barroviajero

Beggars and choosers

Come on, you geeks!, at least one of should know how to set the languaje to spanish, i've tried but it's just not working, and excuse me, but I can't stand writing without accents, even at the cellphone. (Lo siento, Leandro, lo siento Huracan, pero no me resulta).
Today I woke up without much sleep, there was this old guy who kept on snoring and then a drunken guy came in and shouted the hell out of the old geezer and then when eventually he got to sleep, he began snoring.
This is what happens for getting home too early, today's gotta be different.
I chatted with this australian lady, and after breakfast took
(ok, voy a hacer un intento, pero tengo que descartar el tiempo pasado y el condicional, this is gonna be difficult)

Miercoles previo a las elecciones british, desde hoy cuento con la tarjeta London Pass asi que todo transporte es gratis. Yupi!!!
Tomo un bus rojo de dos pisos hasta Trafalgar Square, lenta la cosa. Luego cruzo el puente colgante hacia Waterloo Station, que es grande e imponente. Me subo al tren y me bajo del tren y nunca nadie me pide nada. me enojo conmigo mismo por haber comprado esta tarjeta famosa.
Paso por Vauxhall (me pregunto como se pronuncia), paso por Battersea y Wimbledon. Me bajo en Hampton Court.
Y amo Hampton Court, aca la tarjeta si me sirve y pido mis audifonos y recorro el palacio, la cocina, los salones. Vestida de Jane Seymour esta una guia que habla igual (y se parece demasiado) a Kate Winslet. Alucino pensando que la hermana chica de Kate me esta contando de las intrigas de la corte de Enrique VIII, quien se apropio de este Palacio construido por el Cardenal Wolsey quien obviamente no podia tener un sitio tan bonito y que no fuera propiedad del rey.
Recorro los jardines y el laberinto, y se pone a llover. Yo confiado apenas sali con un sueter celeste ultradelgado . Voy a la tienda del palacio y me compro una capa plastica transparente que me procedo a poner encima de la ropa. Una empleada me dice "you look lovely" .
Y saco muchas fotos y recorro todo el sitio, tienen aca a la parra mas grande del mundo. Es grande de veras. Saco el libro de aves britanicas que encargue por correo y reconozco en los jardines a un coot, y a un jackdaw, y le saco una foto a unos patos eider que ni se inmutan cuando les pongo la camara a medio metro de distancia.

Ya, estoy dando la lata. Aprovecho de decir entonces que no se preocupen por mi. He encontrado lugares en London donde sale una libra la hora (en Charing Cross y detras de la Saatchi Gallery).
Y ahi al lado comi, una pizza deliciosa en Loco Mensa por apenas dos libras. Es la mejor oferta que conozco hasta ahora, hay de varios tipos y le lleva un cafe expreso.

De vuelta en Londres voy al Aquarium y me siento frente a los tiburones en la mas Julia Roberts. Bonito el Acuario, y tambien me salio gratis por la tarjeta. Vamos bien. Le pido a un chico judio ortodoxo que me saque una foto, en ese estanque de los tiburones hay moais, y le digo que esos moais son de mi pais.

Asi que entre la lluvia en Hampton Court y el Aquarium, ya pueden imaginar que se fue tramando en mi mente, que mas hacer esta fria tarde en London Town.

Such a naughty naughty boy.

I'm back in english now, just too keep the children away from reading what's next.

Chariots Shoreditch, that's the place to go, behind Liverpool Station. It's got these nice cars parked in front of. It's almost seedy from outside, but inside it's got its posh moments. The pool is divine.
But god almighty, the guys!. All races, all ages, all kinds of everything. I had just came in when this guy who looked just like Jean Marc Barr in "Azul profundo" held my hand and took me to a privy.
"You're so beautiful", he said. "I would like to wake up next to you one day", he said.

