Gay kids, yes. Happy childhood? No.

AOG, Madrid

A few days ago I read an article on the Huffington Post which discussed how best to talk to children about gay people. 

The author suggested that the subject be approached with absolute normality since children will, as with all else, take their cue from the adults around them. 

And then it just finished. 

I, having been a gay child myself, stopped for a second and thought...well, this is very all very well and good but, how about we talk to children about gay children too?

About the fact that their school friends may be gay? 

Or, that other great taboo, about the fact that they themselves may be gay?

To those who think, or would like to believe, that children are somehow unaware of things like this let me reassure you: they are not. 

No, a child does not understand or needs to know about sex itself. Granted. 

But children grow up very fast and they quickly become aware, in the most natural way, of who they are attracted to. 

But I'm not talking about that. 

I am talking about a parent –and other adults– doing their children a disservice, and a great deal of harm, if they raise a gay child and never even stop to consider –and in many cases refuse to acknowledge– that their little boy or little girl might be gay. 

A bad example...

A couple of days ago I was in Sitges, Spain's Mediterranean gay capital, at an optician's buying some sunglasses. 

A straight couple and their three or four year old son were being waited on by a gay optician. 

The little boy needed sunglasses and they were trying on several different styles.

Finally they found one they liked and the little boy looked both very happy and very smart with them on. 

The mother was looking at her son very lovingly, as was the boy's father, who proudly stated to all and sundry that: "All he's missing is the girl!".

I won't go into the objectification of women as accessories to men's lives, but it struck me as the usual kind of heteronormative expectations that parents, especially fathers, thrust upon their male offspring. 

That man has probably never stopped to think that his little boy may be gay. And that is the problem. Or maybe he has, and that makes it even worse.

Even though the man waiting on them was gay himself, this guy never stopped to consider that his son may be gay too. 


It was an innocent enough comment on the proud father's part. But it is sad that a father's stock source of pride would be that his son should be straight too.

Growing Up Gay


Until I was a young adult I grew up thinking that I was the only gay boy on Earth. 

I was certainly the only gay kid in school and the only gay anything in my life. I was it. My only reference for years.

Except, of course, I didn't know I was gay. I just knew I preferred boys to girls. 

Preferred how? Preferred in every possible way. 

I can't explain it beyond that.

And let me tell you, this knowledge was as daunting as it was frightening. 

You see, I lived in a very hostile world: that of childhood.

People my age, that is other children, saw me as being different and, thus, targetable for abuse of all kinds. 

Worst of all, I saw myself as different too.  Part of it was me, and part of that was seeing myself through their eyes. They thought something was amiss with me, so I began to think the same way.

And all of this went on while I saw that I had

absolutely no place in my society whatsoever. 

I was different.

Maybe even cursed. 

And I braced myself at a very early age for a life where I would always be the odd one out, and would suffer for it. 

Except I didn't really understand why exactly that was going to be the case. But it was. And nobody told me otherwise. 

On the contrary, the loud and very clear message was that being like this was wrong in the worst possible way.

I can tell you this, no child should have to feel like that. Not ever. 

Heteronormativity

Of course, parents prepare their children to be perfect little heterosexual people living in a heterosexually perfect world. 

The models shown to us as children are very basic. 

Heterosexual couples are the only ones most children are exposed to, so the message is that only they are allowed.

And the message isn't just, 'be like them'. It is 'be like them, or else'. 

It is the 'else' part that destroys people's lives. The part that makes so many young gay people commit suicide. 

That makes gay children the target of beatings and abuse by homophobes their own age.

This from parenting.com:

"Eleven-year-old Carl Walker-Hoover, a Boy Scout and athlete, hanged himself outside his room with an extension cord. 

He had complained repeatedly about being bullied at school, and particularly about being called "gay" by classmates at his Springfield, Mass., middle school. 

His mom, Sirdeaner Walker, did everything right: She comforted her son and supported him; she called school administrators and met them in person. 

She was assured the situation would be addressed. But clearly the damage was done—three months later, her son was dead."

And part of the problem is people not telling their children that there isn't just one way to be happy, or normal. That being straight is not the only way to be.

That there isn't just one type of normal couples. 

One type of normal family. 

The realities of life are hidden from them. And that is the problem.

A couple of days ago a writer friend of mine shared a teaching experience she'd had a few days earlier.

She had asked her students to match some photographs of people by whomever they thought made the best couple.

Some of the children started to pair up same-sex couples. 

