Around-the-world cruise: A journey in three parts

http://www.planetout.com/travel/article.html?sernum=11261&navpath=/travel/cruises/

by Eduardo Santiago

On January 22, 2007, novelist Eduardo Santiago embarked on a three-month, around-the-world voyage aboard the luxurious and legendary Queen Elizabeth 2. This voyage of adventure and self-discovery will be documented exclusively for The Out Traveler.

Part one of three

QE2: GAY MAN/STRAIGHT SHIP

Ah, the swinging '60s, what a sparkling time for England! London, in spite of its musty monarchy, was the cool place to be for the New Generation. And the QE2, which launched September 20, 1967, was the coolest place of all.

Of course, British hipsters who were 30 in 1967 are 70 today. Like the QE2, those aging hipsters have been modernized -- pacemakers, new hips and new knees are everywhere -- speeding motorized wheelchairs down tilting decks, strolling the red-carpeted hallways with aluminum walkers, storming the dance floors on jewel-encrusted canes.

Imagine the film "Cocoon" but directed by Federico Fellini.

But ah the crew. Young, hot, eager . . . there's 950 of them at our beck and call and according to the ship's gaydar . . . about 60 percent gay.

QE2: NOW VOYAGER

o, what's a forty-something writer from L.A doing in a place like this? I was seduced by an article in the Los Angeles Times:

"America's richest vacationers are willing to pay $60,000 to $100,000 for the best suites and the largest cabins, but the small inside cabins often go unsold and are heavily discounted."

I had just published my first novel, "Tomorrow They Will Kiss," and for the first time in my life I had the means and the time, though neither was limitless, to live a lifelong dream: sailing around the world in style and splendor. I was making final revisions on my next book -- and the idea that I could do so while traveling around the world on the QE2 was irresistible. Every few days I would wake up in . . . Mumbai, Hong Kong, Sydney, Tokyo! (Hopefully not in that order or something has gone horribly, horribly wrong, but you get the idea.)

Even here, fellow passengers regularly ask why I'm not on a different sort of cruise with people my own age or younger or on n ships with wall-to-wall gay men.

Because I've done all that. Because I'm a hopeless romantic?

As the debate over same-sex marriage gathers steam -- and we continue to fight for our rights -- how far have we truly come?

This voyage around the world and life on a ship full of straight, older and (some say) very conservative vacationers may offer us a glimpse.

Welcome to the microcosm.

QE2: THE QUEEN TOOK ILL

Something did go horribly, horribly wrong. Fortunately, it happened before I boarded. The number of passengers felled by Noravirus has not been released, but there were enough of them spewing from both ends to qualify for a serious emergency.

All passengers were disembarked in Los Angeles and no one was allowed back on board until the ship was cleared by the federal Centers for Disease Control and Los Angeles public health officials. She was tested again in San Francisco and passed with flying colors.

But I got sick anyway.

Somewhere between San Francisco and the Hawaiian islands I started to feel a little clammy.

By 2200 hours (yes, I'm all nautical now) the carpet seemed too bright (it is) and everyone I had previously found so charming was annoying.

Why won't this 80-year-old hag move a little faster, dammit?

I finally crawled to the infirmary. While I was waiting one of the nurses kept making loud phone calls in an irritating Emma Thompson accent. Presumably to patients.

Any more diarrhea, Mrs. Pahhhkah? (That's Parker to you and me.)

"Emma" gave me a shot and told me I must eat something. I returned to my room, turned off the phone and slept for 14 hours. Woke up feeling much better, but I'm weary.

It could happen again.

QE2: DOROTHY & CO.

Every night all passengers receive the Daily Programme, a newsletter that advertises the activities for the following day and their locations. The activities vary from day to day, but the ones at 5:30 p.m. are always the same:

Catholic Holy Mass with Fr. Forristal . . . Main Theatre.

Friends of Dorothy Meet (unhosted) . . . Yacht Club (behind the bar).

So, it's 2007 and we're still unhosted (which means the ship allows but does not condone), still behind the bar and still competing with the Catholics (who neither allow nor condone).

Dorothy's friends are 17 gay men from different parts of this great big world, and mostly coupled. And so far only two lesbians: Judith and Helen, from Newcastle; although together for 25 years, they're newly married (in a civil union). This is their honeymoon.

Less than 20 LGBTs out of 1,500 passengers. We seek each other out and greet one another with unmitigated affection.

