So traveling around Spain alone has been very fun, but not very gay. We just got back to Madrid from a tour of the Basque Country, spending a few nights in Bilbao and San Sebastian, and eating and drinking as much as possible everywhere in between. But the only flirty gay we ever encountered (for sure) was a very hot guy at the beach gym in San Sebastian. We were doing a good job of making eye contact with him, until we walked face first into a sharp metal support beam (which was hold up, of all things, one of those big, safe, inflated exercise balls) and began bleeding from our forehead.
We’ve found ourselves comically doing things alone that we’ve never done before. We’ve made dinner and lunch reservations for one, we’ve gone to bars by ourselves, and we’ve made countless other tourists take pictures of only us in front of interesting sights. And it’s been great.
One night, we were walking home from downtown San Sebastian along the boardwalk, after a crazed night out in the city’s Parte Vieja. We hadn’t heard English in a long time and were just realizing that fact when a pair of drunk American dudes walking beside us began talking loudly about the “totally sweet” dinner they just had. We struck up a funny conversation with them as we walked, and then they left to go down to the sand to be by the water.
We continued down the boardwalk towards our hotel, but turned back for a moment, just in time to catch their shadowy forms as they took off their clothes and went running together into the Atlantic. As they hit the first waves, one splashed up to the other and jumped into his arms. They clung together, and then fell into the water.
And there, as we stood in the shadows of a shuttered beachside café so they couldn’t see us watching, for the very first time we actually felt alone.
Thank G-d for international hotel television. Nothing says “We’re all in this together” like hearing Joey say “WÖ-ACH” in German on “Blossom.”