And then I was in the twilight zone, for some reason I became the hottest thing in Chariots. I mean, I know you won't believe it, but trust me in this one, it was for real. The brazilians, you should know brazilians are the it guys in London, well, the brazilians were all over me. But let's go slow.
Jean Marc's name was Steve, and worked for an insurance company. He told me that people used to compare him with Tom Ford, that he didn't know this french actor I was talking about. He asked me my number, I gave him my cellphone in Chile (anytime, mate) and my gmail address. We made out and then he had to go find a friend. Man, was I horny!

So I went to the bathtub, and made eye contact with brazilian guy 1, he was staring me back. Next second we're kissing and giving a show. Let's go someplace else, ok?
And I guess it's true that it takes a brazilian to do some things properly.
And hooray for Chariots and their policy of giving away both lube and rubbers. That's the way to go!
Not just that, they also have magazines to read, not old ones, not just porn. I read there that Machuca is premiering here this week. Guess what? They loved Machuca! They gave it 7 stars.

Me and Andres Wood working to improve the image of our country.

Where was I? Brazilian 1 had the most difficult name, but he said I could call him Wal, to make it easier.

Later Wal!, so the thing is I was feeling at ease, I was feeling coveted. I was a chooser in London and that's the best thing ever. I went into the pool and started talking to the most amazing guy I've ever seen.
Where you from, mate? Where you from? Me from Chile, South America. yeah, sure you're from London, but you look just so amazing, where did those genes came from?
His name was Reb and he was from Sri-Lanka.
And he was incredible, he flirted with me but he left, he told me to look away so I wouldn't see him naked. He was smart, and funny, and knew that the best way to make me feel infatuated over him was to part. He told me I should come to London, that journalist are respected here and make a lot of money. He said we would see each other again soon.

He was so hot, I mean Sri Lanka!, I would never have guessed!

There was this skinny guy who offered me money, I said thanks, but no thanks. he was a nice fellow and everytime I had a question I went to him. He said I shouls spend the night there, I thought about it for a minute or two, maybe some other time.
There was this really old guy who stopped me just to say that I was gorgeous.
Thank you, sir!

There was this other brazilian guy, black and tough yet sweet like a gummy bear. I shagged him but I couldn't cum and then I was there walking around trying to decide what to do with this resurrected Lazarus. Downstairs there was a special of cheesy Top 1 songs at VH1. It was quite funny.
Wal came down to invite me to the sauna with another brazilian guy, this one very fruity, yet that was cool coz it made me feel like we were all mates, it was so hot in there, some guys wanted to touched but I declined politely. Then I took a cold shower. Hard on still there. So here comes brazilian number 3, this one had the neonazi look. But I had to turn him down, sorry mate, but my sex drive it's starting to decay.

He said it was OK, I found black brazilian guy, he offered me a threesome, but the cute guys were running out and after I decided againt it, the other guy also quit.
If this was a movie, by now thing would be already much too blurry. The thing is, don't you mind, I was ever so careful. Ever so higienic. I just was the hottest thing in town and it was bloody awesome.

I left, a black guy said bye to me flirtatiously. I got out with a stupid smile on me face, feeling like a million pounds. I asked a guy in the street what time it was, he answered me and smiled at me. He walked fast in front of me, he knew how to walk. When he was going down Liverpool Staion he turned his head back, I waved at him he did the same.

A bus came by, with a sign. It read "Reckon you're the next big thing?" It got me thinking.

And then at the tube, people looking at me like I was some movie star or something. Can they tell I've just been Mr. Sex God? Can they tell how lucky I got? I went to Soho and turn a few faces.

But then it all comes back to money here. I'm no chooser here, everything is expensive. I'm hungry and even a kebab it's out of budget now. I could, but I rather won't. I'll eat tomorrow.

It was nice feeling like a CK model in London, now I do feel like I could make it in this town. And if here, wherever.

I'm soaring. I have envy of my wicked self tonight.

posted by Barro @ 11:28 p. m.