Climb every mountain

Climb every mountain

The next morning I woke late. I took myself downstairs. Timmy was working and Philip had already headed off. I figured I should ease myself back into my travels slowly so I spent the rest of the morning listening to the radio, sunbathing and snoozing in equal measures, breaking off every now and again to get myself another coffee from the complicated little machine in the kitchen. Around lunchtime Timmy came out to the pool and filled me in on the plan for the rest of the day. He had a couple of conference calls to do and then we would be headed to the supermarket to pick up some things for dinner before heading up to his house in the mountains for dinner. Paulo would be joining us and we would stay over so I needed to pack my toothbrush and some clean pants. After a spot of lunch and some more sunbathing I decided to have a little dip in the pool. Timmy was sat out on one of the sun loungers, taking one of his conference calls poolside so I kept my splashing about to a minimum.

  

Once Timmy had finished his work (and I was no longer in just swimwear) we set off for the supermarket, stocking up on the ingredients for dinner. I left Timmy collecting the things on his list and had a wander round to see what was on offer. I bought a couple of bottles of wine for with dinner, pushing the boat out and selecting ones at €6 instead of the €2 bottles. We paid for the shopping, loaded up the car and then set off for the mountains. Within five minutes we had left the town behind and were making our way up the winding road. The house is situated right at the top of the mountain, with a dozen or so houses dotted either side of the road just before it peters out. It has some spectacular views of the countryside with a line of telegraph poles being the only visible signs of civilisation.

Philip was already at the house when we arrived and I was handed a glass of wine before I had even had a chance to set my bag down. That’s the sort of hospitality I could get used to. It had been a few years since I had last visited so whilst Timmy unpacked the shopping I was given a tour of the place by Philip. Timmy joined us on the terrace out the back and we sat enjoying the wine and sunset as we caught up on our respective days. Timmy and Philip headed in a little while later to sort out dinner, declining my offer to help out.

I decided the terrace with the setting sun in the background would make a nice little spot for Dean and Ramon to have their first official touring photo together. After 9 months of taking photos of Dean (and sometimes Horse) in front of famous landmarks I had got used to setting them up for photos in front of famous landmarks, usually while being watched by bemused tourists. It was easy when there was just one model in the photo but I would have to learn how to best set up the shot for a group photo. It took me a little while as Jango (Ramon’s police dog) seemed a little unsteady on his feet and kept falling over. To get the photo I wanted I was pretty much laid flat across the terrace.

As I was getting up and dusting myself down I noticed Paulo had arrived and was stood watching me from the doorway, a slight look of bemusement on his face. I smiled and said “Olá”. How do you describe to a deaf Portuguese guy who doesn’t speak English that you are taking photos of toy policemen that your friends bought you as travel companions when you don’t speak Portuguese or know any sign language? I did my best to try to explain using a few gestures and basic words but settled on showing Paulo the photos of Dean in various places around the world. He smiled and nodded in what I hoped was an expression of him understanding. It could equally have been him just trying to get away from the weirdo with the tiny policemen friends, showing him photos of them like a proud father would show off baby photos. I was saved from any more awkward gesturing and Paulo was saved from me by an announcement that dinner was nearly ready.

A delicious dinner accompanied by my €6 wine followed, during which conversation was a mix of English for me and Philip, Timmy and Paulo speaking in Portuguese and a bit of charades from all of us as we tried to cross the language barrier. After dinner we watched the BBC news, a little reminder of home, before retiring to our respective bedrooms. The house and the surroundings were pretty quiet at night, giving me a small insight into what it must be like for Paulo not being able to hear anything at all. Despite the apparent silence I could still make out the occasional noise – the whir of the refrigerator or the bark of a dog somewhere in the village. I drifted off to sleep listening to the buzz of an insect.

The next morning I was up and out of bed fairly early, aided by the sound of a rooster who lived a couple of doors down announcing the new morning. I headed to the kitchen where Philip was already up and making inroads into the dishes from the previous evening. I grabbed a tea towel and started drying up the dishes he had washed. Fairly soon we had finished them all and attention turned to coffee. The smell of the coffee and some pastries for breakfast warming in the oven roused the others. After a leisurely breakfast we packed up to head back down the mountain, a little three car convey snaking back down towards Tavira.

Ford every stream

Once back at the house I went for a little swim before getting showered and changed. Timmy suggested going to have lunch in a little place down by the beach. He had work to do in the afternoon but Philip and I could spend the afternoon on the beach as the weather was pleasant enough. The beach at Tavira is reached by walking across a little bridge over the lagoon to get from the mainland to an island. To get to the beach from the bridge it is then about a ten minute walk, or for the princely sum of €1 there is a miniature railway train that shuttles beachgoers back and forth. There was no train at the “station” when we arrived so we set off walking.

