Even an Ocean Isn't Enough

Kink has a way of bringing people together globally. Several notable events include Folsom Europe in Berlin, Manchester Rubber Weekend, International Mr. Leather (IML) in Chicago, and the Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. But there are several smaller events as well with an international draw. I have spent the last two weeks in Gran Canaria at Maspalomas Fetish Pride. I had an amazing time meeting kinksters from all over Europe. I made some wonderful new friendships and did more than my fair share of drinking during the week. But despite being 4,000+ miles from home, I still managed to run into a few familiar faces.

Maspalomas Fetish Pride is an annual two-week event of meetups, socials, hookups, and lots of great memories. Maspalomas is an area in southern Gran Canaria where a lot of gay shops and bars are located. A lot of the nightlife is centered at the Yumbo Center, a shopping and dining complex in the area. There are many hotels nearby, which makes it very walkable and easy to get around. My two weeks there were spent mainly at the Yumbo or in the hotel pool. Several themed events are hosted at the various bars and cruising clubs in the Yumbo. Lots of bears hung out at the Bärenhöhle, a local bear bar; pups tended to end up at Noxon; leather folk were usually at Tom’s Bar; and all sorts of other flavors were at the other bars in between. My group was usually found starting the night at Wunderbar, a campy bar that played Eurovision and had some of the strongest drinks I’ve had in recent memory. The first night I was there, I ordered a double, and everyone, including the server, stopped and asked, “Are you sure?” I said I’d start with a single, and I’m glad I did. The single was a VERY generous pour, and after a couple of rounds, it was a miracle we could find our way back to the hotel.

We also started to see some familiar “travel companions”—those people you don’t really know who keep popping up during your holiday. There was the punkish lad who was seated in front of us on our flight out; we also saw him on the flight home and all the places in between. There was the couple we’d kept bumping into at breakfast, one of whom looked like Lionel Richie. Then there was the couple we spent a good portion of the week with, getting to know each other a little more closely than some of the others. I was able to see some friends from London whom I hadn’t seen in ages and got to put some names to faces for a couple of people whom I’d only heard about from mutual friends but had never actually met in person until now. But then, there were some unexpected encounters that I never thought would happen across an ocean.

It was the second or third night; things had already started to blur. We were on our third round of drinks, watching all the puppies and kinksters out and about in their gear. That’s when I looked up and saw the first surprise: Honey Davenport, our current IML. It was their first time at Fetish Pride as well, and we chatted about how crazy it was seeing someone from back home across an ocean at a kink event, of all places. After a few laughs, I rejoined my group, and not one sip into round four, I saw yet ANOTHER familiar face across the plaza: a friend from back in Georgia whom I knew from a gay campground we both went to. We caught each other’s eye, and it was that movie moment where you stop, pause, point, then walk toward one another laughing at the coincidence. He had recently moved to Spain and had come down to Fetish Pride for his holiday. Neither of us had known the other would be there.

That’s the funny thing about traveling in the kink community: you can cross an ocean, change time zones, surround yourself with a different culture, and still end up standing across a crowded plaza from someone you know. Part of the appeal of traveling to international events is that possibility of being anonymous—a new face in an international crowd. You can ignore your normal social patterns, put on gear, and be yourself or be whoever you want to be in that moment. Then a familiar face turns up, and you’re quickly reminded how small, even in a kink community, the world can be. For me, the surprise wasn’t intrusive; it was actually reassuring to see some familiar faces in a strange new place. It added another layer to the experience and let me get to know those people in a whole new social setting.

That sense of connection was felt throughout the week. Every new face became a new friend. What would start as a question of “Where are you from?” turned into later discussions of “Where will I see you next?” We would talk about shared venues, connections to other kinksters, and events we were looking forward to. It rarely took much to find common ground among strangers.

One thing became clear throughout the week: kink gives us a shared language before we ever speak. It gives us a way into a conversation with someone we want to know. A simple “I like your look, man” opens doors to conversations, meeting others, and sometimes a vodka-infused snog in the middle of the plaza while others look on. Gear may vary; accents and languages change, but the desire for community travels remarkably well. Guys we were ogling at breakfast at the beginning of the week became good friends by the end of the trip. They became drinking buddies, party companions, and, in some cases, some hot fun in the late hours of the night.

That may be what I’ll remember most about Maspalomas Fetish Pride. Yes, there was sunshine, gear, nightlife, and enough alcohol to make the days blend together. But underneath all of that was a reminder that community is not limited by geography. Sometimes it waits for you in a place you’ve never visited. Sometimes it introduces you to someone completely new. And sometimes it looks across a crowded plaza, points at you, and starts laughing.

I traveled more than 4,000 miles expecting to meet new people, and I certainly did. I just didn’t expect the trip to remind me how many familiar faces can be found wherever kinksters gather.

Apparently, even an ocean isn’t enough to escape running into someone from Georgia.