Our meetings are fun, easy, relaxed-but-lively. Most are seasoned travelers; many have been on the QE2 before. Some have sailed around the world before. There is no classism, ageism or looksism among us. The heavy ones have been overweight forever and unapologetically eat and drink to their hearts' content. The more attractive (well-preserved) ones are openly admired and celebrated. The swells from the upper decks invite us lowly plebes up to their fancy dining rooms -- and are perfectly happy to join us down at ours. The humor is silly, cocktail-sophomoric and all Dorothy. Often, it's about the ship.

"What this Queen needs is the Bitch's Touch," says Bob from New Jersey. This means a gay decorator. Who knew?

"She wants a few chandeliers," adds Aussie Charles, "or, at least, very large earrings."

Serious topics crop up as well. Henri, who lives in Italy, is vociferously opposed to gay marriage -- he just can't understand why it's important, why so many of us would want it. Until The Widow Bob recounts what happened after his lover of 51 years died.

There's gossip, but it's good-natured, mostly about the sexual activity in the sauna. There's none, but if any one of us is ever absent, that's where we're assumed to be, sweating it out with a cabin steward.

There's also the mysterious gay couple. They do not attend Dorothy's gathering. They eat alone. And they hide behind very expensive sunglasses. In short, they look like a Ralph Lauren ad, the only thing missing is the basket of snow-white puppies -- which I'm convinced they left at home with a uniformed nanny. They are utterly unapproachable. I track them like Harriet the Spy. Who are these snobs? Worry not, we will find out. I have my FOD'S (Friends of Dorothys) on the case.

QE2: A DEAD FISH, ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER AND ME

Everything on this ship is ultra-formal. There is serious protocol for everything. But on the day we cross the day we cross the equator for the first time (we will cross it again twice more), formality and protocol are tossed overboard and everyone on the ship goes mad!

The crossing ritual, a form of high-seas hazing, dates back to the 14th century. From the Daily Programme:

"These humiliating initiations took on various forms, some of which were highly dangerous. Subjects would be coated with various nasty liquids found in the bilge of the ship and then suspended by the ankles and plunged into the sea."

On the QE2, it's a wild poolside party where I and about a hundred others are forced to kiss a big, dead fish on the lips (to honor Neptune).

As soon as I've kissed the rapidly decomposing fish (it's a hot day), my face is rubbed with slimy pasta, raw eggs are broken over my head, sausages are draped around my neck, more disgusting stuff is smeared on my back and chest, and I'm ceremoniously tossed into the pool while hundreds of bloodthirsty passengers crammed onto the decks cheer, jeer and snap photographs.

But this hilarious humiliation, which begins at high noon, is nothing compared to what happens next.

I'm scheduled to do a signing of my novel at 2:30 p.m. I rush to my cabin, shower off the slime, jump into a nice suit, don a new tie, grab my book.

I'm worried because Sally Jones, a fabulous singer/actress whom I like very much, is scheduled to do a singing symposium on the life and music of Andrew Lloyd Webber.ally will be in the 600-seat Grand Salon.

I'm relegated to the more intimate (ship spin for "tiny, no windows") Chart Room.

My concerns are confirmed: At 2:35 p.m. it's just the bookstore clerk, a stack of my books, and me. I sneak over to the Grand Salon; it's packed with "Phantom"-loving fans. Even the mysterious gay couple is there!

"No one," Sally muses wistfully, "least of all Sir Webber, anticipated the astonishing success of Jesus Christ Superstar."

As she breaks into "I Don't Know How To Love Him," I crawl back to the Chart Room to dismiss the bookstore clerk.

And there they are, each and every one of Dorothy's friends, fashionably late, dressed to impress and eager to get started. .

Next month: Tahiti, Tonga, Fiji, New Zealand, and Australia.

Part two of three

QE2: THE OLD AND THE RESTLESS/TAHITI

Here's the thing about traveling around the world with very old people: Most of the time it's like being a devout horticulturalist in a large and refined vegetable garden. I find them colorful and fascinating -- even if they don't do much. The ones who aren't doddering, which is actually most of them, are fascinating to talk to; they have sparkle and experience and couldn't care less about my or anybody's sexual preference. A lot of them have traveled extensively, seen a lot, met all sorts of different people and have most likely come to the conclusion that gay is not a threat, but a bonus. So I'm OK with them on the large ship.

Shore excursions are a whole other matter.

Getting them from the ship to a ferry, then onto a catamaran requires patience.

A woman walking excruciatingly slowly in front of me must have felt my slow burn because she turned around and said, "We're the walking wounded," then laughed her head off.

