Baja Honeymoon

by Roland Graeme

“You have some opinion of women, don’t you? You’re a misogynist, in fact.”

  “I’m a realist. I believe women have the same right to a sex life as men do.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, this discussion is purely theoretical, because I intend to be celibate the whole time we’re down there.”

  “Really? The whole time?”

  “You sound incredulous. Some of us can exercise self-restraint, you know.”

  “Not me. Fair warning, Rick. If I have a chance to get laid on this trip, I intend to take advantage of it.”

  “I take it you’re not talking about putting the make on me?”

  “No, your virtue is safe with me.”

  “Let’s not mince words, Ken. If you meet a guy and you want to have sex with him, go right ahead and have sex with him. As long as you’re reasonably careful, for God’s sake. I don’t want to get ripped off, or worse, by some hustler you pick up. And I don’t want to have to find something to do to amuse myself for hours on end while you’re screwing around. That could get old real fast. Unless, of course, I can hang around and watch.”

  “Hang around and watch? Now who’s kidding?”

  “I’m only half kidding. I wouldn’t mind seeing what you gay guys do, firsthand. It could be educational. It might come in handy if I ever have to play a gay character.”

  “You are too much.”

  “I’m being honest. I have my share of prurient curiosity, like anybody else.”

  “There’s nothing like learning by doing, I always say.”

  “You would say that. When I say I’m curious, I should’ve said it’s a purely academic curiosity. I wouldn’t mind observing, as long as I don’t have to participate.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “I thought I was being a good sport, actually. Do you know a lot of straight guys who’d let you whore around while you’re traveling in their company?”

  “Not many. You do have a point there.”

  “Well, your extremely active sex life shouldn’t be a problem, then.”

  “It’s rarely a problem, as far as I’m concerned,” Ken boasted. “I prefer to think of it as a gift. My gift to other men.”

  Rick laughed. “You pig. But come on, stop sitting on the fence. Give me a definite answer. You will come on this trip with me, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Thank God. I thought I’d never get that out of you. Let’s shake on it.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  And so, mock-solemnly, they shook hands.

  “And now I’m going to open another bottle of wine so we can celebrate,” Rick declared.

  “No need to get me drunk now. I’ve already given in.”

  “Let’s get drunk anyway. To celebrate.”

  “You look happy.”

  “I am happy. I’m so glad you’ve agreed to come with me. You have no idea.”

  “Yeah, but even if I’d said no, you must have other friends you could have asked. Guys you’ve known much longer than you’ve known me.”

  “I’m not all that close to too many people. And you’re the one I want to go with me.”

  Ken felt a flush of pleasure when he heard this admission. “Why? Why me in particular?”

  “I get a kick out of you. You make me laugh. Here I am: I ought to be in a funk over this breakup. Instead, I’m in a really good mood.”

  “Well, that’s me. The guaranteed mood enhancer. In one way or another.”

  “Speaking of mood enhancement, I’d suggest turning on the TV, but I’m afraid of seeing my own mug plastered all over the screen on one of those goddamn news shows. Why don’t you put on some music?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Then we can look through the guidebook and start fine-tuning our trip.”

  Ken chose Boris Godunov, which might not be some guys’ idea of background music. But as he and Rick drank their wine and talked about Baja, he enjoyed listening to it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PREPARATIONS

  A SPIRIT of adventure seemed to take possession of Ken. With each day that passed until their planned departure date, he found himself getting more excited and more impatient for the road trip to begin.

  Preparations kept him busy. He discovered that Rick was a well-organized type and that, like Ken, he was a compulsive maker of lists.

  Because they would be traveling more than a hundred miles south of the border, there were several legal hoops they’d have to jump through in order to comply with Mexican law. Rick had already purchased Mexican auto insurance for the pickup truck and obtained a letter of permission to take the vehicle out of the country. He and Ken next had to be sure they wouldn’t encounter any problems at the crucial moment of actually crossing the border. They would need to take along their passports and original birth certificates. These documents would have to be presented to get a Tourist Card, which was the equivalent of a visa. Armed with these cards, they would be free to travel up and down the whole length of the Baja peninsula at will.

