I step into the soaring hotel lobby, pasty white as a newly cast limb and sporting a straw fedora to protect my bald head from the Mexican sun. But no amount of sunscreen can shield me from the hundreds of queers descending upon Puerto Vallarta for a resort takeover. There’s one small problem, though. I’m not a people person.
That’s not exactly true. Myers-Briggs pegs me as an INTJ — Introversion, Intuition, Thinking, and Judgment. Throw in an extra “-T” for Turbulent, and you’ll have a psychological archeological site that’s ripe for excavation. I’ve known VACAYA co-founders Randle Roper and Patrick Gunn for years, though, and they’ve assured me that a week of inclusive fun and frolic is what I need, and I agree.
Before we hunkered down for an extended staycation and a sock drawer full of masks, the global LGBTQ+ travel market annual spend exceeded $218 billion. International tourism has bounced back 90%, so why am I more comfortable binge-watching Heartstopper than meeting someone who might actually make my heart stop?
It’s a complicated question I can ponder over margaritas and Banderas Bay sunsets. Better yet, I can think less and play more.
First impressions
Pack your bags, we’re going on an adventure
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Though my greeting isn’t quite as glamorous as arrival by seaplane à la Fantasy Island, there’s plenty of buzz in the air.
Founded in 2017 and celebrating its fifth anniversary since its inaugural all-queer cruise (the largest ship ever to dock at Provincetown), VACAYA has cultivated a following among those seeking diverse travel companions within the LGBTQ+ community. Event team members sporting bright blue polos and Cheshire cat grins welcome guests and offer me a color-coded wristband to indicate my availability. “Go green or go home,” I tell myself, telegraphing my singledom for all to see and giving myself over to whatever the Pacific breeze may blow my way.
VACAYA joins a legacy of LGBTQ+-owned tour operators who continue to carve out unique identities in the market. Atlantis (founded in 1991), known for its circuit party atmosphere, sells out big ships like Royal Caribbean’s Oasis of the Seas, which recently sailed with over 6,500 revelers. Olivia has offered travel for lesbians and queer women since 1973, while R Family Vacations’ niche is LGBTQ+ families. There’s “a horse of a different color” for every kind of traveler, as the Cabbie says when Dorothy arrives in Oz. Or, in the case of VACAYA, a horse of every color.
Co-founders Roper and Gunn have made it their mission to reimagine what queer group travel looks like. The initiative reflects a sharp contrast compared to the first gay sailing.
It’s been 50 years since the first gay cruise, hosted by the Islanders Club, a gay-owned business that ran Fire Island shuttle buses. The charter vessel Renaissance transported 300 passengers (mostly cis white men and a handful of women) from Fort Lauderdale’s Port Everglades for a multi-night adventure.
Despite the groundbreaking achievement, writer Cliff Jahr observed, at the time, a shift in queer visibility. He described the dining room as emitting “the exotic air of a Kiwanis Club father-and-son banquet: penny loafers and baggy slacks, cotton pullovers and army fatigues, even Johnny Carson double-knits.”
The homogeneous crowd lacked what Jahr described as “queens, those dyed and cosmetized symbols of homosexuality … The gay world’s old guard was politely excluded. Effeminacy, seen by the younger gays as a symptom of needless guilt feelings, (was) considered embarrassing and old-fashioned.”
Have things changed much? I’m about to find out.
Love is love is … love?
But if there’s one thing I quickly learn, anything goes. Judgment is wasted energy, and my contemplative disposition only stands in my way of having a good time and maybe <gasp!> socializing.
Craving a change of scenery, I meander down to the private alcove beach. Couples bobble in the water like sea lions; an adorable lesbian couple navigates a rocky inlet to grab some selfies. Then my gaze meets him.
It’s been more than a decade since my last serious relationship. Who am I kidding? Nearly two decades — a terrifying thought when my eyes catch a trio of Gen Zers frolicking in the pool. Maybe I could be their zaddy if I bolstered enough energy to get to the gym a few times a week or invest in dry cleaning.
Walking along the shore in each other’s direction, we smile coyishly, avert our gazes, and lock eyes once again. Am I downwind of his pheromones? The electricity pulses to all the right places as we approach.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
It’s not a Shakespearean love sonnet, but it’s a good start. He introduces himself as Spade, and his spiky black hair, glowing chestnut skin, and high-cut swim trunks are the stuff that dreams are made of. He immediately gives me a friendly hug, pulling me in for a wet and warm embrace.
