There’s a great little interview HuffPost did with me about my book:

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/david-gilmore-on-finding-love-in-strange-places-writing_us_5a2af32be4b022ec613b820b

How I Went to Asia for a Colonoscopy and Stayed for Love — a Memoir of Mischief and Romance is FINALLY available! Order your copy on Amazon now! This is my latest book, a heart-warming and gut-wrenching, true tale of a fascinating journey to reclaim my life. It is also an irreverent, hilarious, and racy ride through the enchanting lunacy of Southeast Asia.

The book follows my 7 years of traveling through Myanmar, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and finally Malaysia searching for something big. Then one day on a bus in Malaysia, I got an invitation for something unimaginable. I returned to the US where I got shot at on my bicycle. Declaring defeat in America, I packed up and moved to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. It was there, in a Muslim country, that I found what I had been searching for.

“Gilmore has written a memoir of true self-revelation. What starts as the bold tale of a hapless Westerner in Asia, with very entertaining glimpses into the world of sex and medical tourism, evolves into a story of profound love and acceptance. Come for the picaresque adventure, stay for the life-affirming outcome!”

— Beth Lisick, New York Times best-selling author of Everybody Into the Pool

“He’s bitter, he’s sweet, he’s deep, he’s funny, but most of all Gilmore is a wonderful writer with an incredible story to tell.”­
— David Henry Sterry, best-selling author of Chicken

“As he did in his previous book, the author sets out on a journey of self-fulfillment, but this time, instead of finding home, he finds something even better — someone to share it with. Informative, hilarious, insightful and at times poignant, Gilmore has given us a beacon of light in a dark time.”
— Trebor Healey, Lambda Literary Award winning author of A Horse Named Sorrow

 

After 10 years of blogging, I’ve decided it’s time to throw in the towel. Technology has evolved such that posting photos and videos is an enormously time consuming pursuit with all the software needed — a task that Facebook makes simple. So I am posting this last blog entry and switching to Facebook starting when Chuan and I get to Mexico this week.

Here’s a video summary of the first part of our summer travels followed by the photos. The captions tell the story. The video is very long and starts out in Tucson at the Pima Air and Space Museum. Don’t miss the snow-tarping we did on a piece of garbage in the Sierras (Chuan’s first time in snow) and the humpback whales on Black Sands Beach…

 

with Arthur on ferry

Arthur Tress guarding his Hasselblad

dinner at Lawrence and Kristel’s wedding

the opening circle at Lawrence and Kristel’s wedding

at Jean’s entrance

Bodega Bay

Deer near Charlie & Lark’s house

Suicide prevention sign. 46 people jump every year.

Marin Headlands beach

16th Street

at SF Gay Pride

freezing beach

with friend Douglas from Brazil

Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence at Faerie Freedom Village

at Eric’s restaurant

Arthur going after tourists doing silly photos.

Dancing under the stars at Lawrence and Kristel’s wedding

Kristel getting a hair rehearsal for the wedding

Jean’s backyard

Working on my book

Black oyster catchers at Black Sands Beach in Marin Headlands

Moments before getting sick with heat stroke or food poisoning…not sure which…maybe both. It was in the 90s and I was just too hot. During the ceremony I started feeling nauseous. I went back to the room and threw up and then rejoined the festivities at dinner. Then I went back to my room and threw THAT up. ugh!

working around the clock on my book to finish edit round 5.

the Conservatory of Flowers lit up for the summer of love 50th anniversary in Golden Gate Park, SF

in the Sierras near Donner Pass. In the 90s and yet a ton of snow still on the ground.

The Radical Faerie Freedom Village

bonfire at Lawrence and Kristel’s wedding

at Glide Memorial

Chuan’s mother

at Jean’s

a baby deer we thought was dead. It had been attacked by wild turkeys! Seriously. So it played dead until the coast was clear and then it sprang up and took off to join its worried mother.