  Having committed himself to supplying the fuel, Ken did a little research on the current price of gas in Mexico. Petroleum products there, he was reminded, were regulated and distributed by the government-run oil company, Pemex—short for Petróleos Mexicanos—so prices didn’t fluctuate too much. This made it easier to come up with a rough estimate of how much he might end up spending on gas.

  They spent part of one weekend collecting and comparing their camping equipment, and determining via trial and error how it could be stowed most efficiently in the back of the pickup. Items too bulky for the lockable storage bins could be lashed to the truck’s overhead rack.

  Rick, Ken discovered, was an experienced camper who owned good-quality but not ostentatious equipment—and not that much of it, because Rick believed in traveling light. Ken hauled his own gear out of the closet, feeling a bit embarrassed by its age and the fact that he obviously hadn’t put it to use in a while. Rick, however, pronounced the gear serviceable after giving it a thorough inspection.

  “There’s no point in you buying anything especially for this trip,” he said. “I already have everything else we’ll possibly need.”

  Ken didn’t hesitate to ask Rick’s advice about which articles of clothing and which personal items to bring along.

  They weren’t sure how easy it would be to buy safe and palatable food in some of the more remote locations, so they did make an expedition to a grocery store together to stock up on canned goods and dry food. As agreed, they split the grocery tab fifty-fifty.

  “I’ll provide the condoms,” Ken volunteered.

  “Very funny. Shouldn’t cost me much.”

  Ken made no retort, since in fact he hadn’t been joking. He had every intention of taking along not only a large unopened box of rubbers but also a generous supply of his favorite lube. He and Rick might never get it on together except during the course of Ken’s most fevered fantasies, but Ken wasn’t going to refuse to take advantage of any opportunities that might present themselves along the way to make the carnal acquaintance of Mexican men. Hispanics, he knew from past personal experience, could be not only handsome, virile, and sensual; they could also be surprisingly friendly and accommodating when they met up with a sexually adventurous blond gringo such as himself.

  Ken gave his buddy Jimmy his to-do list. Jimmy, a former fuck buddy who’d become a good friend, was the guy Ken usually turned to on the rare occasions when Ken was out of town and needed someone to mind his business concerns during his absence.

  “I can’t recall you ever taking a vacation for more than two or three days at the most,” Jimmy remarked. “And now you’re planning to be gone all of two weeks?”

  “I know,” Ken said. “I can hardly believe it myself. But I really do need to take a break.”

  “And this dude you’re going to be traveling with? I don’t remember you ever mentioning him to me before. What’d you say his name was?”

  Ken, protective of Rick’s privacy, hadn�
�t in fact mentioned him by name to Jimmy. “Ah… it’s Nikolai,” he improvised, because Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov was the first name that popped into his head. “He’s Russian,” he added, adding a second lie to the first.

  “Wow, he sounds hot. Is he your new boyfriend?”

  “Hardly. He’s just a friend. He’s straight, as a matter of fact.”

  “Straight! You’re going to spend two whole weeks on vacation with a straight guy?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wonder how straight he’ll be once you’re done with him.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of having a platonic relationship with a straight man,” Ken bluffed. “No matter how hot he is.” He grinned provocatively at Jimmy. “Of course, there’s no way of telling what might happen down there in Baja. Maybe it’ll work out the other way. He might be a bad influence on me and turn me heterosexual. I’ll come back transformed into one of those horny womanizers who spends all his time trying to pick up chicks.”