What I saw of Papeete, Tahiti, looked like any overdeveloped Caribbean seaport -- hot, humid, traffic jams, poverty. Expensive, too. The only thing I can say for it is that the younger men are unanimously stunning -- stocky, flat-tummied, tribal-tattooed front, back and center, never, ever wear shirts and walk like tigers.

But, ah, Moorea, the smaller island just to the south, is breathtaking. The best way to see it is by catamaran. We sailed all around the island to a crystal clear lagoon where I snorkeled with colorful little fishes.

Moorea's natural beauty is further enhanced by its mountain peaks. The most famous is the magical, mysterious Moua Lau, which inspired the haunting song "Bali Hai" from the '50s musical "South Pacific" and was later name-checked in The B-52's song "Rock Lobster."

No photo can do it justice.

QE2: TONGA MEANS TROUBLE

Last November, riots broke out in Nuku'Alofa, the capital of Tonga. The king died in September; his son is to be named his successor. But the citizens, although in serious mourning for the king, (most houses are wrapped in black-and-purple bunting; women wear thick, black long-sleeved dresses even in this 90-degree humidity) want the monarchy out and a democratic system in. The mayhem went on for two weeks; 80 percent of all buildings were burnt to the ground. Forty thousand people participated and 2,000 people, ranging in age from 9 to 75, are currently under arrest.
 

Although passengers of the QE2 were assured by an announcement that we would not be in danger, that natives' beef was against the monarchy and not the tourists, many chose to stay on board and admire troubled Tonga from afar.

I was not one of those passengers. I set out for Nuku'Alofa on my own.

The town itself -- what's left of it -- is small and humble; the houses are square with peaked tin roofs designed to catch rainwater for personal use. Most Tongans don't have running water.

Where Tongans truly excel is in their cemeteries, their tombs decorated in a style that's somewhere between the gaudiest of Christmas trees and a Mexican piñata. Only more so.

The young men of Tonga are exceptionally beautiful and, unlike the Tahitians, eager to pose for photographs. They looked at my lens with the seductive half-smile and dreamy eyes of seasoned cover boys. I had the same exact experience with every young man I approached.

Conclusion: Most Tongans are gay. Most Tongans are bisexual. Most Tongans will do anything to get off the island in search of democracy, indoor plumbing and a tasteful resting place.

QE2: THE DIGNITY OF CANNIBALS/FIJI

They're everywhere in Suva, the capital of Fiji: Men in skirts.

Not grass skirts nor silly sarongs, but smooth, solid-color wraparound skirts called sulus. They're de rigueur for professionals from cops to lawyers, who carry themselves with an upright, masculine dignity that reeks of status.

Ironically, these Fijians in skirts are the direct descendants of the world's most fierce warriors. So fierce that just a scant 130 years ago they regularly ate their enemies. Fiji's most notorious cannibal was Ra Udreuse, who at the time of his death boasted 822 "feasts."

I bought a sulu and wore it, with jacket and tie as required, to the lovely -- and somewhat stuffy -- Mauritania Dining Room of the Queen Elizabeth 2.

My sulu is chocolate brown, flattering to the tummy, and quite the head-turner. It was not my first time in a skirt, but it was the first time in a skirt without ruffles.

I wore said sulu with the quiet dignity of a cannibal. People responded in kind, particularly James Furth, the fussy maitre d', who nightly guards the restaurant's entrance for anyone who'd dare transgress his rigid dress code.

The handsome Mr. Furth greeted me with unabashed admiration and, for the first time since I started this voyage, escorted me to my table.

QE2: UPSIDE DOWNUNDER/NEW ZEALAND

We visited three ports in New Zealand. In Auckland, I attended, merely by coincidence, the city's Gay Pride Festival. It was at a wonderful park on the bay. I happened to be here on this special day. Coincidence? The gay Kiwis couldn't have been friendlier. A big group of lesbians immediately adopted me, offered me a place on their blanket and beverages from a huge red cooler.

The mayor made a big speech about diversity. The festival, called Big Gay Out, in militant response to the annual (and straight) Big Day Out, is the city's seventh annual --but the mayor's first appearance. It's a significant milestone.

The local news interviewed me.

"Gay American author traveling the world on the world-famous QE2," was how the reporter introduced me. I babbled incoherently for a few minutes. I can't remember what I said, something to do with "out, proud and happy to be here."

Auckland is lovely, as is Wellington.