Chuan at Black Sands Beach in Marin

with Charlie

at Haight and Ashbury where the hippie movement fomented 50 years ago. Now it’s got a Ben & Jerry’s on the corner surrounded by multi-million dollar real estate, homeless people, and high end sneaker stores

the ang pow from Chuan’s family

“Love in a mist” flower.

with Jeanne Nader and Ben Duggan after photoshoot

Arthur Tress on location in defunct water fountain

Marin Headlands

Shrimp tacos at Picante in San Rafael.

with January Handl

at the AIR concert at Masonic Auditorium

full moon rise from Jean’s bedroom window in Marin

Redwood Valley

Lawrence just moments before getting married

Lawrence and Kristel’s wedding

Oakland

Marin Headlands

Arthur Tress

Post wedding in the Sierras

Red hot pokers

I’ve been housesitting for my friend Jean in San Rafael, California. Her quiet, lagoon-side home is the perfect place to hole myself up with a good friend of mine, January Handl, to write. January is one of the most gifted poets I know. Here’s one of her gems.

Beloved,
we all get weary,
we all feel full to the brim
and overflowing chaos
seeps sanity away through
grasping fingers.
Or empty and hollow from
the carving life’s losses
does into our souls,
chilled by betrayals
or abandonments,
the longing to rest
to be held in soothing warmth
becomes a weight and an ache.

Beloved,
If words could offer comfort,
let’s begin right now,
spinning the silver threads
of our connections,
yarns that shimmer and fade
with each breath,
let’s weave the weft
of woundings
and healings,
the warp of
traumas and fears,
the wonders and joy,
into a soft soft soft quilt,
with patterns of sun colors
and relaxing familiar earth fragrances
of past looms,
snuggle up in my poem,
warm your heart by mine
and for a moment,
just be

Still the lightness of love
is ever sewn into any
blanket we fold together,
if my words could
rock your surrendering heart
in peace, I
would speak them into
the very substance of
the shelter we offer
each other.

— January Handl

This is what a $29 entree looks like in Berkeley, California. It’s a little drumstick and thigh, 5 asparagus spears with a little dollop of sweet potato puree. I put a dime in for scale. I don’t think I’ve ever paid that much for so little. And I still haven’t. That tiny, albeit delicious entree was brought to me by my friend Jean’s generosity. And for that I thank her.

The next day, I decided it was my time to treat her. So we went out for a sweet indulgence at Johnny’s Doughnuts in downtown San Rafael. Oops, that’s not Johnny’s Doughnuts, it’s Johnny Doughnuts — the apostrophe and s dropped for added retro-innocence-guy-in-Converse-All-Star cuteness. Johnny has admittedly extraordinary doughnuts. They have sweet potato doughnuts, lime poppyseed doughnuts, blueberry jam doughnuts, and doughnuts with vanilla sprinkles. Vanilla sprinkles? Since when do sprinkles come with any flavor other than sprinkly-flavored sprinkles? They even have vegan raised doughnuts. What is a vegan raised doughnut? One that is raised by vegans? Or vegan doughnuts that are raised instead of flat? Johhny has doughnuts you would mortgage your house for. I ordered 3.

I stepped up to the counter like Donald F. Trump ready to peel off some bills, smack ’em down on the counter, and treat my friend. The cash register beeped a few times and then the figure appeared on the display: $11. I lost my dignity.

“Are you kidding me, $11 for 3 doughnuts!? OMG, you’re joking. Is that a mistake or is that for real?” I snapped at the cashier making sure that everyone in the cafe could hear my indignation. People put down their books and looked up at me. “Where I come from, doughnuts are 40 cents,” I told him shaking my little white paper bag at him.

“Oh,” the cashier calmly replied without a hint of condescension, “where are you from?”

Feeling a little embarrassed for losing my shit in front of my generous and patient friend, I paid the $11 and stomped out. I lauded her in my mind for not rescuing me from this situation. And I re-calibrated myself — when in California, ask the price before buying anything. Always. Even doughnuts. Especially doughnuts.

Although I bitched about it for a few more minutes on the way to the car, the sound of my complaints became muffled by the doughnutty goodness of the maple glaze I was stuffing in my big mouth. It was damn good, I have to say. “I mean really, what about this is worth…” crumbs started shooting out my mouth. The maple wasn’t just maple flavor. The cake of the doughnut was thick and moist without being oily and full of air.

I was pacified…until we got to Walgreens drug store and had to feed a meter to park in their lot. What? A store that has a paid parking lot? Are you kidding me? No, I’m not kidding. You have to pay to park at Walgreens in San Rafael. I rolled my eyes so far up, I thought they might stay up there and I’d have to go have them surgically lowered. We skipped Walgreens and went to the local dollar store where the shelves were picked clean no doubt by bargain hunters who spent their nearly last dollar on a doughnut.