“You having a good time? … Where you from? … It’s beautiful here, right? … Have you been to Puerto Vallarta before?” The inane questions bounce back and forth, a prerequisite for what I hope will come next.
“Who are you traveling with?” I ask, nudging for Spade’s availability status.
“Oh, those two guys,” he replies, gesturing into the water toward a middle-aged couple embracing as the tide rolls in.
“Oh, great!” I respond enthusiastically, ascertaining that Spade is, perhaps, the friendly third wheel.
“Come meet ‘em,” he says, then waves a sturdy bicep to flag their attention.
The couple stumbles out of the water, gleefully clutching one another for support. They detach once they reach dry sand and one lunges for Spade. The pair lock lips and tongues in a deep (and what feels like an exceptionally long) kiss. Eventually, they detach themselves, and the original pair wishes me a cheery afternoon, hoping to see me around the resort throughout the week.
I stand facing Spade, awkwardly burying my feet in the sand and wishing the earth could swallow me whole.
“Oh, yeah,” he responds, noticing my fidgety energy. “We’re in a throuple.”
“Ah, got it,” I respond. But I don’t really. At least not yet.
‘If you want to create an LGBTQ+ trip, create one inclusive of everyone’
Between the endless plates of fish tacos, free-flowing margaritas, and my collector’s edition hard copy of Red, White & Royal Blue, I’m entirely content burrowed under beach towels in a cabana. But the DJ beckons, and I’ve heard rumblings of an offshore “Red Light District” that piques my interest. Plus, themed parties (I hate costumes) and nightly entertainment await.
One step at a time, I tell myself. Nobody’s forcing me to do anything or talk to anyone. I’m an adult, right?
Danny, VACAYA’s resort director, announces the daily schedule, his voice booming through the resort. He beckons Vacayans (how the company refers to guests) to tie-dye by the pool, participate in water aerobics, or walk the makeshift runway in a drag competition.
I initially watch from a distance, but each day, I scurry closer to the action. By week’s end, I’m sporting hip-hugging, square-cut swim trunks that I’ve never had the nerve to wear in public. I also find myself in the middle of a pool volleyball match.
For any nonathletic queer, team sports can be PTSD-inducing. A GLSEN research brief reported that over 40 percent of students K-12 avoid locker rooms and physical education or gym classes. I was terrified of both, pegged as different even before I had the self-awareness to identify as gay.
Thirty years later, I’m spiking an oversized beach ball. I land some and miss others. Nobody cares. All ages, sizes, and athletic abilities converge, and the cheers for a miss are as loud (or louder) than that of a scored point.
“I don’t just want to be around gay men. For some guys, that’s fine, but I want to be surrounded by my whole community.”
Calum McSwiggan
Sun-kissed and content, I catch up with international content creator Calum McSwiggan, who often travels solo but finds group travel has its perks, too.
“There’s a lot of different people from across the LGBTQ+ community — lesbians, trans folks, people of color,” says McSwiggan. “I don’t just want to be around gay men. For some guys, that’s fine, but I want to be surrounded by my whole community. We need to stop being afraid to say gay when we mean gay. And stop saying queer or LGBTQ+ when we mean gay because they’re very different things. If you want to create an LGBTQ+ trip, create one inclusive of everyone.”
Related:
Most unlikely couple: Charlie Brown & Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell
I received the VACAYA travel brief weeks before the trip, including what to pack for the special events. I ignored them all except for one T-shirt I keep on hand for such occasions: my yellow and black zigzag Charlie Brown T-shirt. A Halloween costume party is on the docket, and even I am not so curmudgeonly as to show up unadorned.
In addition to an array of harnesses, creativity abounds, including another throuple in lederhosen, a pair of drag Pink Ladies, and across the room, through the haze and colored lights, a right-sized Pete “Maverick” Mitchell from Top Gun.
Our eyes catch and dart away. The rush of adrenaline kicks in—a far cry from persistent swiping on dating apps. A recent study by Pew Research Center found that 84% of LGBTQ+ adults using online dating platforms report feeling disappointed about the people they encountered. That statistic tracks with my experience, which has included more than my fair share of deflating bubble tea dates, no-shows, and even a guy who admitted to coming down off of the previous night’s party drugs.
