DICTUM
EDITOR’S LETTER
HOW TO TRAVEL SMART AND QUEER
One summer, my wife and I rented a villa just outside of Nice with a group of friends. We were lesbians, trans dudes, gay guys and non-binary babes, and we had a bloody wonderful time – playing naked Scrabble in the pool long into the evening, high on life, grappa and a suspiciouslooking pink liquid that came in a penis-shaped glass bottle.
We christened our villa the Queer Compound, and barely ventured outside of the gates of our homotopia for a week. In fact, the only day we did, we almost died in the worst thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced, which I took as a sign that we should have really stayed put. But even huddled together at the entrance of a crypt in a French cemetery, waiting for death, the beauty and the power of queer friendship made me feel all warm and fuzzy.