Onward home. We pull into Jean’s driveway and witness 2 Hispanic guys pull up in their beat up old pickup truck with a giant boulder sitting in the bed. One of the neighbors had ordered a 1,000 pound rock from a local landscaping company and these guys were delivering it. The truck strained and backed up over the curb and the guys hopped out to try and offload the behemoth boulder.

That soon-to-be garden ornament in their truck weighed more than my 7-foot grand piano. Seriously more…like 223 pounds more than the piano. Unlike my piano, however, the boulder could be rolled — sort of. It wasn’t really a sphere. It was more like a pyramid of a boulder and so the guys pushed and heaved on it. The beat up old truck was rocking and bouncing with each heave. Finally the rock made it to the tailgate and I winced as surely they would break the tailgate. They broke the tailgate. It bent in the middle like a piece of tin foil as the rock rolled off the truck and plunged to the ground with a thud that shook the pavement. USGS noted a seismic disturbance somewhere in the magnitude of 4.5 with the epicenter being just next door.

I watched from a safe distance as the 2 guys fretted and then laughed about destroying their truck’s tailgate. The bigger of the two jammed his hip on it and bent it back into shape. It would now close but not latch. I started feeling sorry for these guys. How on earth would they ever move that 1,000 pound boulder into place in the neighbor’s landscape? Well, I wasn’t going to stand around and watch. They didn’t need my pity. So I went inside and pushed the button to close the electric garage door.

I stopped for a moment. Bit my lip and thought a little about Trump and the wall and the abuse of immigrants in America. I turned right around and pushed the button again and opened the garage door. I ran over to the guys who were heaving and grunting trying to roll the pyramidal rock about 200 feet to its final resting place. No. Way. It was not going to move. With all their might, the boulder would rock a little, but it wouldn’t roll.

I asked in my best Español if they needed help but I didn’t wait for an answer and just started pushing, “Uno, dos, tres,” and we all heaved. It moved! I jumped out of the way with my sandaled feet as it toppled down to a flat side. We stood up and caught our breaths. I noticed them pointing to my vulnerable toes. If that rock were to roll on my feet, I would never walk again.

Helping these guys was a chance to practice my Spanish for my upcoming trip to Mexico. I was thrilled to say “pinche” and “chinga” and put them together with pesado. “¡Ay, chingada,” I yelled at the boulder, looking at the guys for approval with my expletives. “¡Pinche pesado,” the bigger guy yelled and laughed. (I’ll let you look up the rest, but pesado means heavy.)

For a half hour we channeled the ancient Egyptians, heaving, panting, and yelling at the gneiss blob as we inched our way up the path and into place. The neighbor who ordered the rock stood by with pride and folded arms. We all felt a sense of accomplishment when we finally got it to the exact location in the landscape where it will delight all who pass by it for years.

My lower back had something to say about this, however. It was like, “Puta madre! What did you do to me? You’re 53 years old and you’re pushing a 1,000 pound boulder? ¿Qué me has hecho, pendejo? Couldn’t you have done a little warm up first?”

I went back to the house to down a few ibuprofen and strap on an ice pack. While I was on the floor stretching out my lower back, the doorbell rang. The neighbor appeared on the doorstep with 2 bottles of wine. “I didn’t know if you liked chardonnay or sauvignon blanc. So I brought you both.”

In my materialistic curiosity to gauge the depth of his pockets and his gratitude, I used my phone to scan the barcodes on the wines. The 2 bottles added up to over $50! I’ve never had such expensive wine. The idea of washing down $11 of doughnuts with $50 of wine was intriguing in a way that one can only imagine in California.

Sometimes California giveth and sometimes it taketh away. I wonder if the guys got any wine or reimbursement for their broken truck.

Haoyen and Waituck greeting Chuan at the airport in KL where they dropped him off a year ago. This time no tears.

It was the best of times, it was (NOT) the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity. 

We left Malaysia. We got married. We returned to Tucson for the fair season. And it was the longest time in my life when living in Tucson didn’t suck. We sang with the symphony. We swam in the river. Chuan cooked. I ate. We drank. We cycled. We argued a little and loved a lot. Chuan became a permanent resident and taught Chinese and piano. I wrote a book on our epic love affair (coming soon). The owls gave birth and the owlets fledged.

