Inclusive — not just friendly
There’s an expression that has forever haunted me when it comes to traveling: “gay friendly.” I always hated that. “Gay friendly” — what does that even mean? “Friendly” like you’ll say hi to me? Or “friendly” like you won’t spit at me or worse?
Am I welcome, or am I tolerated? Is my being gay even an issue in any sense? Because, if it is, I’m not sure that’s really “friendly” at all.
I began traveling a great deal in 2006 because of my writing. It was then that I became increasingly conscious of this issue. My girlfriend and I would step up to the front desk of a hotel, and the clerk would say, “Oh, I’m so sorry. We have you down for one king bed. Let me see if I can get you two queens.”
Thompson Zihuatanejo (Photo by Jenny Blocak)
Usually I would say, “No worries — a king is perfect.” Then I would watch as the clerk would have one of three response: look confused, have an aha moment or get this creepy look on his face as if he just had a scene from a bad porn flash before his eyes.
None of those responses are good, and none of them are gay friendly.
But I have noticed a change over the years. Despite the Orange Menace and his ranks, I feel as if I see those expressions a lot less often, and I feel less compelled to prepare for such reactions. In so many places, in fact, I feel like it’s become a non-issue. And in even more places, I feel downright welcome and included.
No, I will not be going back to Russia, and you will never — and I don’t use that word lightly — ever catch me in North Korea.
And there are places in the Deep South in which I pay extra close attention to my surroundings.
But, in general, I feel more — well, not just included, but actually embraced than I ever have.
Rainbow flags hang outside of shop windows; cruises have LGBTQ happy hours, and hotels no longer ask me if I need to change my bed choice. And then, sometimes, there’s even a sign behind the front desk of a resort that makes me feel downright giddy.
That’s what happened to me last week.
Last week, as I approached the desk at the Thompson Zihuatanejo in Mexico and to check in, before I could even get out “Hola. ¿Como esta?” I noticed a sign behind the clerk’s head that read, “Queer Destinations,” which lets guests know that the resort has committed to being “a safe and inclusive destination for LGBTQ+ visitors.”
The property earned the accreditation after participating in Queer Destinations’ resort-wide training, “which helps the property adapt its products to assure safety to all guests, regardless of their sexual orientation and gender identity, by training employees through an online educational program.”
I suddenly couldn’t stop myself from grinning. I didn’t know all of the particulars until later, but I did know there was a sign that said “Queer,” right there for everyone to see.
I had no worries about going to the property to begin with. Hyatt in general and Thompson in particular have always been welcoming. And Zihuatanejo is a delightful place where I have never had an issue.
But that sign!
It meant not only that I could expect to be treated with every kindness and every ounce of respect to which every human has a right, but also that they were proud of that fact and wanted everyone and anyone to know about it. To my mind it meant that hate and intolerance would not be, well, tolerated.
I don’t think it was the sign. I think it was just the property. But my being gay could not have been any less of an issue there. My wife wasn’t with me. But she came up in many conversations, and I never once thought twice about saying, “My wife.” I also never worried about anyone frightened I was hitting on them or that anyone was secretly seething about having to be around someone gay.
I felt — you guessed it — normal. I felt like I fit in. I felt like I wasn’t called out.
I felt comfortable walking along the shore or learning how to gut the 10-pound tuna I caught. I felt comfortable at the bar alone, practicing my Spanish with the friendly bartenders. I felt comfortable wherever I was at the resort and in town, for that matter.
I felt so comfortable dining at a table for one that I could focus on the food and not whether I was in danger sitting by myself.
It made me feel grateful. And it made me want to say thank you to every member of the LGBTQ community and every ally who fought so hard to get us here. We have a long history of discrimination and violence and feeling like we never belong and fearing for our inclusion, at best, and our very safety, at worst, whenever we stray from home.
The fight is not over. But a debt of gratitude is owed to those who have gotten us to where we are. This LGBT History Month. I want to say thank you to all who made it possible for me to explore the world with Pride.