  Jimmy scoffed. “That’ll be the day. Anyway, I hope you two dudes have a safe trip and a good time. I’m envious. Wish I could tag along. I’m already getting all worked up, thinking about this sexy straight buddy of yours you’ll be spending the days with. And thinking about all of the hot Mexican men you’ll no doubt be spending your nights with.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ON THE ROAD

  THE ALARM clock jarred Ken awake. He peered groggy-eyed at the digital display, and for a moment he wondered what the hell had possessed him to set the alarm for such an ungodly hour. Then he remembered. This wasn’t just any morning. He and Rick were going to begin their Baja adventure.

  Instantly, Ken threw off the lingering lethargy of sleep, feeling newly energized. He and Rick had decided last night to get an early start, to beat the traffic. They’d gotten together for dinner at Gallaghers, where they finalized their plans, and then Ken returned home and made an early night of it.

  He’d virtually finished his packing before he went to bed, so all he really needed to do now was shower and throw on the lightweight, comfortable travel clothes he’d already set out. He was dressed and making a quick final inspection tour of the apartment, double-checking to make sure that everything would be okay during his absence, when his cell phone buzzed.

  “Are you awake?” Rick asked bluntly.

  “I’m not only wide awake, I’m ready for you to pick me up.”

  “Really? I thought I’d have to come over there, ring your bell, and get you out of bed. I assumed that most gay men, like most women, are never ready on time.”

  “Wow. That crack managed to be sexist in two different ways at once. Impressive.”

  “Throw whatever guy you picked up last night out of your bed, and I’ll be right over.”

  “Witty first thing in the morning, aren’t you? I slept alone, for your information. Here’s a little advice. Don’t ever quit your day job and attempt a second career as a stand-up comedian.”

  “Okay, Ken, let’s declare a truce. No jokes at each other’s expense, at least until the sun comes up.”

  “Agreed. After that, of course, we can always make up for lost time.”

  “I’m glad you’re not the kind of guy who’s grumpy first thing in the morning.”

  “Not me. I’m used to getting up early. Not quite this early, maybe, but still early.”

  “So am I, because of having to go into the studio. Anyway, time’s a-wasting. We have a big road trip to go on, buddy. I’ll be in front of your place in a few minutes.”

  Soon, with Ken’s things added to Rick’s in the back of the pickup, they were on their way in the pre-dawn coolness and dark.

  “Are you excited?” Rick asked.

  “I am, as a matter of fact. I haven’t done anything like this—gone on a trip just for fun, I mean—in a long time. I’m way overdue.”

  “Me too. Oh, I’ve been on location shoots and traveled to make public appearances for publicity purposes. But that was different. It’s really just another part of work. For once, I want to do absolutely nothing but relax and play.”

  They stopped at a diner for a quick pancake breakfast.

  On this particular weekday, the traffic seemed light by Southern California standards, and several hours later they neared the border. Joining a short queue of vehicles, they waited for their turn to pull up beside the inspection booth. The border guard got out, looked over their vehicle, and asked a few perfunctory questions before waving them through.

  “How disappointing,” Rick commented. “We’re obviously not suspicious-looking or even interesting at all.”

  “Don’t knock it. You’re the one who wanted to blend in, remember?”

  “True. Let’s hope we can keep it up.”

  Ken, who had made this part of the trip before, assumed the role of navigator and steered Rick through downtown Tijuana’s maze of signposts indicating various turnoffs. Even at this early hour of the day, the streets were crowded with drivers who seemed either impatient to get to their destination or had no clue of which direction to take, and there was a steady cacophony of blaring car horns as vehicles made sudden, unauthorized lane changes.

  “So this is the famous Tijuana,” Rick remarked. “The place is a frigging death trap, from the looks of it. Believe it or not, I’ve never been here before. But you have?”

  “Yeah. So you can take my word for it when I say you haven’t been missing much. The sooner we drive through this burg, the better. Unless you’re determined to stop and savor the wicked border-town experience to its fullest?”

  “No, on your recommendation—or lack thereof—I think I’ll pass. Maybe we can stop here on our way back. If by then we’re very, very bored, which I hope we won’t be.”