Chuan has gone back to Malaysia to cut his mother’s hair. So I’m a bachelor for a month which means I have to learn how to cook again. I’ve hardly cooked a meal since Chuan arrived. Tucson hit the 100 degree mark and so the summer migration has begun. Onward to the cool and foggy Bay Area, then the California foothills for a wedding, then Mexico for 6 weeks to explore our American exit strategy options. Then on to Oregon for the solar eclipse. Then the wine country for a men’s retreat, back to San Francisco, and finally home in September. Home. Tucson, Arizona…a place that has gotten enormously better in the years since I left it (twice) and enormously better since Chuan moved in and spruced up my life. Life is sweet in what seems like a nation coming apart.

With Lois and Terry at Sher – e – Punjab…the best Indian food in Tucosn.

Neighbors peering up at the owlets.

Shreevie at Redington Canyon

with Marth and Darryl Schoon…the coolest neighbors in Tamarisk!

The little tree I planted 9 years ago now towers overhead and thrills with yellow blossoms.

Reading the NYT before sunrise.

Round 1 of editing.

Charlie Chaplain’s first talkie was hilarious.

with Steve from Portland…soon to be from Tucson after the worst winter ever.

Chuan’s first text to me when he arrived back in Malaysia after being in the States for a year. America, civilized? LOL!!

With the piano whiz kids Aryo and Dylan.

Lois and Terry.

The owlets peering down at us.

Swimming every morning.

Sitting where I sat when I met Sebastian in chorus at the UofA. Chuan is playing the piano oblivious to my melancholy.

Writing my book with bourbon by my side.

with Alex and Thom the GOOD Millenials.

Hiking Redington Canyon

Best photo I’ve ever shot on my iPhone 6.

Making carrot cakes.

Up early at the pool.

Alex and Chuan in the backyard for a spring dinner.

My first seersucker suit.

Cholla and wildflowers

Quiz night in Tucson with Liz and company.

Some people just have no dignity.

The bachelor buffet. My SunOven version of Beenie Weenies.

Ocotillo

Jeff and Angela at Caruso’s in Tucson – really mediocre food but extraordinary atmosphere.

Here’s a really short video clip of the mostly uneventful spring…

It was a glorious winter and spring in Tucson. Here’s the winter / spring photo montage with video…

after the museum with Ida and Trish

at the Center for Creative Photography

with Lois at Symphony performance

My horrible next door neighbor of 13 years goes into foreclosure.

Chuan launches his piano teaching career

beach days at the river

got hit by Thom flying out of the jumping castle

doing taxes. ugh.

with Terry and Lois

Fairy dusters

the anti-Trump march

at the gem show

Valentine’s Day

Rob and Alex

the new bed fit for queens

with Thom and Alex downtown

Thom’s 30th birthday musuem

dinner by the fire

our neighbors Darryl and Martha

with Steve Prenzlauer who came for the Brahms

at the book fair. I asked him when he would change “Meet” to “Sleep with.” He laughed and blushed…I think.

remodeling the room

with Shreevie going for a ride

the Rillito flowing!

staging Brahms Requiem

It’s olive season. Jarring them up.

Tanque Verde Falls in Tucson

Tom Jablonka is still alive!

the new floors

cumquats from University treeR

The great horned owl in the parking lot across the street

Rehearsing the Brahms

at Tanque Verde Falls

I drink. He cooks. Nice arrangement

creature from the black lagoon

The greatest day of my Tucson life: my neighbor with the barking dogs FINALLY moves out!

First time mountain biking with Jeff. Bike broke. Called it Broke Bike Mountain.

with Angela and Jeff

with Ida

Jeff, Chuan, Rob, Alex at march

after the room renovation

It’s the end of a long, stressful, tedious, and expensive process — the pursuit of the coveted American Green Card…permanent residency in the United States. And last Wednesday, Chuan was granted his and a fast track to citizenship (if he wants it). We went to our immigration hearing with our attorney Claudia Arévalo (pictured above) not really knowing what to expect. After months of paperwork, forms, bank statements, tax returns, birth certificates, marriage certificates, affidavits of friendship, affidavits of financial responsibility, over $5,000 in attorney’s fees, filing fees, and medical exams…but the final decision rests with the immigration officer charged with the responsibility of granting or denying your application. And so it’s really luck of the draw who you get. If you get someone who is homophobic or having a bad day, you’re screwed. But it was our lucky day. We got Officer B (name withheld).

