Chuck, Cam, Mary, and me

I think I may have gotten 2 hours sleep last night this morning. But I did manage to stumble over to The Regency and have a proper English breakfast. Eggs, rashers of bacon, grilled kidneys, fried bread, fried potatoes, broiled tomato, mushrooms, black pudding, coffee, tea, orange juice, fruit, cereal, and best of all – beans on toast. Yum. Then I waddled back to my flat where I will probably die of a heart attack due to clogged arteries.

Bill and Claudia had my flat aired out and stocked the fridge with juice and champers. Yay! When they picked me up they hit me with the news. They want to buy my house. I don’t know what I feel about that. But that’s a post for another day. I’m off to buy a Charles and Camilla tea towel. I’m going to see 'Mary Poppins' in the West End tonight. Ah, to be young and gay in London! Here’s a pic of my flat. And yes, I know, it is a bit twee. But it was always intended to be a rental unit.


I’m flying back tomorrow. So have a great weekend. Cherio and ta-ta till next week.

Souvenirs

I have received two very special gifts since arriving back in Baku. The first one I received Sunday evening and the second one last night.

When we arrived back at S and P’s villa there was a message waiting from their friends that own The Wharf restaurant. One of the local waitresses, Katya, from their restaurant had gone home, climbed the stairs in her apartment building and had been assaulted. The attacker did not take any money or sexually assault her. He did stab her between the ribs just missing her liver. The blade punctured her lungs three times. He left her in the darkened hallway. Luckily a neighbor found her and got her to the emergency clinic.

We dropped our bags and headed to the clinic. It was like stepping back into a third world country. The stairs were filthy, the floors were filthy, and wards were about 25 feet by 18 feet, with about 6 beds along each wall. These hospitals are nothing more than a room. The patient brings the bandages needed, the drugs, the bed linen, and the food required for the stay. The conditions are truly deplorable. She was very weak. We visited with her for a few minutes and told her we would return later that evening.

From the hospital we headed to The Wharf. We huddled with their friends about what we could do to help. It was decided that The Wharf would donate all of Monday’s receipts and S and I said that we would match them dollar for dollar. We found out that it was also Katya’s birthday. So we left the restaurant and went shopping for birthday and get well gifts. S and I let P do the shopping while he and I discussed plans to castrate her attacker if he were ever caught. However satisfying that might have been to us it wouldn’t have helped Katya at all. That’s when S and I came up with a new plan. By the time P had returned we were in complete agreement about what we were going to do.

When we arrived at the clinic P went to the ward with the gifts. S and I found her doctor and told him our idea. He told us that our plans were just what Katya needed. He left to make the arrangements and we headed to tell Katya and P. We found them talking to her mother who looked so worried. S told them that he and I had talked to her doctor and that we were having Katya transferred to the new American hospital where all Westerners are treated and that S and I were going to pay for her stay. For once in her life P was speechless. But the look of relief on Katya’s mother’s face is the special gift I was speaking of. It was far more valuable than anything S and I could ever give.

By Monday afternoon it seemed that the entire American ex-pat community had heard about Katya and was lining up to help. A fund has been set up to help her when she is released from the hospital.

Later that evening we went out to dinner with an Azeri gay couple that S and P befriended. Dimitri is the assistant manager at the Hyatt and Ayas is a pilot for Azerbaijan Airlines. The guys have been together for eight years. They have to be very careful as Azerbaijan is a very conservative Muslim country. We had a great time and I really enjoyed watching the two of them interact. They reminded me a little of BC and I. They also reminded me that love is eternal, it never truly ends. That was my second gift.




So I am ready to head home on Wednesday. I have decided to spend a day in London instead of New York. This has been a really good trip. I got to visit and travel with my best friends. I got to help someone in need. I had my soul nourished by the commitment of two gay men. And I’m taking those gifts home with me.