At that point, the school's teacher, or invigilator, or whatever that lady's position was, went over to the children who had done this and told them that no, that that was wrong. And that they should do boy-girl couples only.

Well, what if those students were gay themselves? How were they feeling?

The message, again, is very clear. Only one type of sexuality allowed. And if you don't conform to it, then that is bad, and there is a problem with you. 

My friend apologized to the class and said that unfortunately theirs was a heteronormative school. 

And I loved that she told them that. At least somebody in their lives was challenging, or at least, explaining to them, that there is not just one way to be. That there is more to our species than just being straight.

Yes, it was a religious school, but one set in a country which was one of the pioneers of gay marriage.

So in spite of Pope Francis' apparently different approach to gay Christians (one which has yet to materialize in any positive way), the message is still: gay is bad, straight is good.


Although at this point in time one cannot expect the Christian church to teach anything other than heteronormative models (for whatever strange Biblical and religious reason they like to allude to), it is sad to see that, although we have come a long way on this issue, we still have a long, very long, way to go.

As always, parents are key in their children's education. But so is everyone else. Teachers, relatives, even strangers on the street.

You know the old saying, it takes a village to raise a child. 

Imagine that entire village being ok with that child being gay. Odd right? 

Odd to think that every member of society should be ok with something as natural as homosexuality. 

That is why, from my perspective, it is always surprising –as it is refreshing– to meet people who are not homophobic in any way.  Because the norm is just the opposite.

Looking at LOOKING

A new ‘gay’ dramedy for the decade

AOG, Madrid

Television serves many purposes aside from just entertainment. It informs and instructs, as best it can.

I am sure that social anthropology draws a direct correlation between society and the impact certain programs, or in fact, all programs, have on the changing of attitudes of said society.

We all know how the 1970s saw an explosion of programs where black people were suddenly the protagonists and not merely bystanders. 

Whether a reflection of the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, or just an effort to cash in on a growing trend, the fact is that these shows did their fair share in normalizing, or helping to normalize, race relations in America.

‘Good Times’ was certainly one of my favorites as a kid in the 1980s. But I also enjoyed ‘The Jeffersons’.

Of course, at the time, I saw them as merely entertaining television. I was too young to think about watching a ‘black’ sitcom, or a ‘black’ anything. I was just watching TV.

I enjoyed The Partridge Family, The Brady Bunch, and The Cosby Show.

And there will always be a soft spot in my heart for ‘Gimme a Break’ and Nell Carter.

But there is one too for my all-time favorite childhood show: The Carol Burnett Show.

In my mind, then and now, these were just television shows which made me laugh. I was not interested in categorizing them in any particular way. 

They weren’t white, or black, or gay, or anything other than just television.

Pioneer

The cast of ‘Brothers’

And although television has dabbled with gay shows before, in fact as late back as the 1980s with Showtime’s Brothers -which was the first time I saw a gay sitcom-, it still has floundered here and there with a successful formula or with the public’s acceptance of it.

Granted, Queer as Folk was a good show (although never as good as the British original), as were the L-Word and the magnificent Will & Grace but, of course, there’s always room for improvement.

There’s always other aspects which can be looked at.

There’s always something new to add.

Looking

 
So it was with some interest, and trepidation, that I started to watch ‘Looking’ about a month ago.

I taped the whole series (all 8 episodes) and, slowly, started watching it.

It follows the lives of three gay men, Patrick, Agustín, and Dom in and around the city of San Francisco.

From the first episode I was a bit underwhelmed.

I found it hard to believe that an adult gay male, Patrick, would be so inept at cruising.

I suppose the scriptwriter thought it was hilarious, but I admit that I was not much amused.

And the rest of the episode sort of read as kind of a Tales of the City cum Sex and the City, minus the clever parts… off steroids.

And I had, or have, other issues with it too.

I have to say that two weeks went by before I bothered to watch the second episode. My heart was not on it. Yet I also didn’t erase the show.

I just had to find the right moment.

Eventually I did.

Did the show improve?

Well, yes. Here and there. Sort of. In places.

But there were, are, things which just simply make me go hmm…

Like, for example, Richie, a character who is very Catholic, and gay, and has no issue with the clash between his sexuality and his faith (if he is enlightened about it, like most gay cathols I know, it is not coming through in the show).

Not just that, he sort of likes a guy and wants him to wear an ‘escapulario’, a scapular, right away.

Is that what he asks of all his boyfriends?

Yes, I found that weird.

Also, the whole issue with Richie being uncircumcised.