We sat in the lobby of the United States Customs and Border Control office nervously awaiting our appointment when the door opened and Chuan’s name was called by a woman in a cobalt blue satin blouse and a beige skirt. It was not an officer’s uniform with gun and taser as I had expected. Was she the officer we were assigned? Claudia was behind us as we walked to the door and whispered, “You’re lucky, she’s nice!” I felt some sense of dread lifting off my shoulders.

Officer B had lived in San Francisco and in the 10 minutes of previewing our case had seen that we were married in SF City Hall. She saw we were first time married, gay, no criminal records or violations of visas. She must have seen that I’m 53. All this added up to the unlikelihood that we were faking a marriage, which is the whole point of this interview…to prove that we are committing fraud and the burden of proof that we are legit is on us.

We dumped on her desk a pile of pictures of the past 3 years of our relationship, along with sworn statements from Simon, Angela and Jeff, and Jean who were either at our wedding or who hosted a wedding reception for us. Then we pulled out a ton of wedding cards, top of the pile being the handmade earth/bicycle wheel watercolor card made by Thom and Alex from the Farm.

It was all enough that Officer B said to us, “You got your green card the minute you walked in the door, but I have to go through with some formalities.” Oh wow. It happened. Officer B just made our lives enormously better. We finished the rest of the interview and she didn’t have to separate us and ask us things like what side of the bed we sleep on and does he have any distinctive moles or birthmarks…that sort of thing.

We walked out of the office back to the lobby within a half hour and flashed Trish, our housemate, the thumbs up. What a RELIEF! I no longer have to have my bank accounts scrutinized, we don’t have to have a million we-fies on the blog to prove our relationship. It’s over, done, finished. Glory hallelujah. Justice is, on rare occasions, done in America.

Later on we had a party at the Tucson Racquet Club. I texted the guests in advance that we would announce the decision at the party in the color of our scarves. Green for “got the green card” or black. Then the guests started arriving up the stairs and immediately checking our scarves. Alex arrived with a single green balloon and a look of worry on her face as she rushed to us. I heard her mutter, “Are they wearing green? Oh thank God!” The look of fear turned to relief and she threw her arms around us. Practically all our neighbors and friends came. They’ve all grown fond of Chuan and perhaps not seeing me be lonely and miserable.

We ordered drinks and the party grew to about 20. We made a small speech about what this meant to us and to thank all of our supporters (and you dear readers who couldn’t attend) for the help all along the way.

It was truly a celebratory evening. Love prevailed. Chuan gets to stay in America. I get to keep my hubby by my side. Thanks goes to all the people in this country who voted and ultimately installed a reasonable Supreme Court that ruled in favor of marriage equality. Thank you to all who encouraged, loved, wrote checks, and helped us get through this trying time.

Now we can just be normal Americans…should we choose such a fate. Yikes.

Nothing says Christmas like nausea, intestinal bloating, and diarrhea. Well, that in summation was my holiday season 2016. Somewhere along the line of holiday food grazing, I picked up a stomach parasite that was having a merry time in my belly while the rest of me was trying to feel the Christmas spirit with Jean who came down from the Bay Area. I found myself emerging from urgent care with a bottle of sulfameth antibiotics rather than a mug of holiday grog which only added nausea to my already bah humbug ad nauseam Christmas. The Bactrim was making me sicker so I went back to urgent care and insisted on something else like an anti-parasite. They obliged and within a day I was feeling right as rain!

But too late, Jean came and went before I felt better. The holiday concert we sang with the Tucson Symphony came and went. The Winterhaven party bike came and went. Our mini road trip to the Shady Dell in Bisbee and Kartchner Caverns came and went and all the while I was feeling on the edge of throwing up. Sorry, Jean! I promise to be in good health the next time and it was great to see you and do some fun things in spite of the little critters. Anyway, here’s a visual recap of the last week or so here in our little alcohol-free, anti-parasitic southwestern winter wonderland…

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