Where you Going? Barcelona...

Oh...
Don't get up.

Apparently, Barcelona is one of the gayest cities in Europe. I’ll have to take Europe’s word for it though; frankly, I haven’t seen any evidence of it. (Granted, I haven’t really been looking too hard.) This may be because, unlike cities like New York, San Francisco, Toronto and Montreal, there is no real gay area with a concentration of gay bars, gay cafes, gay hotels, gay saunas and gay gays. Things are spread out all over the place. I generally much prefer this to the “Gay Village” kind of idea. (I hate ghettos of any type. Although I realise a need to be with ‘your own people’, there is a real danger that when your job, house and friends are all concentrated within the same 6-block radius, you lose touch with reality. How do I know? I live ON A SHIP. Welcome to my surreal life.) However, In Barcelona, it might help. Because it’s damn near impossible to tell who the hell is gay. When you’re fishing for bass, it’s a little disappointing when you catch a perch. And why is Shipbound’s gay-dar all out of whack, you may ask?

It might be the understatement of the century to say that fashion in Europe is different than in North America. Men who dress in a way that I would immediately identify as gay in the States or Canada merely look ‘European’: Capri pants (which is the most horrific trend EVER), tight t-shirts with random glued-on sequins and English nonsense words in bizarre fonts, (“Happy Cherry Lacrosse”), funny coloured Converse-like canvas runners with ‘Urban’ patterns, and big ugly giant sunglasses with “BeDazzled” hinges. Also, every dummy in every window of every Mens Store features Europe’s latest trend – the Sleeveless Shirt. Sleeveless shirts are popular with everyone, from the hip young dude to the fat old Grandpa. (I don’t mind this trend so much, now that I have newly developed biceps.) These aren’t tank tops or wife beaters, but plaid button shirts with the sleeves artfully ripped off. Kinda like the look Bill Bixby used to sport when he changed back from being Lou Ferrigno (am I dating myself?) Oh, and let’s not forget the super-plucked eyebrows – even the staunchest of men look like Edith Piaf. Par example, there were these two young drunkdrunkdrunk Venetian ‘bois’ who caroused with us one night in our favourite after-hours joint, who immediately identified us as Americans (despite the fact that the band is comprised of 3 Canadians, a Czech, a Hungarian, an Aussie, a Brazilian and one lone American – who’s from Oregon so he’s almost Canadian) and asked us we knew Quentin Tarantino. I know, I know - What!? They were the gayest things I have ever seen. But they kept talking about girls and sex and sex with girls and Pulp Fiction and straight stuff like that, so who knows…? Oh, they had mullets. Unfortunately, the mullet and variations thereof are back in style here. I pray every day to Vidal Sassoon that that particular coif never crosses the pond. And just to make things difficult for us single guys, the gay men tend to look straight. Especially in Barcelona. Or at least I assume (…makes an ass…) the straight-looking ones are gay, cause SOMEONE has to be.

Despite my lack of hunky Spanish boyfriends, I love Barcelona. Once a month, we have 3 days in the city, and it provides a great opportunity to get off the ship in the evening and enjoy the local nightlife. And, man, is there nightlife in Barcelona. Last month, a group of about 40 of us went down to this beach where there are a bunch of clubs. Things were kinda dead because it was only 1 in the morning, and everyone knows that Barcelona only comes alive after 3. The club we went into was enormous and gorgeous. Very nouveau-minimalist, with subtle pastel coloured neon lights under the bars and these pseudo-mid-century modern divans along the walls. Classy and clean. However, the beer was about 8 euros a bottle (13 dollars, for the uninitiated). I was unwilling to pay such a steep price, because, as it has been previously established in these very pages, I am one of the cheapest people in the world. Fortunately, another of Barcelona’s many charms is those guys who walk down the streets with backpacks and sell illegal street beer for 1 Euro a can. Mmmmm, street beer… So Drummer Dom, Sax Chris, Bass Jérôme, Bongo Adam, Aussie Chef Troy, a couple of others and I each buy a few brewskis (or since we’re in Barcelona, “brewthkith”) and stand on the corner and watch the girls go by (And boys…). It was a fun night with some great guys. But I was feeling a little antsy, and needed to go a-wandering. So I bid good-bye to my friends and at 2 in the morning, went off on my own.