What is the big deal? As far as I know, being ‘au naturelle’ in the US is seen as quite desirable in the gay world. But not this guy? Not Patrick?

And with Agustín being a non-productive artist. Or a self-defeating artist. And mostly a bit of an asshole…and yet you like him. Then you don’t.

Or with Dom liking only younger men, but somehow magically falling for Scott Bakula as Lynn.

Believable yes, but no the way it is shown on Looking.

Also, lesbians, in that great gay city, are mostly not around in this show. Yes, I get it, it is about gay men. But it just seems odd.

And…sorry but is San Francisco populated by just hispanics and whites? No black people? Nobody from Asia? Hello?

And one final also: Doris. I feel for the poor actress who plays her, Lauren Weedman. Doormat does not even begin to cover it.

Why does this character exist? All she seems to do is cater and kow tow to Dom’s every whim.

Why?

Is she his ex?

Is she secretly in love with him?

Is she just slow?

She certainly seems to be a walking car crash of a female character.

Unloved, unlikeable, and bordering on annoying.

For a fag hag, she is certainly not doing well for herself.

Finally, and call me crazy, is it too much to ask that the city’s multifaceted gay community be semi represented?

And what about the issues facing LGBT people today? 

What about gay marriage? Social discrimination? Bullying? HIV?

Scott Bakula, as Lynn

None of these have been talked about yet.

Now, the positive side.

However, I must say, that for all my complaints, for all the show’s shortcomings, I liked it. Or at least, I like that it exists.

For one thing, it is very nice to look at.

The cinematography is beautiful here and there. And I like that they show you parts of the countryside around San Francisco which you don’t often see on TV or in films.

The music is well chosen. Or if not, at least I like it.

And the plot lines, though apparently absent at times, or just plain convoluted others, do seem to reflect the daily lives of the characters (all but Doris, of course).

I also like that the characters come across as regular people. Not the über-rich A-Gay of other shows; not the to-die-for looks of stereotypical gay characters; no VIP, glamorous lives which seem far removed from the reality of many gay men's lives.

These three come across as regular guys with regular problems.

How to deal with an open relationship, and yourself. How to deal with yourself and a boyfriend-love interest of a different background from yours and a British boss who has the hots for you. How to deal with being a waiter at 40, trying to make it in the world, not kill your ex, and falling for an older guy, and yourself.

At the end of the first season it seems like all three of them have gone full circle. Yet they are still “looking”. For love? 

For solace? For answers.

Dom is going for Lynn, Agustín is out of his boyfriend’s home, and life, and living with Patrick, as he was in the beginning, and Patrick, who started the series failing Cruising 101, has graduated to cheating boyfriend, and maybe even power bottom.

Although this may not be the greatest gay show ever, I would venture that it has potential.

And even if the show tanked, even if there is a lot of room for improvement, as I always say, some visibility is better than NO visibility.

Remember, Queer as Folk ended in 2005 and Will & Grace in 2006. We are in 2014, and Modern Family can only do so much.

 

Revenge. Forgiveness. Us.

Behold the power of resentment…

AOG, Madrid

A couple of days ago I met up with a couple of friends. New friends. People I had just met but which seemed to have struck an equal chord with me.

So there we were, at Café Figueroa, Madrid’s first openly gay coffee shop, establised as it was in 1981, talking about things.

We spoke about the current economic crisis, Spanish politics, the influence of Germany on Europe’s economy, the phantom (or prospect) of Catalonia’s and Scotland’s independence, and after all this, we began to talk about childhood. About our experience of life as gay children.

Our stories, although they were lived out in different cultures, different places and countries, were still extremely similar because of the homophobic element of our peers.

Turns out, (surprise!) that children are little homophobic monsters, just like their parents.

All children? No. Not all children.

Part of our conversation versed on the fact that a small group of bullies had decided that we were gay and had, somehow, a God-given (or Santan-given) right to make our lives hell, but, also, not all children. 

 Not all of our classmates. Only some.

“The usual ones”, said one of my new friends.

He then went on to talk about how it wasn’t just children. He told me a horrible tale about his youth in a small town in rural Spain, about 15 years ago.

Image taken at the ARCO Art Fair in Madrid, 2006.

Turns out that around the age of 18, he told his friends that he was gay.

“They all ran away from me on the spot. I don’t mean that they stopped talking to me, which came the next day and continues to this day. I mean that as soon as they heard the words they took off. They ran away!”