But Maverick is in the flesh, his flight suit seductively zipped down to his belly button, exposing a rose-tinged tan from a day in the sun, a perfectly whitened smile, and a mischievous grin. We talk in character code. He’s just come off a tough training mission while Lucy overcharges me for visits to her makeshift psychiatry office. We banter, then go back to our friends. I think that went well.
After the party, Vacayans gather in the hotel lobby for a late-night cabaret performance. Maverick and I reconnect, flirt, and then meander to the pool, now quiet and glowing in the moonlight.
We watch tenders whisk revelers to the Red Light District, the boat VACAYA has rented as an offshore adult playroom for the week. I’m intrigued but also easily seasick, and the waters have been rough over the past few days. Despite being in a judgment-free zone, overcoming years of self-judgment is difficult.
Coming of age during the height of the AIDS crisis, my point of reference was a closeted Rock Hudson. And while I was fortunate to have accepting parents, their concern for my physical well-being was paramount. HIV prevention with PrEP was a game-changer, but I’m still concerned about STIs.
According to the latest CDC data, more than 2.5 million cases of chlamydia, gonorrhea, and syphilis were reported in the US in 2022, with the latter showing the highest number of cases since the 1950s. I’ve taken my fair share of antibiotics over the years, and ultimately ask myself before engaging, is it worth it?
It’s 3 a.m. by the time we stumble to Maverick’s room. The clothes come off, and we fumble and frolic through our desires. Fortunately, we’re compatible, and although I don’t climax, it’s the best time I’ve had in a while, made even better by the fact that we met in real life.
I’m back at the late-night cabaret the following evening, listening to a cover of Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” when Maverick shows up behind the couch I’m sharing with an older couple.
“Uh, last night,” he says, a bit heated. “I prefer if my partner also finishes.”
Awkward.
“I had a great time,” I respond, not sure if I need to disclose my recent Prozac prescription, which may affect performance, or the fact that I had probably consumed a half-bottle of tequila.
“Yeah. Well, that’s not just how I like things to go.”
“Uh. Alright, do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“Sure, give me a sec,” he says, noticing one of his travel companions has just arrived. Off he dashes, then joins a posse of zaddies, never to return. In the wee hours of the morning, I receive a text, “Hey, what’re u up to?” but by that point, I’m happily underneath the high-threadcount sheets, the A/C blasting me into slumber.
We’re Insta-friends, and Maverick’s jet-setting and other curated snapshots appear when I least expect them. While our May-December romance lasted only a few hours, we’ll always have Mexico.
Fireworks for one, please
On the final night, the Vacayans gather for a beachside luau. Despite my week of exponential calorie consumption, the one other unique garment I packed (a pair of brightly colored floral pants and oversized toucans) still fits.
I graze through the buffet, the decadence finally beginning to wear thin. Music pulsates as jewel-tone spotlights glow on this last night of revelry. I finally have a chance to catch up with co-founder Roper.
Roper and Gunn have hosted dozens of small- and large-ship cruises expeditions, resort takeovers, and land tours. With years of experience at Atlantis Events and RSVP Vacations, they wanted to build a different kind of LGBTQ+ vacation experience — one that leaned into inclusivity for every spectrum of the queer community.
“Our community has evolved so much in the last couple of decades. It was time to bring people together under this fabulous rainbow-colored group,” says Roper. Part of that intent is tapping into the next generation of queer travelers.
“They’re so comfortable in their own skin,” says Roper of Gen Z. They’re just fabulous as they are, and I really admire that.”
To meet those needs, VACAYA works with an advisory board and is in “constant conversation” to create experiences that appeal to a broader range of queer travelers.
“Just come and be yourself. You don’t have to put on airs of anything other than you.”
VACAYA co-founder and CEO Randle Roper
I confess my Myers-Briggs status to Randle and ask his advice for an introverted solo traveler arriving at a resort brimming with 500 queers.
“Just come and be yourself. You don’t have to put on airs of anything other than you,” says Roper. “As a community, we’ve followed each other down different paths for so long, whether it’s a look or a haircut — it doesn’t matter. Here, you can just be you, and we love you exactly as you are.”
The evening concludes with beachside fireworks, the pops of color reflecting off of The Red Light District’s hull. The tug boats will soon start tendering aroused passengers offshore, and I consider hopping on for a fond farewell.
Then I remember Randle’s words: Just be you. So, instead, I grab my book and a flashlight and head to the beach for a midnight read.
Featured photo courtesy of Gabriel Goldberg/@hollywood_bruisers/VACAYA.
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