Lunch consisted of a massive tuna salad and a beer for me. After Timmy left us Philip and I headed for a walk along the beach. As it was only mid March it was relatively quiet, the tourists would start arriving in another month or so. We walked quite a way along the beach, during which time we came across the massive body of a dead turtle. We also hit the nudist section of the beach which was thankfully pretty empty although there was one older man showing off everything as he sunbathed. There are some bits of your body that were not meant to see sunlight like that.  The sight of that meant we had to stop for another beer at the café where we had had lunch before we headed back home.

“Climb every mountain, ford every stream” 
Lyrics from Climb Ev’ry Mountain from the musical The Sound of Music

Someone is waiting

Someone is waiting

I was back at the airport after a whirlwind three-week visit back home, cramming in trips to see family and friends in various parts of the country, as if I hadn’t done enough travelling in the previous nine months. At least this time I didn’t have to lug my huge suitcase round with me everywhere. The break from travelling had also given me a chance to sort out most of my travel plans for the final two-ish months of my travels. I only needed to stay with a dozen more gays to get me to the magical number of 80, which meant that I would have more free time to explore some of Europe on my own. I already had a number of offers from friends, friends of friends and people I had met earlier in my travels so had a rough idea of where I would be and when for the first few weeks after setting back off. Knowing that I would reach my target was warmly satisfying. I couldn’t have done it without the network of amazing & hospitable friends I’m fortunate enough to have.

As I made my way to the departure gate I reflected back on how I had felt leaving at the start of my trip. I felt different this time, I felt more like I was just going on holiday. Maybe it was because I was only going to be away for a couple of months instead of nine, maybe it was because I was going to be in Europe so knew I would only ever be a few hours away from home, maybe it was because I had become a lot more confident over the last nine months of travelling. Maybe it was because I hadn’t done a days work in nearly a year so I was feeling very relaxed. Maybe it was because I’d already had a gin at the airport (yes, it was still morning but I had it with orange juice to make it breakfasty). Whatever the reason it was time to get on with it and I boarded the plane.

My first stop on the European leg of my trip was a town called Tavira on the Algarve, a short drive from Faro where I would be flying into. A friend of mine, Timmy, had moved over there a few years ago and had agreed to host me. I had been over to visit him a few times before in the past but hadn’t been to his new place yet. It had been a while since I had last seen him so I was looking forward to a good catch up, undoubtedly over a glass or two of the local vinho. I hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell him his number yet. He would be Gay 69. A London friend of mine had commented that had they been one of the gays they would have only done it if they were Gay 1, Gay 80 or Gay 69 as they are the numbers that people will remember. 

The flight over was uneventful and we landed on time and I had a text from Timmy saying he was here and waiting for me outside the terminal. I stood at the carousel in Faro watching as other passengers collected their luggage and headed for the exit, a small knot of anxiety developing as new cases stopped appearing on the belt despite the fact mine wasn’t there. I suppose it had to happen at some point. That perennial travel problem of the lost suitcase. I guess I had done fairly well making it through nine months of global travel with barely a delay, nearly missed flight or losing anything (except maybe my dignity on a few drunken nights out). Fairly soon the number of cases matched the number of people waiting by the belt. One case. One person, me. The one case was mine. I must have watched it go round a good half dozen times before I realised it was mine. I had been to Faro to see Timmy on a few occasions and I had always had a small suitcase with me and that is what I had been waiting for, not the large suitcase of clothes that would get me through the final couple of months. Thankfully there was nobody left to hear me exclaim "oh that's my case" or see me red faced collecting it a good few minutes after everyone else had left.

I collected my case and made my way out into the Portuguese sun. I could see Timmy waiting for me. I apologised for the delay, mumbling something about waiting for my suitcase. On the drive from the airport to his we caught up on the gossip about mutual friends from back home, I gave him a condensed version of my travels to date and he filled me in on what had been happening in his life since I last saw him. It was getting close to lunchtime by the time we arrived back at his so after a brief tour of his new place we headed into town for some lunch. We had lunch at a little café he suggested, sitting outside in the sun. Timmy took care of ordering for us both. His Portuguese had really improved since my last visit. I was limited to “obrigado” which I said as often as I could, making me seem over-polite.

After lunch and a little stroll around town we headed back to the house. Timmy gave me a quick tour of the house but then had some work calls to do so he left me to it. I had a little siesta and then took a book and sat out by his pool reading for a while. Timmy was doing a conference call from the side of the pool. I could see why he had swapped London life for this. I stayed out reading until the sun started to go down, making it a little chilly to stay outside in just a t-shirt and shorts. I went in to get changed into some jeans. When I came back downstairs Philip, a friend of Timmy’s who I knew from London, had joined us. We had a catch up and then they let me in on the plans for the evening. Another friend of Timmy’s, Paulo, had offered to cook dinner for us all so we would be heading there. Before we set off for Paulo’s Timmy explained that Paulo was deaf but could lip-read although he didn’t speak much English. I was certain he spoke more English than I did Portuguese.  