Oh yeah, just in case you mistakenly think I’ve become all selfless and think only of others now, you should know I’m leaving my altruism in Baku as there isn’t room in my suitcases. Because I’m also taking home the great antique rug I bought in the old city, a fur Cossack hat, the sapphires that P bought me in Bangkok (which I will have made into cufflinks), two bottles of fine Russian vodka, and several jars of cosmetic volcanic mud because I am that gay. Told you I don’t travel light.

et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

It is time to end ‘The Queen and I’ tour as P has dubbed our Thailand trip. Tomorrow we return to Baku. I spent the day in a cooking class. (Gaeng ped, anyone?) P dragged S off shopping. Poor bastard.

Yesterday was full of sightseeing. The Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaew, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha complex were, to say the least, dazzling. The only thing missing was Yul Brenner.










If only Marni Nixon were there to dub P as she warbled ‘Shall We Dance’.

Bangkok birthday

Trust me when I say that everyone should celebrate their 54th birthday in Bangkok. I had a blast.

S and P took me to a fabulous Las Vegas revue the Calypso Cabaret last night. Calypso is a famous drag/tranny cabaret. The show was great.




And S bribed the MC to ensure that I was properly embarrassed and humiliated. I was subjected to a lap dance from an ugly transvestite who informed the audience that she was my mail order bride and I was in Bangkok to pick her up and take her back to the US.



P had phoned ahead and ordered a birthday cake. And you have not lived until you have heard 'Happy Birthday' sung off-key by a bevy of Thai drag queens. Priceless.

We interrupt your normal programming…

…to bring you this breaking news story from Bangkok, Thailand.

Today at 2:32 pm I officially was elected Pope became this. Yes kiddies, I turned 54. I have taken a brief disco nap and am now ready to molest, pillage, and terrorize the local population begin the official celebrations. Further news as it develops.

…We return you now to your regularly scheduled programming.

Your typical road trip: volcanoes, flaming mountains, and the Evil Eye

P and I set out on our road trip in her vintage Russian UAZ. Hot car. Bad driver. We are barely out of the city before she is lost. I commandeer the jeep and the map and we set off again.


Baku is a port city ringed by mountains, amphitheater-like. Just beyond that ring there is another set of mountains, appropriately nicknamed the Candy Cane Mountains.


We stopped to snap some pics at Yanar Dag (Mountain of Fire). Escaping natural gas at the bottom of a cliff has been burning for centuries. Similar spots abound in Azerbaijan which made it very popular with Zoroastrians and pyromaniacs. Next to the fire, villagers have set up a couple of benches and tables, where they sit at night drinking vodka until someone throws a rock at the limestone, kicking up a new batch of flames. Idiots. They should be drinking vodka and blogging.




We stopped at a roadside café for vodka tea and cakes. A little farther up the road we reach our destination and the purpose for our trip, the mud volcanoes. P has heard about the benefits of the volcanic mud. S would never agree to come with her so she waited until I got here to nag badger hassle poke prod invite me to go along. The mud is cold. It bubbles up with natural gas. There are NO SMOKING signs in several languages because a mud volcano can explode, shooting flames hundreds of meters into the sky. The mud is also rich in minerals. We fill the containers we brought with us with the mud. P is now happy. She has her beauty supplies. And we can now return to civilization and caviar.




We race back to Baku, pausing once to pick some camel’s thorn which local superstition says will protect against the Evil Eye and to flirt with photograph a local cowboy.




Later last night as we were strolling through a nearby street market I see a woman with a table piled high with jars of volcanic mud. It seems we never needed to leave the city at all. P should pray that the camel’s thorn protects her. My eye is twitching.

So, you think daylight savings time is bad?

P is such a devoted friend. She has hidden all sharp objects as I have professed the intention of slitting my throat. I have such a hideous case of jet lag. I spent a total of 8,126 17 hours on airplanes Wednesday while crossing the globe repeatedly 9 time zones. My internal clock is still screaming “Why? Why do you do this? You’re not 18. I hate you.”

