People

People, people who need people

People

My overnight flight to Rio was delayed by a couple of hours and by the time I had arrived, cleared Brazilian immigration (they didn’t ask for details of when I planned to leave the country), collected my suitcase and cleared customs it was early afternoon. I got a taxi to the hotel and checked in. The hotel was nothing special but it was clean, had a comfortable double bed and a decent sized bathroom. I knew that the lack of sleep would soon catch up with me so I headed out for a walk to get some air to keep me awake until a reasonable bedtime. I was conscious of the advice I had read about Rio so I took all the cards and most of the cash out of my wallet, locking it in the safe along with my passport and camera. I put some emergency cash under the insole of one of my trainers. One of my friends had told me to wear trainers rather than flip flops as it would be easier to run away should the need arise.

I walked across the street to Copacabana Beach to have a look at the sea, walking a couple of blocks along the seafront before heading in to find a supermarket where I could pick up a few things for dinner. I duly found one and bought myself some bread and cheese, an apple, a bottle of water and a few beers. It would be a humble first dinner in Rio in my room. After my dinner of a cheese sandwich and a beer as I watched a bit of TV, I was ready for an early night. The next morning I was up, showered and having breakfast before 8am. I decided I would go do some sightseeing. Armed with the map that the hotel had given me I made my way to the taxi rank right outside the hotel. There was a taxi waiting in the rank, the driver leant against the door smoking a cigarette.

I asked the driver, in Portuguese, if he spoke English. He didn’t. I had written down “I would like to go to…” in Portuguese on a piece of notepaper. I attempted to say it while making sure the paper was visible so he could read it too. I added “Cristo Redentor” to the end. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by the gesture. He explained in Portuguese but I didn’t understand. Through a series of mimes I finally worked out that he was telling me that the clouds were coming in and that there would be no view from the top. A hasty plan B was put into action and he took me to the Botanical Gardens instead.

The gardens were stunning despite it being off-season for them. I could only imagine the colours that would be on display when everything was in bloom. It was virtually deserted too. I wandered around the whole place, getting a glimpse of Christ the Redeemer as the mist momentarily rolled away. I had taken my journal with me and I found a quiet spot to sit and bring that up to date. I hadn’t really looked back over the journal since I started my travels so I took the opportunity to read back through it. Reading through the journal it was difficult to comprehend just how much I had crammed into the first 3 months of my trip. It felt like it had flown by but gone so slowly at the same time. As well as the 20 gays I had stayed with so far I was struck by the number of other people who had helped me out on my trip. I grabbed the notepad I had jotted my Portuguese down on & started making a list of people who I would need to thank should 80 Gays ever get turned into a book. The list was quite long and I realised that the acknowledgements section of any book will be huge. Whilst sitting in that spot I jotted down a long list of names, tucking the pieces of notepaper into the journal for future reference. This is the list I came up with.

There were my 20 gay hosts (Greg, Ray, Simon, Sean & Keith, Bob, David, Renaud, Drew & Gray, Stephen, Eric & Jim, Rhett, David, Casey & Preston, George, Robby and Tim) without whom my trip would never have happened. There were also the people who had helped me find some of the 20 gays I had stayed with (Ruth & Matthew for Simon, David for Sean & Keith, Michael for Renaud, Andrew, Renee & Shawn for Drew & Gray, Simon for Jim & Eric, Greg and Rosie for Rhett, Tom and Chris for David, Bill, Sal and Miriam for Casey & Preston and Bob and Laura for Tim).  There were a couple of nearly hosts too. Shawn in Ottawa until he moved out of the city and Paul & Matt in Provincetown who would have put me up in their house had it not fallen down during the building work being done on it.

Craig in New York who made me get the journal in the first place, gave me tips on things to do in several US cities and kept checking up on me. Cary & Shawn in DC who gave me a great place to watch the DC Pride Parade from, smuggled me in to the bar when my UK driving licence wasn’t accepted and for providing a roof terrace with an amazing view of the city at night. Chris in Philadelphia who brought wine on my first night when the liquor stores in Pennsylvania were closed and who took me out for proper beer and fish and chips to remind me of home.

Robert in Chicago who spent his day off being a tour guide and who walked everywhere rather than making me get the subway. Daniel in Ottawa, my Inuit tour guide who made stuff up as he pointed out various landmarks and who made me the best tasting (and strongest) chocolate martini I have ever had. Andie in Long Island who got me told off by a little old lady for talking in the museum, who took me for tableside guacamole and who didn’t say the v word too much. Simon who came all the way over from London, who gave me an update on the gossip from back home, who belted out show tunes with me and brought the latest copies of Heat magazine with him.

Carlos who sent me to, and Angharad for chaperoned me in, one of the strangest gay bars I have ever been to in NYC. Mama T in Nashville who made it possible for me to arrange to see my sister and Mother while I am away travelling, who called me adopted son number 2, who jumped in the pool fully clothed and who got me hooked on Spot It! Chris in Memphis who organised my host, who organised my social calendar and who organised Alex to be my tour guide for the day. Mr & Mrs M and Tyler in Shepherdstown who extended an invitation for British to join the West Virginia gang for the weekend.

And of course, my sister and Mother for being so supportive, for loving me regardless, for telling me off for not being on Skype as often as I should and for pointing out the typos in my blog.

“People, people who need people” 
Lyrics from People from the musical Funny Girl