Swimmers Billed

This past weekend, the stars, planets and moon all aligned properly, giving Dan Saturday and Sunday off. Together. If you've never dated someone who works in the service sector (or never worked there yourself) you may not be able to appreciate this incredibly rare opportunity. Given we've spent enough weekends locked up in the house this year, we decided on an out-of-town overnighter.

The rules for the destination were simple: it had to be far enough away to not be home, but close enough to enjoy a simple 1-night trip. Looking north, that put us in the conservative Florida panhandle, still recovering from Ivan. Looking south, we had either Tampa (way too close), or a place we hadn't visited in years: Ft. Lauderdale.

I remembered reading decent reviews of the all-gay Schubert Resort, and a quick Googling didn't turn up anything that turned me off, so I gave them a call. While the computer was searching for availability (from what, 40 rooms?), the helpful clerk tried to sell me on the property. (Note: if you're not sure if you have room, don't tell me what a great place you have!) So, I heard things like, "$2.5 million renovation, " and "clothing-optional pool deck" — which was followed by, "and this is a busy weekend — there's a gay and lesbian swimming and diving event in town, about 1200 participants."

Now, Dan and I are not of the clothing-optional type, but it was entertianing that the swimmers received nearly equal billing to the other features of the resort itself. The mind did sort to visions of Michael Phelps at a clothing-optional pool. The thought recurred: If you're not sure if you have room, don't tell me what a great place you have! Please.

(The International Gay and Lesbian Aquatics group encourages the kind of thinking I had, in my opinion. The site for the Ft. Lauderdale meet encouraged volunteers by reminding them they'll be "next to nearly 1,500 naked athletes.")

Sure enough: there was room available. Not the cheapest rate (sold out, of course), but not the most expensive either, and the room would be overlooking the pool. After not-quite-enough sleep, we got up earlier than normal for a Saturday morning and headed down.

Most of the resort's guests were in the late-30's-plus range, which was quite fine by us. (For the most part, at least. Let's just say that with clothing-optional, you take the good with the bad, and leave it at that.) The swim-meet participants were from around the globe, although we seemed to have a large Kansas City contingent at our particular hotel. Not that there was anything wrong with that. (Mid-west, corn-fed, all-American? Ahem.)

The resort was small, and lovely. Well-landscaped, really nice rooms, great pool, piped-in music that made it seem almost cruise-ship like. We ate at some fun places, did a little shopping and hit a couple of clubs, but mostly we just laid by the pool and enjoyed the hot tub. And the complimentary happy hour from 5-6. And (okay, let's be honest here) the late evening when the swimmers and their friends returned from the evening's parties to relax in the hot tub.

It was fun talking with a bunch of people we didn't know. (This is not normally my style, but what the heck. I was on vacation.) It was entertaining to see guys improvise cocktails from a limited bar selection, with supplies as brought by thusly-inclined individuals and enhanced by the contents of alcohol-free in-room mini-bars. It was shocking to hear a barely-masked indecent proposal from one of the elder hot tubbers to one of the younger. And it was puzzling to note that the recipient of said proposal seemed to decline by returning to his own room, only to be spotted headed down the hall toward the other room some time later, and returning some time even later than that, in what we called the "Walk of Shame."

Now, there is something to be said about a recreational sports association of like-minded people, and there's something to be said about choosing an all-gay resort. Both are topics for another entry, though — one that I was formulating on the just-a-bit-too-long drive back up the Turnpike last night. Another day.