Instead of letting me sleep yesterday P decided I had to get up and go with her to S’s office. He wanted to show me his office and then take us to lunch. After much cursing and feeble attempts to swat her as she tugged on my sheet I finally got out of bed and into the shower. When we got to S’s office building I couldn’t go inside immediately. I was mesmerized by the uh…, security barriers. I stood there pointing, snapping pics, and giggling like a little girl. OK, I was almost comatose with exhaustion but what do these look like to you? I so needed a nap.





S wanted to take us to The Wharf, a Cajun restaurant owned by friends of theirs. I wanted no part of it. That would be like eating chicken fried steak in Paris. It’s just so wrong. I told him I wanted local foods. So he took us to an Azeri seafood restaurant on the docks. It made me very happy. I got to eat all the simple peasant food caviar I was craving. You would not believe how cheap caviar is here. I may never leave.

After lunch we waddled off to explore the city a little.









P has promised me a relaxing ‘day of beauty’ Saturday but I first have to trek off with her to mountains today. There is always a catch with that woman. Jeez Louise, …a road trip with jetlag. As an inducement she says I can have caviar for dinner tonight. mmm...Did I mention how much I love caviar road trips?

Naked jumping

The flight to NYC yesterday went smoothly. Larry and Denis picked me up at JFK and drove me out to their house in Montauk. It is beautiful out here. I wanted to get naked, streak to the beach this morning and jump in the Atlantic to celebrate Aaron’s great news . But it was too cold. Instead I jumped naked into the shower. We head to the city today and see Spamalot tonight. Tomorrow I fly to London, change planes and fly to Baku. If I don’t die of jetlag I’ll post from Azerbaijan.

Dilemma

Once upon a time I used to travel light. A backpack, carry on, or single suitcase was all I would need. Sadly that is no longer true. But do I really need that third suitcase?

I can either pay off everyone’s school loans or I can pay the overweight baggage charges this trip, not both.

So... You are on your own, people.

***UPDATE: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. P just called with our flight info for Thailand. It seems we leave Baku 5:05AM arriving in Vienna at 6:20AM (4 hour 15 min flight) and do not leave for Bangkok until 11:20PM (9 hour layover) arriving Bangkok 2:30PM (10 hour 10 min flight). Somehow I think she glossed over this flight plan from hell when she was pushing the Thailand trip. Clearly she must be punished.

***NOTE TO SELF: Forget three suitcases. Take steamer trunk. It can be used to hide her body.

A birthday gift

I haven’t been able to write as much about BC as I thought I would when I started this blog. I’m not a very good writer and I can’t stand the thought that I might not do him justice. He still lives in my heart and my memories are very strong but when I try write about him I am never satisfied. I write and then rewrite and yet when I read what I’ve written I decide I haven’t captured him at all. I’m fiercely protective of his memory so I end up erasing everything.

But I have to write about him today. You see, I got another letter from him today. Actually I found another letter from him today. BC was a prolific writer. He started writing a journal when he was six and he never stopped. I have all of his journals. One year for his birthday I had them bound in leather as a present. That was his most favorite birthday gift from me and I so got laid that night. He was a great letter and note writer too. Nearly every day for 32 years I would find some sort of missive on my pillow, plate, car seat, or maybe in one of my books. They could be anywhere. Their subject matter varied. One day it might be a poem. The next day it might be something he had forgotten to tell me that morning. Sometimes it might be a joke. And occasionally it might be an attempt to have the last word in an argument. (Huh...Like I ever let that happen.) More often than not it was to tell me that he loved me. I kept each one. I have boxes of them.

After he died I realized just how much I missed getting them. I would find myself absentmindedly looking for that day’s note only to snap out of it and realize that there wouldn’t be any more. That was hard.