He then told me that he did the same, trying to get to his house before the gossip came in through the airways and his parents found out about it from other people.

He didn’t tell me about what his parents told him at the time. He just went on.

“What amazes me most is the fact that they could not wait to tell every one in town about it. Including my boss. They all got into a car and drove all the way to the bar where I worked, which was in another town. They went and told my boss I was gay. And when I got to work, I was told I no longer worked there.”

I was aghast.

Of course, he left town soon after.

Why?

Well, the locals would do that thing which tends to happen in small towns. Not so much make his life hell, but just talk about him whenever he walked past. Criticise him in front of his parents and family. And their friends.

And he moved on.

 

So I asked, ‘did you ever talk to them again?’

He said yes, one of them. A couple of years ago one of his friends walked up to him when he was visiting his parents, and started talking to him. He was getting married and invited him to the wedding.

‘Did he apologize?’, I asked.

“He did, but I didn’t accept his apology. I don’t need it.”

And at that point we started a different conversation.

On the one corner, one of them arguing on behalf of his partner, and on the other me, arguing for forgiveness.

“They don’t need to be forgiven. Shouldn’t be. They were cowards.”

“But don’t you think that it takes a lot of courage to say you are sorry?”

“Maybe so, but what about what we go through? They should have known better.”

“But think about the time you were 18, or 8, aren’t you sorry about some of the things you did?”

“Yes I am, but less so about those I did when I was 18.”

“But 18 is still pretty much a kid.”

“I don’t agree. They should have known better.”

“But they only reflect what society does with us.”

“Exactly. So now we do it.”

“But if someone is asking for forgiveness… they are suddenly giving you all the power. Suddenly you have the upper hand. If you don’t forgive them, then you are exacting revenge.”

“Then that is what I’m doing, but that is not what I’m doing really. I am just not forgiving something which should not have ocurred but did.”

“But then you are just resentful, that can’t be healthy.”

“I disagree. We are talking about something I don’t need. I don’t need their apology. I have, we have, lived without it for a long time, so that now, if they offer it, it is just without meaning.”

“But it does have meaning. Especially to them.”

“Doesn’t matter. Not to me. Do you need to hear the apologies of those who made your childhood hell?”

“Well, I’ve never been in that position, but I would love for it to happen. Not because I want to forgive anyone in particular, but because it would signal to me that they achieved a certain level of maturity, and that they realized they did something which was very wrong. I think I would forgive them right away, like I think I do when somebody says they are sorry.”

The conversation afterwards pretty much remained along those lines, and then he, my new friend, began to tell me his reasoning behind the ‘apology’.

“He has children now. Two boys. Maybe now he is thinking that one of them could be gay. That it could happen to him. And that is why he apologised, not because he felt bad about what he did, but because he is probably afraid that it might happen to his own children.”

www.fotothing.com/polo

And then, he also told me –and here human nature did amaze me a bit– that he had had an opportunity to “wreck” one of his ex-friend’s life, but didn’t. And wouldn’t.

“One of them asked me once not to say anything about what I had seen. And I didn’t. But I wasn’t planning on doing so anyway. It is none of my business, and it’s his life anyway.”

“What was it that you’d seen?”

“I’d seen him at a gay bar in another town, canoodling with another man.”

“And…”

“And he still lives in our town, and is married and has children. And every time I go there he goes out of his way to avoid me, and looks shit scared to see me.”

Our conversation ended about 30 minutes after all of this went on.

We were trying to be nice with each other since we’d just met, and clicked, but here was this different approach to this situation.

We just accepted that each of us had a different way of looking at things, and moved on.

We didn’t fall out but there was a different perspective which was at odds with the perspective opposite. I could tell there was a lot of resentment in what one of them had told me, and his partner had merely defended his partner’s point of view, although hinting here and there that he too had a similar tale to tell. 

As do most gay men and women today.

I write this not to judge them in any way, since we all have to walk our own path.

I write this because I liked the fact that, in spite of it all, we all try to be good people, except we all define ‘good’ in a different way. I would not ever say that these guys were anything but good, in as much as I can tell about somebody I’ve had coffee and a conversation with over the space of a couple of hours.

We all try to do the right thing, however we define what that is, and in spite of so many things.

And although I might be very adept at accepting apologies, I wonder about what I would have done if ‘incriminating’ information about one of my childhood torturers had come into my hands.

Would I be so benign?

 

Homophobia, and just as we know it…

AOG, Madrid

The gays have never had it so good, so they say, but they are so wrong.