I never once felt uncomfortable or endangered. Barcelona feels extremely safe and people are very friendly. (Just HOW friendly is a tale for another time. Heh heh heh). It took me about a half an hour to walk to La Rambla, which is a wide pedestrian boulevard, similar to the Champs Elysées. (There is indeed an Arc De Triomphe in Barcelona, but not at the end of La Rambla). It was full of life and partying; locals and idiot tourists like me, artists doing crappy pastels sketches, fake statues that come to life for a couple of Euros, guys selling illegal street beer, and very aggressive hookers. (I actually had to shake a couple of the lovely ladies off my arms.) Over-priced bars and over-priced tapas joints line the street. There is also an impressive amount of cheap drunk food available, which is always my benchmark for a good city (Montreal has the best cheap drunk food in the world. How many smoked meats at the Main have I had? Or 99 cent pizza? Or a falafel at Fattouch (or was it Fattouche?) Or poutine? Is it any wonder I used to be 270 pounds?) I had a really good sandwich that I bought from a woman on the street who had questionable hygiene. But for only 2 Euros, I was willing to risk salmonella. The baguette was fresh and crunchy, the chorizo was spicy and savoury and the cheese was tangy and creamy. And all ingredients were plentiful. It may have been the second best sandwich I have ever eaten (The best sandwich I ever had was, believe it or not, on British Airways, flying from Rome to Montreal in April. It was amazing, with a fancy multi-grain bread, amazing cheese and some incredible pickle. Air Canada – take note!) And there were plenty of gay-looking young men, walking in big groups, with arms thrown lustily around each other’s shoulders. But this is Spain, and that type of behaviour is common amongst male friends. Ah, Spain…There seemed to be very little gayness at all on La Rambla (I lie. There is what I assume to be a gay sauna at the very end of the concourse. From it’s second story window, it proclaims to have a Turkish Sauna and Deep Massage. It also has a rainbow flag, flying proudly in the wind). I wasn’t looking for gayness, but it is nice to know once in a while that there are others like you. When I see a gay couple, be it male or female, walking down the street hand in hand, I think - Bitch has a boyfriend and I don’t? No no no, but seriously; I feel a little bit of solidarity. I feel that we have a common struggle, even though it doesn’t often feel like a struggle anymore. In Spain, as in Canada, gay marriage is legal. I have the exact same rights as every other Canadian, and it’s amazing. My ex rickyd and his fiancé Photi have “posted the banns” on Facebook! Sometimes on ships, I feel like I have to be a ‘spokesman’ for homosexuals everywhere, because not every culture is as liberal and as progressive’s as Canada’s (Hear that, U.S.A.!). But I felt at home in Barcelona. Because despite the fact that there isn’t necessarily a lot of overt homosexuality, I have no doubt I could have walked down La Rambla hand in hand with a guy, and nobody would have batted an eye. (It must be said, however, that I am not one for PDAs, so the point is basically moot). Hell, the next day, I saw a guy walking down La Rambla wearing nothing but a fanny pack and a big grin! Cops didn’t even look up.

I hadn’t intended to talk about all this. I wanted to talk about the great time I had the next afternoon when Erin (Jerin) and I walked around from Gaudi to Gaudi to Gaudi. No worries, I’ve got plenty of time and bandwidth. Barcelona is a beautiful clean city, with a fascinating history, a rich architectural heritage, an extensive if slightly confusing Metro, and a vibrant soul. No doubt many more words will be written for these pages about the city which feels like my home away from home.