This morning I pulled out suitcases from the luggage closet so that I could begin to pack for my trip. I laid them out on the bed in one of the bedrooms. After I opened them I noticed the corner of a piece of paper peeking out of an interior pocket. I pulled it out and immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelope. It was BC’s. I stopped what I was doing and took it downstairs. I sat for the longest time just turning it over and over in my hands. I wanted to savor it before I finally opened and read it. I wondered when he had put it there. What had he written? How had I missed it before?

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and I tore it open. I read it repeatedly and frankly I haven’t been able to stop smiling. I can share the last line of the letter with you. It was pure BC. It said “Thank you for insuring that I never had to hunt for a date on Friday night for the last 3 decades.” I’m glad now that I didn’t find it sooner. I consider it an early birthday present. And I think it may be my most favorite gift from him. “Thanks, Babe.”

Anyone up for Pad Thai?

There has been a change in my itinerary. I got a call from P last night and she wants us to go to Thailand for my birthday instead of St. Petersburg. I accused her of finding a Thai lover on her last trip. She says she had so much fun in February that she wants us to go together. Right. She just wants to go shopping again and spend more of S’s money. Whatever. I’m easy. If I’m lucky I might be able to squeeze in a cooking class while I’m there.

To kill or not to kill?

I have been trying to write since Sunday but I can not seem to complete a sentence. The problem is I have been in the foulest mood. Every time I try to write the blackness overwhelms me and I have to stop. So if you came here looking for sweetness and light or God forbid something funny then please toddle off to someone else’s blog cause you are not going to find it here. Not today and probably not all week. I am far too busy planning the murder.

Poison? No. It’s too hard to find. I’m fairly sure you can’t find it on eBay. And it’s not like you can just go to The Poison Store. “Hello. How are you? I’d like a pint of potassium cyanide please. Do you take American Express?” And it’s too easy to identify. I’ve watched CSI. Gil Grissom would say “The victim’s breath smells like bitter almonds. It must have been potassium cyanide. Catherine, check the records and CCTV tapes at The Poison Store and see who bought potassium cyanide lately.” I would be caught, tried, convicted, and served my own lethal injection cocktail in no time at all. No. Definitely, not poison.

Car wreck? I could always cut the brake lines. The brakes would fail as the car rounds a curve and then plow into a pole holding high voltage power lines which would drop and voila,…electrocution. No. That’s not a sure thing. The car might not crash at all, much less into a power line. Besides I know nothing about brake lines. Where are they any way, in the trunk? No, I’d have to call AAA and I don’t think that is part of their roadside assistance program. And they have my card number and keep records too. I would be caught, tried, convicted, and electrocuted in no time at all. No. Scratch the cut brake line idea.

Gun? Knife? No. I don’t own a gun and besides I might accidentally shoot myself. If I used a knife I’d have to get rid of it. I have expensive chef knives and I’d hate to lose one. I don’t think a butter knife would work and I don’t own a Ginsu. You have to get up close and personal to use either one which means I’d need a disguise. It’s already spring. I bet you can’t find a pastel ski mask anywhere. I would be caught, tried, convicted, and shot by a firing squad in no time at all. Or maybe Big Bubba would stab me with a shank the first time I said I had a headache when he wanted sex before I ever went to trial. No. Guns and knives are out.

I may have to rethink this whole murder thing. I probably don’t have time to plan it carefully, much less carry it out before I leave on vacation. And besides, Johnny Cochran just died. Although Robert Blake’s attorney is available I hear. No. No. Maybe I won’t commit murder after all.

I mean it’s not like she meant to do it.
Even trained professionals have bad days.
She did drive all the way out to my house on a Sunday.
It was her day off and it was a favor to me.
After all I did serve her all those shots with beer chasers before she started.
And she didn’t charge me…

Still, a bad haircut justifies murder don’t you think?

Answered prayers

I must have been very good this week.
*
First this.
*
Then this.
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And next... Stay tuned. It seems I now have God’s ear.