I live in Madrid’s gay village, Chueca. What used to be one of Madrid’s run-down and drug-crazed neighborhoods was, in the early to mid 1990s, turned into the city’s gay neighborhood par excellence.

Most people will tell you that it was because of its shady past that the area became a haven for gay people.

A haven in that society in Spain, as elsewhere, has always equated homosexuality with crime, sin, and all of those other goodies Christianity, and other monotheistic religions, seem to think their particular deity dislikes.

So when you are confronted with a fresh batch of just-baked homophobia on the streets of a gay neighborhood, you have to ask yourself just how far gay people haven’t come.

A week ago I was out shopping around my neighborhood, getting ready to meet some friends at my place later on in the evening. I was crossing the street when, from a distance, I saw a guy coming towards me. 

His appearance was not exactly run-of-the-mill, but then, this was Chueca, and here nothing like that really raises an eyebrow. 

His hair, which mainly consisted of jet-black braids, was up in a bun, and he had a scarf round it, keeping it all in place. He was muscular, as could be gathered from his half unbuttoned shirt, and in a hurry.

He swished past me at high speed, and I gave him not another second’s notice.

And then it happened.

I noticed a small group of people walking towards me. Two girls, maybe around 7 or 8, were giggling, making faces, and pointing at him. 

And one said to the other:

“Is it a man or a woman?”

And the other said:

“Yeah, what?”

And their mother, or the mother of one of them, in case they weren’t sisters, replied:

“It is a ‘that’!”

And they all laughed.

As they walked past me, I noticed the husband-father figure pushing a baby’s stroller, and noticed he was keeping quiet.

As this family walked past me, I overheard a gay couple saying out loud that the only ‘that’ on that street was the girl’s mother.

I have to say that I was aghast at having witnessed the entire scene. Disgusted.

Later on that night I was entertaining some friends at my place. We talked about many things, including homophobia, gay rights, sexuality, you know, the sort of thing that comes up when gay men and straight women (and one of their boyfriends) get together. 

One of them said something along the lines of “but surely the next generation will be less homophobic.”

Well, did I ever have a story to tell!

They were all really shocked to hear it. Surprised. In awe. Especially that this should happen in Chueca of all places.

And I just said that if it was happening in Chueca, could they imagine what must be happening in the less-trendy areas of Spain?

Last Friday, October 11, was National Coming Out Day in the US and several other countries. But not Spain. It is perhaps not necessary since the country was one of the first ones to institute full gay marriage, so a National Coming Out Day is not deemed -or at least not yet- necessary.

But coming out, for all its good intentions, is such a horrid thing to have to do. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, there isn’t.

But, when was the last time somebody informed you that they were straight?

When was the last time a straight kid was bullied for being straight?

Or somebody lost his/her job for being straight?

Never you say? That’s right. Never.

It is a horrible feature of our time that people still have to make some sort of public declaration of their sexuality when it does not fit the heteronormative bias.

Some people I know, those who think they are so trendy and with it, always say things like “but what does it matter? Why do I need to know somebody is gay? It doesn’t matter to me!”

I always say to them, it matters, and you do, and it should matter. And I am always surprised that people think otherwise.

It is not my place to educate people about sexuality, but when confronted with situations such as the one I witnessed a few days ago, I have to say that a little part of me died that instant when I saw that Spain’s next generation will be homophobic too (and when I say Spain, I mean the entire planet’s next generation and generations).

That those girls will probably taunt and make fun of one, or more, of their classmates deemed by them to be gay. That their mother will be totally ok with that behavior.

And that some poor kid, who may or may not be gay, will be bullied because society still has not come to terms with the simple fact that gay people exist, and that we have a right to be respected, and more importantly, just be left alone.

Yes, gay people have come a long way. At least we are not being burned at the stake these days (though in many countries we are hanged and persecuted just for being gay), but that does not mean society is where it should be on this issue (and oh so many others!).

We have come a long way, but we still have such a long way to go…

 

 

 

America's gay problem

 AOG, Madrid

A few days ago, US President, Barack Obama, said that he had changed his mind about gay marriage. He said that he "supported" it. 

"At a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same sex couples should be able to get married", he said in an interview on television.

At present, it is difficult to know what this conclusion actually means for gay couples wishing to marry. Will he support it enough that he will legalize it at a federal level, equating it to marriage between heterosexual couples? 

Will we have to wait until his next Administration for this to happen? Of course, it bears thinking that if he were to loose the election (unlikely but not impossible), his good wishes will remain just that: good wishes. Nothing more.

