admit I am a total Sondheim-ite. Broadway Baby and Could I Leave You have all already been used as my blog post titles. Anyway, I am so pleased Craig told me to get a ticket as I thoroughly enjoy the performances and the staging of the show.  The ghostly showgirls drifting across the set in tattered costumes are a little eerie. The musical numbers are spine tingling.  Could I Leave You? is my favourite song of the whole show, such a heart felt performance from Jan Maxwell. All in all it is a great end to my first day in the US capital.

“Open a new window, open a new door, travel a new highway, that’s never been travelled before” 
Lyrics from Open a New Window from the musical Mame

Sing!

See I really couldn't sing, I could never really sing

Couldn't really sing

If you are a gay man who enjoys a good show tune, as I do, and you find yourself in New York on a Monday evening then there is only one place you should be. That place is Splash, for Musical Mondays.  Despite the fact that it is a Monday night, the place is packed.  Such is the allure of show tunes (and maybe the fact that the very well toned barman are all semi naked wearing just shorts or speedos). The format is straightforward – the gays all stand facing the giant screens down one side of the room upon which they play video clips from musical films or performances of musical numbers from shows. They play clips done by the big gays icons: Liza, Barbra, Patti; they play covers by the cast of Glee and even  play a rather interesting version of “I Know Him So Well” by John Barrowman and Daniel Boys. The gays in the room all sing along, some of the more adventurous ones climbing onto their barstools or the stage to do a routine too. The first time I ever went some guy had seemingly brought his own broomstick with him just so he could do a routine to Defying Gravity from Wicked.  There is no broomstick this time but that number is greeted with a massive cheer/squeal from the audience.  I wonder why they don’t have a similar thing back in London? My evening is made when they show Angela Lansbury (my idol) and Bea Arthur doing Bosom Buddies.  The lyrics from that song gave me the inspiration for my 1st blog post.

I get into a discussion with my friends about the quality of the gay men in New York.  I make the observation that a very large proportion of them have big arms.  It seems to be the thing to have. I don’t have big arms. We naturally progress onto talking about how attractive the gays are facially and how the general attractiveness is unrelated to the arms.  I introduce the Americans to the term BOBFOC (“Body off Baywatch, Face off Crimewatch”) to describe those people with the big arms but a face that only a mother could love. In return I learn the equivalent American phrase, Butterface (“everything but her face”). I feel like a cultural exchange student. There is a great photo op of me with Greg and Ray, Gay Number One and Two, who do an official handover, passing me between them like a big gay baton.

The handover

After the show tunes is a live performance by Kate Pazakis, who is a musical comedy genius with a great voice. She plays Diva Tag with another singer. This sees the two of them singing I Am Telling You from Dreamgirls, taking over singing each time they get tagged. Greg introduces me to Kate after she has finished her set. She will be in Provincetown the same time I am there so will hopefully get to see her perform again. I don't suggest a duet though.

Never really sing

Tuesday I walk pretty much the length of Manhattan and over the Brooklyn Bridge for good measure. I return sporting a nice farmer’s tan. The evening I catch up with a friend called Bill who is currently working on making a musical version of the film But I’m a Cheerleader.  It’s a film we once did a screening of for the gays at work and I loved it. I’m excited about there being a musical adaptation.  We are joined by Ray, Gay Number Two who has been working, directing a play that opens this week.  The gays are such creative types.  


As if I didn’t get a big enough fix of show tunes the day before we go for drinks at Marie’s Crisis.  The place, probably no bigger than my lounge back home, consists of a bar along the back wall and a piano at the side. Behind the piano sits a guy who has an encyclopaedic knowledge of show tunes which he plays while the patrons sing along. There is no screen with the lyrics, it’s not karaoke.  I soon realise there are some big gaps in my musical theatre knowledge as there are some songs I barely know the chorus to, let alone the full song. The crowd is very friendly though. I chat to a couple of random people. I also keep trying to chat to the drinks waiter as he has the most amazing deep voice that makes me go a little weak at the knee. I got through several gins.




“See I really couldn't sing, I could never really sing” 
Lyrics from Sing from the musical A Chorus Line

A city of strangers

A city of strangers, some come to stare, some to stay

A city of strangers

My first proper touristy efforts in NYC. I head to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  There is an exhibition of costumes by Alexander McQueen, Savage Beauty; I’ve been told I shouldn’t miss it. Because of the jetlag I am up early and at the Met for when it opens. I’ve texted a couple of friends but they clearly are having a lie in until a respectable time so don’t respond in time to join me.  The McQueen exhibition is stunning. His gothic inspired creations are set in surroundings that remind of the haunted house fairground rides from when I was young. It is probably best that I am there on my own as I have a massive urge to hide and jump out at someone to scare them. I’m finally relaxing into my travels as I leave the exhibition. It is at this point that I run straight into an ex from back home, together with his mother, who are here on holiday and seeing the same exhibit. The world truly is a small, and cruel, place. There is some stilted conversation about travels plans and the exhibition. I figured I was bound to bump into someone I knew while I was travelling I just didn’t expect it to be on my second full day. The random meeting puts me in a funny mood for the rest of the day.

Some come to stare

Dean & the bartender at Vynl

After a couple of hours at the Met I wander through Central Park, getting some photos of Dean, spending a few minutes listening to a group of schoolchildren singing show tunes in the park as I make my way to Hell’s Kitchen to meet a friend for lunch. We meet up and go to a great little Mexican place called Arriba Arriba. Lunch is mostly frozen margaritas with a side of some nachos and a taco salad. We sit outside, a great spot to people watch from. As we are sitting I ponder on whether we should be holding up scores for the people passing by, like in ice-skating, giving the men scores for technical merit and presentation. My friend who I’m dining with, Thompson, checks to see if there is an app for that on his iPhone. There is. We continue rating the people who pass us, but I note that he is a lot more generous with his scores than I am. Perhaps I am very choosy? A guy walking towards us is rated an eight by Thompson. As if the guy has heard his mark and wasn’t happy with it, he lifts up his t-shirt to use the corner of it to wipe his eye, revealing a rather well defined midriff. Thompson upgrades him to a nine. Dean makes friends with various bartenders and the afternoon slips into evening. I’m a creature of habit so once I am finally back home for the evening I sit & listen to the News Quiz on the radio.

Some to stay

Saturday is a typical New York day. A lazy morning allows me to chat to my sister over Skype and, after ironing out some technical difficulties, I also speak to mother. The technical difficulty being that she hadn’t actually logged into Skype…

The day is filled with wandering around the shops in Tribeca with Greg and Carlos before having brunch. More walking, this time over to the Christopher Street pier where we stop for a sit down. In the height of summer I can see that the small strip of grass on the pier would be head to toe gays sunbathing. Today, a slightly overcast day, there are a few guys with not much on working on their tans.

The Calle Ocho gang

Cocktails and dinner at Calle Ocho is the plan for the evening. There are five of us for dinner – me, Greg & Carlos and Craig and Ryan.  I get to sit at the head of the table as the guest/single person. I show Craig my notebook, filled out exactly as he suggested which pleases him immensely. There are birthday drinks after dinner making it a rather late, but thoroughly enjoyable, night. I feel like I am spending most of my time drinking and eating. I tell myself that it’s just because it is New York and I’ve done the touristy things before and that when I get to places I haven’t been before I will spend more time being cultured and less time with a gin in my hand. We’ll see.

“It’s a city of strangers, some come to stare, some to stay” 
Lyrics from Another Hundred People from the musical Company