But it is Christchurch that truly intrigues me -- for there lives a man, a rather eccentric sociologist, known as the Wizard of Christchurch. The Wizard appears in the town square every afternoon to preach. His obsession is to officially turn all maps and globes upside down so that New Zealand appears on top.

"The earth is round and spins," he roars from his pulpit, a wooden stepladder decorated with flowers, "so why should they arbitrarily and capriciously always put us downunder when they can just as easily put us wayontop?"

So it's the old top/bottom dilemma, on a global scale.

QE2: THREE QUEENS/AUSTRALIA

First, I have to get used to the idea that I'm in Tasmania, a place I always thought was where cartoon characters came from. And on to Melbourne, which manages to be simultaneously huge and quaint. How'd they do that?

Then on to Sydney Harbor. All 1,500 passengers are crammed onto the decks as the QE2 glides slowly past the world famous Opera House. Which would have been enough.

But this docking is bigger and more amazing than that! The Queen Mary 2 is there waiting for us and, because it's the first time that both ships have been in Sydney at the same time, it's an EVENT!

Millons have turned up to see the two queens. They're shouting and waving from the shore; a flotilla surrounds us.

A nude couple on water skis tries to steal their attention, but fails.

At dusk there are fireworks that seem to go on forever. Even seasoned world travelers are moved to tears. We're big news: The QE2 and the QM2 knock Anna Nicole Smith from the covers of all the newspapers for the first time in weeks, I hear from passengers who got e-mails the next morning from friends all over the world who saw it on TV.

The following evening I'm in the presence of yet another queen: This one is a mobile home. "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: The Musical" is Australia's biggest theatrical hit ever. And with good reason. It is as colorful and campy as the movie, but so much more alive. Well, it is live.

If it goes to Broadway (and rumor has it that it is), I predict it will run forever.

Good on ya, girls.

Next month -- Japan, China, Vietnam, Thailand, Singapore and India.

Part three of three

QE2: Pearls before swine: China

She's a stunning blonde in her late 60s. While traveling, she has taken a lover. The man is "crew," so it's all very hush-hush. The slightest indiscretion could cost him his job.

Whenever she wanted him in her cabin, she wore a big string of expensive pearls. To the friends of Dorothy she was known as "Pearls."

As we neared Shanghai, Pearls was in a tizzy because her husband was boarding the QE2. I met the man a few nights later. He was a pig, incoherently drunk and obnoxiously rude.

After Hong Kong, I approached a friend of Dorothy who is well-acquainted with Pearls. "How it was going with the husband?"

"Darling, it's a scandal! Apparently, hubby was quite drunk one night and passed out in his cabin, but had to get up to pee. Instead of opening the bathroom door, he opened the cabin door and pissed into the hallway, then continued on down the hallway trying to find his bed. Someone found him snoring at the bottom of the stairs, stark raving naked!"

Hubby was summarily removed from the ship.

I caught a glimpse of Pearls rushing madly through Raffles Hotel in Singapore, wearing her pearls and a triumphant smile.

QE2: Lingering horror::Vietnam

Frank was a soldier during the war. Now in his 60s, he's back for the first time -- and only because Vietnam is one of QE2's scheduled stops.

"He'll probably have a heart attack every time a car backfires," his wife told me. I saw him as he boarded the tour bus to China Beach. He was so nervous his face had no color.

I would have gone with him, but already had plans with two gay guys from the crew to explore Vietnam on our own.

The three of us were walking on a deserted road along a very tranquil lake when out of some bushes emerged a totally naked woman.

She was dirty and scarred, clearly deranged. We didn't know what to do, so we ignored her. But she singled out the tallest one of us, Mladen (he's from Bosnia and stands about 6'5"). She was fascinated by his height and kept jumping at him, trying to touch his face.

Mladen recoiled in horror and started running. We ran into a restaurant hoping she wouldn't follow us there. But nutty naked lady chased us into the dining room, to the kitchen, and back again, like something out of a silent movie (except we were screaming). Finally the cook held her back and we made our escape.

The following day I told Frank about my encounter with nutty naked lady and asked him about his day.

Frank was chipper and sporting a China Beach tan. He had survived his day in Vietnam without incident, had even managed to relax and have some fun.

No one in Vietnam remembered he once stalked their villages with an AK-47.

Nothing jumped out of the bushes.

QE2: Dyke for a day: Japan

I'm invited to join Judith and Helen to tour Kyoto. Judith's daughter from a previous marriage (Judith married Helen last August) has a friend in Kyoto who is willing to show us around.

I'm honored!