It is very interesting to note that this new civil rights movement, the movement for equality under the law for gay couples, is called anything but that. 

That it is attracting the same sort of hate from religious groups that black people had to face during the civil rights movement in the 60s (and before). 

That whereas it might be hard to identify the death of a black youth who committed suicide because he or she was black (though not impossible), we are increasingly seeing in the media how some young gay people are doing just that, because the society they live in does not give them the right to live in peace. 

Because everywhere they look, all they see is hate, insults, abuse. And still in the US we don't classify hate crimes as hate crimes when directed against gay people. Freedom of speech, many say. 

Because we see people who look far removed from sanity picketing the funerals of soldiers, claiming that "God hates fags".

Because a woman in Nebraska  stood up to publicly declare her graphic homophobic views during Lincoln's Anti-Discrimination Law hearings, saying things like "a huge percent of gay men in school grounds molest boys, partly because they don't have AIDS yet" and "Jesus was kissed by Judas, a homo, who tried to sabotage Jesus' kind ideas. Do you choose Jesus, a celibate, or Judas, a homo? You have to choose!".

I would not say that she has the freedom of speech to proclaim such hateful statements.

And I feel very unprotected by American law when people like her are allowed to spew forth such hate and ignorance. 

Of course, when I listened to what she was saying, I immediately realized that this lady was either, a) extremely ignorant and uneducated, or b) suffering from some sort of mental illness, which, in spite of everything, makes me feel sorry for her. 

However, I know too well that she is not alone. I know that many people in America feel like they can justify their blood-curling hatred of gay people because, according to them, it says so in their Bible. 

Just like their Bible was used as justification for discrimination of black people not too long ago. 

Ironically, all of these "studious" religious leaders, who say things like marriage is a sacrament, and that God dislikes homosexuals, seem to ignore the history of their own faith. 

A history that would tell them that the Christian church, among other things, didn't really have an official marriage rite until about the XI century, and that, believe it or not, did marry people of the same sex.

And it did so for a very long time. And married a lot of people. It was not a one-off. It was not a weird thing, or an abomination. 

It just was. 

So of course, when they say things like that,  you can't help but think, 'how dare you?'. 

How dare you ignore your own history and pretend that what I'm asking for is something your faith has always deplored, when it clearly is not the case?

How dare you invoke a text written by a primitive people with very little relevance in the XXI century to justify your hate?

How dare you speak of love for everyone, unless they are gay? 

Does this make sense to you? 

It doesn't make sense to me.

America has a problem with gay people, yes. But it also has a problem with hate. And a problem with religion. 

And the America we think (or like to think) the world admires, is just fiction and has been for a long time now. 

Why do I say this? I have a friend who is from Africa. He came to Spain a couple of years ago. 

He speaks English, some Spanish, and his native Bantu language. 

He is not gay and can read and write a little. And he is fascinated by the US and has been since he was a child he told me when we first met.

I spoke with him last night when I came across him on the street at 2AM. He makes a living by working for a Chinese mafia which runs a pirate CD & DVD operation. 

He was amazed by Obama's words and asked me to explain what exactly he meant.

"It means that he favors gay people getting married".

"What do you mean favors? Was the law going to be changed?"

At this point I had not realized yet what he was asking.

"No, the law is not going to change yet. We may have to wait until his second Administration for that to happen".

"But, he is going to change the law? Why? If he favors it, why is he going to forbid it?"

And then I realized that my friend's view of America belonged to another era.

I explained to him that gay marriage in America was illegal. To say he was surprised would be an understatement. 

"So Spain has more advanced laws than America?"

"Some laws, yes".

"So how can America be the most advanced country in the world if it forbids that?"

And I didn't know what to say.

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Rome Sucks

AOG, Sitges

Word of advice number one: when you next go on vacation, never wear new shoes on the flight. 

Why? well, it could be that the airline looses your luggage and you are doomed to wear the same pair of new shoes for days on end.

Word of advice number two: Never, ever, go to Rome in August. Our friends had warned us against this. 

"Don't go, it is too hot!", they said.

"Never in August. You'll die from the heat!", they warned. 

Did we listen? Well, of course not. 

Our logic? 

"Well, we always say we won't go in August and we'll go some other time, but then we never go", said my partner. 

I agreed. My partner was right. We always say we'll go some time, but then we never do. 

So this year, we decided to go to Rome and check out the Eternal City. Eternal mistake on our part!

