1/19/2013 - First Stop Key West

Our first stop on the ship was Key West.  Key West is a slim land formation that jets into the Pacific Ocean. Because it is attached to the Florida mainland by a man-made bridge, Key West proudly represents the southernmost point of the United States.  Key West, similar to many Caribbean islands, offers tropical vegetation, year-round warm weather and an island savoir faire.  Key West combines the tourist party atmosphere of New Orleans’ Bourbon Street alongside a laid-back island mentality liken to Montego Bay. You are more likely to see bikes and mopeds on the island, than large trucks or SUVs.

 The Island also boasts a large population of roosters (fondly referred to as “wild cock” by the locals) that roam freely around the key. I am particularly fond of Key West due to the many great memories of girl’s trip to this lovely land 6 years ago that included myself, Tracy, MaryBeth Hayes, Joanne Perkins.

Mostly our stop in Key West consisted of drinking alcohol at the Flying Monkey (where we “hammed on”** the waiter), buying a few trinkets at a souvenir and separate smoke shop (where we “ hammed on”** each clerk) and reminiscing about the events of our previous time in Kew West.

During our hunt the perfect trinket, we perused the main boulevard, Duval Street, and happened upon a flyer for a pool party at Bourbon café.  After a warning from the bouncer to enter at our own risk, we decided to join the party.  The three of us walked through the dark empty bar to the back patio where we found a pool side bar and a sign near the back that read “MEN ONLY”.  Dance music was blasting from the speakers and the bar was teaming with men in a spattering of colorful trunk and speedos sipping cocktails and green bottled beers.  Near the water, a few men sat by the pool fully nude while casually chatting with other nude males.

Suddenly, everyone in the bar stopped and looked at us while Tracy, Jesus and I attempted to look nonchalant.  It was as if the jukebox came to a screeching halt while the men glared at us in disbelief. We were undeterred as we moved towards the bar and planned to order a cocktail. However, approximately 5 steps into our journey to the bar we are intercepted by a slim, sassy barkeep, who pointed to the “MEN ONLY” sign and politely asked us to leave.  We obliged, only after Tracy unsuccessfully tried to convince the barkeep that I was a drag queen.   We moved slowly towards the door hoping to catch a glimpse of further shenanigans. But, eventually decided to go across the street to lick our wounds, order a chocolate dipped key lime pie on a stick and plot our next adventure.

**Ham [ham]verb - hamming – hammed on : The action of making fun of while simultaneously flirting leaving the almost always male prey confused yet oddly wanting more. 

1/18/2013 - On the boat

In Mid-January I came across a 23 day cruise that would take our journey to 11 different destinations ending in Rio de Janeiro at the beginning of the Brazilian Carnival celebration.  We quickly booked the cruise and agreed to figure out how to get all the shots, visas and supplies after the fact.  Shortly before our appointment at the Brazilian consulate in Houston, Jesus’ passport was stolen while in the trunk of a friend’s car.  Single handedly, Jesus procured a new passport and visa in ONE DAY!

With all necessary documentation in tow we arrived at the ship and quickly learned that we were still in an alternate universe.  While waiting in an excruciating 2.5 hour line, we discovered that not only were all the embarkation workers for Holland America over 65 years old, but every passenger in line preparing to go aboard was as well.  Due to the length of the cruise, we assumed it would be a slightly older crowd. However, we were not even somewhat prepared for the truth.  I estimate that the average age on the boat is 70 years old.

At first, this realization startled me, but soon not only would I accept this alternate reality, I would quickly begin to embrace this oddity. I am invigorated by seeing this older population tackle life with such gusto.  On the bright side, the 3 of us also agreed we had a unique opportunity to be the hottest passengers on the boat.  We also agreed to make sport of trying to all find rich sugar daddies, navigate into any available will and seek to absorb as much wisdom as possible in 23 days.

In an effort to freely discuss the old people without being offensive, we coined the nickname “clams” – beach related since we are on a boat and all. Initially all the clams assumed we were one the many under 40 cruise staff stocking the gym, spa, shops, restaurants and performances on the boat.  I quickly started to play along and invited several clams to my fictitious Tuesday night pole dancing class for seniors.  Soon we would all become entangled in watching the many geriatric dramas, worker cast system and the secret shenanigans of the entertainers unfold.

1/16/2013 - Ft. Lauderdale

1/26/2013

I have been on my journey now for 10 days and decided I have seen enough to start blogging. I plan to be brutally honest on this blog and really let it all hang out.  There are two things on this journey that will most likely be reoccurring themes: people and places. I think the two are greatly intertwined and cannot be separated.

I started my journey with Tracy and Jesus in Ft. Lauderdale, where we stayed for two days.  Our initial view of Ft. Lauderdale started just outside the airport doors as a miniature, 2-door, convertible PT Cruiser arrived to retrieve us. The vehicle was only superseded in its tininess by the driver, Mitch. Mitch is the cutest and smallest man I have ever met, tipping the scales at 100 pounds.  My first impression was how sweet little Mitch was, heaving our large luggage into the tiny trunk of his silver PT Cruiser. We finally agreed that our combined 6 pieces of luggage was not going to fit and I conceded to sit on a suitcase in the back seat as Mitch let down the roof on the convertible to accommodate my head.

We proceeded to the hotel, which was not horrible considering we got a great deal on Priceline.  During check in, Jesus noticed he was missing a bag, which he quickly decided was left in a cart in arrivals next to where PT Cruiser had idled for several minutes. He was most likely distracted by the lively debate on how to most effectively force our many pieces of luggage in the car.  Jesus and Mitch frantically returned to the car in a hurry to attempt to retrieve his bag before it was swept away by the airport bomb squad. About an hour later, Jesus and Mitch arrived with the bag in tow and an entertaining story of tracking down security after several middle-age women riffled through his personal stash of prophylactics.

Mitch seemed to have a racket on the Black less than 5 foot market in Ft. Lauderdale and was easily recognized by the locals.  Apparently, Ft. Lauderdale has a thriving gay community that is concentrated on a minuscule island called Walton Manor.  Walton Manor is bustling with quaint eateries, energetic dance clubs and smoke filled bars.  We spent 2 days in this fun, yet alternate reality full of cargo shorts, manicured eyebrows, rainbow colored cocktails and rhythmic dance videos playing on every screen. Basically, Walton Manor is a small piece of paradise for our friends of Dorothy.