Mieko meets us at the ship and from then on we are in her capable hands. She leads us from bus to train to taxi and to the heart of Kyoto. I'm excited. I'm a huge fan of "Memoirs of a Geisha" (the book, not the movie). Now I have walked where they walked. This had enormous significance for me and as I trail behind Judith and Helen through the streets of Gion, awash in red lanterns and ancient shrines, I'm as happy as a kid with two moms.

QE2: Delicious decadence: Thailand

We're here overnight and I booked a hotel in Pataya that backs into the gay beach. Overlapping umbrellas protect tourists from the sun as hot massage boys ply their trade. Everything here is out in the open: 16-year-old boys stroll hand in hand with 60-year-old men. Porn DVDs are peddled like ice cream cones.

A pretty man daintily perches next to me. I'm a mark!
"You mind if I sit with you, honey?"

He's what they call a lady-boy; there are as many for rent as umbrellas.

He is an expert seducer; I have never heard myself described in such flattering terms and probably never will again. Nevertheless, I pass. Really, I do.

In the evening I attend the most elaborate drag show in the world. The stage is big as three Broadway stages. The cast numbers in the hundreds. The audience is mixed, straight couples, gay men, even children. The show, "a romp around the world," is good clean fun.

Good clean fun ends when I enter Boyz Town: Now, it's just fun. Again, there is nothing covert about it. Practically naked muscle boys flex and invite outside neon clubs. Gorgeous Europeans drink, smoke dope, and hook up with hookers up. Their T-shirts read: Good Guys Go To Heaven Bad Boys Go To Pataya.

Mental note: Return to Pataya. Stay forever.

QE2: I wanna hold your hand: India

All the men in India hold hands while walking -- an endearing tradition.

I skip Mumbai in favor of a day trip to the Taj Mahal. It's VIP -- a chartered jet, a red carpet and marching band welcomes us to Agra.

The monument itself is stunning, the sort of place where you have to pinch yourself. Am I really here?

The Taj is all about the photograph. I want one sitting where Princess Di sat, and I get it. Then along comes this Indian family and for some odd reason they want their picture taken -- with me! All of this takes place through hand signals as none speaks the other's language.

The husband hands the camera to his wife and stands next to me; his five kids quickly surround us. As she's about to snap, he enlaces his fingers through mine and holds our hands up to the camera.

"Friends," he says in English.

Click.

QE2: Black and white: South Africa

Once I came up with the idea, I was obsessed! I walked off the ship at 11 a.m. wearing my tuxedo, hired a taxi and off I went.

From the brochures, it looked like I could mix and mingle with the famous Jackass penguins of Boulder Beach, so-called because of their donkey-like braying.

Not so. Humans are on a raised platform, the penguins down below. I needed to jump the fence.

My cab driver seriously advised against it because if I scared away the penguins there would be a tourist uprising.

In an impetuous rush worthy of an Olson twin's movie, I tossed the camera to the cab driver and jumped. The penguins couldn't have cared less.

The tourists applauded my derring-do.

Hey, how often do you witness a grown man, dressed like a penguin . . . among the penguins? Just another jackass!

QE2: Upstairs/downstairs: A shipboard escapade

The "crew bar," in the bowels of the QE2 is where the hot gay parties happen. Sadly, it's strictly forbidden to passengers.

It's the last of five sea days between Southampton and New York City and I'm restless. And I was just notified that my novel has been nominated for the Edmund White Debut Fiction award.

Only one way to celebrate!

I make my way down to the loud, smoky crew bar. All my waiters, bartenders and cabin stewards are there -- basically, all the people I hold responsible for the seven extra pounds on my ass.

They're thrilled to see me and buy me drink after drink. Then I'm introduced to a striking Russian waiter who scrutinizes me with hard eyes.

"You passenger," he barks. "Not to be here."

"I'm an outlaw," I respond.

He grabs me by my shirt collar, "Let's dance!"

And we dance -- until 4 a.m.

QE2: Lady in the water:New York City

I have cruised around the world!

It's 6 a.m, overcast and cold, but we swarm the decks for a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. The lady finally emerges from the mist -- and she hasn't changed a bit.

I have.

In exactly 30 days, I will have a birthday, but I don't feel the usual dread and anxiety. I have learned from my fellow passengers, many in their 90s and still rocking the boat, that age is irrelevant.

I also learned that the world is very big, but not so big that you can't put your arms around it and hold it close.

Eduardo Santiago is the author of the novel Tomorrow They Will Kiss, an Edmund White Debut Fiction Award finalist. He lives in Los Angeles with his dog, Lyon.