After paying Vueling Airlines (a low cost airline) for 2 pieces of luggage, we arrived at Rome's Fiumicino Airport with a slight delay, but no suitcases. We only discovered this after waiting for our bags for over an hour at belt #9.

I went to the Baggage handling company in charge of our flight (turns out there's more than one. Blessed capitalism!) and they told us they had no record of our bags on their system. 

Yes, having been to the country in the past, in fact, as recently as last June, my first thought was "typical Italian efficiency", but I was wrong to think that. 

The problem was not typical Italian efficiency, it was typical Spanish negligence. As we would find out the next day, the bags had never left Barcelona. 

The Italian handler made us fill a form, put the details into the computer, and sent us off on our less than merry way with a reference number which, we  would later discover, was incorrect. Although no consolation at all, we were not the only people without luggage on our flight, there was, at least, one other.

So there we were, in Rome, with a driver waiting for us to take us into the city for 50 Euros, which we thought would be a good idea since we didn't know the city and we wanted not to worry about the bags. 

He was very nice, and if he was upset at having to wait for over an hour, he didn't let on. So we got into his Ford Focus and off we went to the Città Eterna. 

I have to say that the drive went pretty well, and that it is not exactly very pretty. It was, all in all, a bit odd. First we were on a highway, then, after a while, we were in what can only be describe as 'leafy suburbs'. 

He didn't take any major roads and, instead, we were driving on one-way roads with large, tall, walls, behind which I can only imagine private villas. This took a while before we approached something which resembled the outskirts of a large city.

Once there, it was the usual dim urban landscape, typical of any major European city post 1950. Large, square, brick and concrete buildings, with many stores along the way selling mostly urban goods: fast food, urban clothing, ugly furniture, and the odd newspaper stand. 

Still, we were a little excited to be in Rome. 

Then, suddenly, something which would happen again and again, though we didn't know it at the time, occurred: when we least expected it, and just before we entered a tunnel, out of the corner of our left eyes, we caught a glimpse of St. Peter's, in The Vatican. 

This was unexpected because we had thought that we would view that particular monument going up the Via Della Concilliazione and into St. Peter's Square, like almost everyone else. But it was not to be. 

We quickly crossed the Tiber and drove down the Corso Vittorio Emanuelle II and into our hotel near the Campo de Fiori.

We paid our driver, plus a tip, then checked in. The hotel was ok. We had asked for a room with a balcony, and they gave us that, which was nice. But I soon discovered that the a/c was, well, less than able. It made a lot of noise,  but gave out little cold air. But I would only realize this later in the day. 

We were starving by now and wanted to a) see Rome and b) get some clothes. We had nothing to wear.

We left our hotel, which was, it seemed, used to situations such as ours -"you'll get your bags tomorrow", said the receptionist/owner, and off we went to eat.

We found a small restaurant about 3 minutes away and sat down. We ordered one pizza for both of us and something to drink. It was the best pizza we would have during the whole trip. It was that good. 

The service, however, was pretty bad. I wouldn't say it went downhill from there, but rather that the service in Rome was consistently bad, day in day out. 

Our waiters over the next few days, it would seem, would find new and creative ways in which to outdo their colleague's 'performance' throughout our stay. And no, we hardly spent a penny on tips while in Rome.

So, after having lunch and stopping off at the local grocery shop where we got basic eating and drinking supplies, as well as some toiletries,  it was back to the hotel, quick shower, and out before the stores closed. 

We really only had the clothes on our backs to wear and, as the lunch experience had proven, Rome was baking under the sun, and us with it.

Out we went into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II and started walking East, with no particular place to go. 

We were really torn between wanting to see the sights, and our clothing needs, so we tried to concentrate very little on what we saw, hard to do since, if you've never been to Rome, everything is new to you, even when nine or ten centuries old. Or more.

Eventually, we got to Via del Corso, but not before we stumbled on the Piazza Venezia and the enormous monument to our right: the monument to King Vittorio Emanuele II, first King of Italy. 

This is one of the monuments on my list which I would not really arrive at the way I had expected. 

When I say we stumbled, I mean it. It is gigantic, but it is not exactly by a major road, it is on a major square, but off to the right, so if you happen to be on the street and not turn right, you might not exactly see it. But then, once you do, you can't see anything else. 

I wanted to go to it (yes, its array of classical columns was calling me) and bask in its classical 'interpretative' colossal beauty, but it was not to be on that first day. We turned into the Via del Corso, and forgot about it. 