  Once they were out of the city and on the open highway, Ken suggested, “Why don’t you let me drive? It’ll give me a chance to get used to how this heap handles. And this would be a good stretch for it. This part of the highway hugs the coastline, and it’s two lanes in either direction.”

  “All right.” Rick pulled over and stopped so they could change places. “As long as you don’t speed. It’s a little too early in the trip for us to start racking up tickets.”

  “I won’t have much of a chance to. I seem to recall that this stretch also has lots of tollbooths, which is one reason the road is so wide and in such good repair. We’ll be helping the Mexican government pay for the upkeep.”

  “I hope the Mexican government appreciates our contribution.” Now that Ken was behind the wheel and Rick was in the passenger seat, Rick sat back and observed the passing countryside. “This doesn’t look all that different from California.”

  “What’d you expect, a dramatic change the minute we crossed the border? Just wait. We’ll be in the real Baja before too long.”

  But Ken had to admit there was some justification for Rick’s remark. This particular stretch of the route was well developed, with hotels, beach houses, and other buildings lining both sides of the road and often visible in clusters in the distance. Occasionally they drove through a section of undeveloped coastline, but even there they passed billboards announcing what would be built there in the near future.

  It took less than two hours to reach the city of Ensenada, which was Baja’s third largest city and a popular tourist destination. Its proximity to the border and moderate climate made it a perfect weekend getaway for residents of Southern California. Ensenada boasted many luxury beach resorts and was an obligatory stopover for cruise ships. These vessels could be glimpsed in the distance, making their way serenely up and down the waters along the coast.

  Many American tourists who crossed the border in their own cars never, in fact, bothered to go farther south than Ensenada. Ken couldn’t help feeling a bit smugly superior to these cautious travelers. He and Rick, by contrast, were embarking upon a real adventure.

  Ken reminded Rick that they needed to stop to get their Tourist Cards, which were a requirement for anyone who plan
ned to venture south of Ensenada. They had no difficulty finding the office, and the bureaucratic procedure didn’t take long.

  With their cards safely tucked away in their wallets, the two Americans strolled over to the waterfront in search of lunch. They finally chose a small, cheerfully decorated, and obviously popular restaurant, where they sampled some fish tacos—a staple of Baja California cuisine.

  A huge white cruise ship was anchored far out in the harbor, dwarfing the flotilla of local fishing boats that surrounded it. Ken couldn’t help wondering if any of the passengers were honeymooning couples. Then Rick spoke as if he had read Ken’s mind. “I’m sure the accommodations on board that ship are quite luxurious. But I can’t say I envy the people on it. That would be too programmed a vacation experience to suit me. It’s the sort of thing Eva might have enjoyed.”

  This was the first time Rick had mentioned his ex-fiancée in several days, Ken realized. There wasn’t any audible rancor in Rick’s tone of voice. Nevertheless, Ken quickly changed the subject.

  “Yeah, we’re free to do whatever we want at our own pace,” he said. “Why don’t we stretch our legs a little before we get back on the road?”

  “Good idea.”

  Walking slowly and lazily in the warm sun, they explored the marina, observing the sailboats and the fishermen bringing in and unloading their catch.

  Back in the truck, Rick consulted the map while Ken once again drove. They had decided to turn off Highway 1 and made a detour onto Highway 3, heading east. Their destination was the coastal town of San Felipe, near where they planned to find a suitable spot in which to spend their first night of camping out. This side trip took them past a remote mountain lake called Laguna Hanson, and involved threading their way through some spectacular scenery as Highway 3 wound its way up and over a large mountain range that divided the west coast from the east. These mountains, according to the map, ran intermittently down much of the peninsula. The foothills were often bare of vegetation, with rock outcroppings dotting the barren valleys and hillsides. Dry riverbeds crisscrossed the valley floors, and the occasional yucca or cardón cactus jutted up between the rocks, pointing at the sky.