Via del Corso is one of those major shopping streets in central Rome. Many of the major brands, and others not so major, are there. Although Rome's high class shopping strip is the Via Condotti.

On the corner, just as you go into Corso, there is the Doria-Pamphilj Palace. Serene and decorated in a wedding cake style, I was immediately drawn to it. But didn't go, and would, unfortunately, not get to go during the trip. And pretty much sums up the entire trip. I didn't get to see many things.

So back to the Via del Corso, and our shopping. We had nothing to wear the next day, and clothes were urgently needed. So we spent the best part of the afternoon traipsing from store to store, looking for garments, and missing out on Rome altogether. I must point out that by now, my partner and I were wondering how the people of Italy reproduced since, it was very obvious, all men in that country were gay.

Our main hope turned out to be H&M, but, once we got there, almost at the end of the Corso, we discovered, much to our dismay, that there was no Men's section there. Can you believe it? We had walked the entire length of the Corso in the hope of finding a place which might have something overpriced. Fat chance.


Since at that point we were only about two blocks from the Piazza del Popolo, we decided to go there. I have to say, at this point in the day, I was ready to be impressed, or something, and impressed I was. 

I had long wanted to see the twin churches of Santa Maria in Montesanto  (1662-75) and Santa Maria dei Miracoli (built 1675-79). 

And there they were, in all their Baroque beauty. I think this is the one time Rome got interesting that day. I would say it made the whole thing worthwhile, but it isn't true. 

The day had sucked all day long from the minute our luggage went missing. But that minute, when we walked into that space, covered in fatigue and sweat, the city seemed beautiful, the tourists a mere nuisance, the heat (and it was around 8:30 PM) almost tolerable. 

We stopped at the obelisk in the middle of the Piazza, an original comission of of Sety I (later erected by Rameses II) from Heliopolis which  stands in the centre of the Piazza, inside a fountain, and is the second oldest and one of the tallest obelisks in Rome (some 24 m high, or 36 m including its plinth). 

It was brought to Rome in 10 BC by order of Augustus and originally set up in the Circus Maximus. 

Once there, a tourist girl asked her friend if she could drink from the fountain. My partner overheard her and told her that he'd read that you could drink from any fountain in Rome, unless it specifically said not to. She was happy about this, and we spoke with her for a couple more minutes. She was from Spain, and was there on holiday with a couple more friends from school. She must have been in her very early 20s. And she was lovely. 

It was starting to get dark, and we decided to get back to the hotel. We couldn't decide between a bus, the subway, or walking. So we walked back along the dark and not too busy streets of, as it turns out, downtown Rome. 

Soon we were back at the hotel, where there was no news about our luggage. The hotel's concierge really couldn't care less, so we went to our room, had a shower and went out to have dinner, not too sure about where to do this.

We decided to follow the incoming crowd down one of the streets, and ended up at the Campo dei Fiori. It was teeming with life: children playing, musicians, flower vendors, Indian or Pakistani trinket salesmen. In short, Touristland right there in front of us. The only Italians being the waiters at the Campo's many restaurants. 

So in we walked, and decided that the one on the right, on the other side of La Carbonara Restaurant, where we should have dined, just as you walked in, would do. Mistake.

The food, although ok once we got it, did not surpass the bad service of a place which doubled as a drinks bar and dance club after 11PM. We kept getting food meant for other tables, everything arrived at odd intervals, drinks had to be ordered more than twice. In short, a mess. But given the day's big story, it really paled in comparison. We didn't mind much that the service was so bad. I think we were relieved it was over more than anything else!

Afterwards, we went for a walk on the Tiber, and saw that, at night, it really came alive. It seems like the good citizens of Rome have allowed for bars and stands to be set up alongside the banks of the river. I was immediately drawn by the music and the bright, intermitent, lights of the marquees. 

We crossed the bridge, and went down to the bank. We saw a couple of small stands which were a sort of Godsend since they had one of the items we needed most: a phone charger! Yes, ours were safely (we hoped) stored inside our suitcases. 

We then decided to go to one of the "bars". A rugby-themed bar by the side of the Tiber showing New Zealand's Rugby matches. Yes, slightly surreal, but then Rome is slightly surreal. 


We would have stayed longer, but we were beat. We had had a long day and were yearning for sleep. 


So after a couple of drinks, we headed back to the hotel. The room was not exactly cool, although the imitation a/c had been on all afternoon, so we agreed to sleep with the balcony window open.


So our first day in Rome ended.