The three of us headed out and drove over to Paulo’s for dinner. Having arrived and being welcomed in, Timmy did the introductions. I smiled, said hola and held out my hand ready for a handshake. I got a hug and a kiss on each cheek. A couple of attempts at my name and we settled on me being called “Crease” for the evening. I’d been called worse I guess. Very soon I had a glass of wine in my hand and we attempted a conversation, via Timmy. I felt like I was at the UN, having a translator by my side. It made the whole process quite lengthy so I spent periods just looking at Paulo and smiling (which was fine as he is very easy on the eye) whilst Timmy translated what I had just said.

We were invited to take our seats at the table while Paulo made his way into the kitchen to bring out the starter. He returned carrying a couple of bowls, steam gently rising from them, and placed one at either end of the table. They contained hot water with a slice of lemon floating in it. I looked at it and said “The soup looks a bit thin”. Timmy didn’t translate my attempt at a joke for Paulo who headed back to the kitchen, returning moments later with a plate piled high with prawns. We set about demolishing them. I’m pretty easy-going with food, kidneys being about the only thing I would struggle to eat, but if something on my plate still has its eyes and is looking up at me I feel a little uneasy. I shelled quite a few prawns in one go and put the heads out of sight. It took us quite a while to get through the prawn mountain but pretty soon the plate was just a pile of prawn heads. The main course was fish, complete with head and flat black eye staring up at me. I moved the piece of lemon garnishing the meal over the eye but could feel the fish looking at me through it. Dessert was a bannoffee pie, which had no head or eyes.

Conversation after dinner was interesting. It was like playing a game of bilingual charades. A mix of English, Portuguese and mimed actions helping us to converse. We seemed to do ok. From the mimes I gathered that Paulo worked as a photographer and he showed me some of his work. It was very impressive. I really did need to sort myself out with a photography course when I got back so I could move my digital SLR off “automatic” mode. It was soon time for us to head back. I managed to thank Paulo for dinner in Portuguese, even managing a muito obrigado rather than just an obrigado. Another big hug and kiss on both cheeks followed but this time I was prepared for it. Once back at Timmy’s I did my goodnights in English and made my way up to my room. It had been a great first day back on my travels.

“Someone is waiting” 
Lyrics from Someone is waiting from the musical Company

It's so nice to be back home where I belong

It's so nice to be back home where I belong

I was back in London after nearly nine months of travelling. I had originally arranged for my round the world ticket to get me back in mid February for a couple of reasons. I had a couple of birthdays I wanted to be in the country for, I wasn’t sure if I would be bored of travelling after nine months and it would give me a handy excuse if I had overspent my travel budget (most likely on gin). Thankfully I was still under budget and had an appetite for more travelling so I began work on arranging the remaining gays in various European cities to get me to 80.

I suppose this part of the story isn’t really a part of my 80 Gays travels. If this whole adventure ever gets turned into a movie, this bit would be covered by one of those montage scenes with some appropriate song playing in the background, which fades away so you can hear snippets of various conversations. I’ll do the screenwriters a favour and just give the potted highlights of my couple of weeks back in the UK.

Place mat

• I was collected from the airport by my dear friend Gail, one of the rare occasions she was actually on time for meeting me. I spent a couple of days with her, her husband and my godsons. Helping to look after a three year old and a one year old was a great way to stop the jet lag from hitting me. The boys had changed so much in the time I had been away. We headed out to a restaurant for lunch on my final day with them. I kept the boys entertained by making a cat out the paper place mat. My eldest godson recognised what I had made, which made me feel pretty good. Gail joined in by making a paper plane, going for something thin and sleek in the style of Concorde. She said “What has Mummy made?”. The response was a quizzical look, followed by the suggestion it was a nail.

• I headed up home to see family and friends for a few days. I got a massive hug at the station from Mother and it was a good few minutes before she finally let go. Once we were back at her house and my sister arrived I gave them both the gifts I had picked out at the airport in Hong Kong – a Tiffany heart keyring for each of them. My sister opened the card first, and having read the message inside, started to cry. Mother looked up to see why she was crying as she had made a beeline for the present, ignoring the card attached to it.

• We had a family trip over to see my granddad for his 92nd birthday. Over lunch I told him a little bit about my travels and some of the things I had done while away. I told him how I had held a gun in Texas but hadn’t had the chance to go shoot it, asking him if he had fired his gun during the war. He told us that he had never fired the gun they had given him but just after the war had ended and they were still in Germany they had come across a German rifle in the woods, near a railway line. My granddad had picked the rifle up. At that moment a few hundred feet away a deer was crossing the railway line. My granddad had taken aim and fired, not imagining for one moment he would get anywhere close. The deer dropped onto the tracks, having been unlucky enough to be hit by a novice marksman.  My granddad and his fellow soldiers handed the rifle and the deer carcass to a rather bemused German farmer.

• I spent a very enjoyable evening with Sara(h) Squared watching the men’s 10m synchronised diving championships in what would in a few short months time be the aquatics centre for the London 2012 Olympic Games. It was a great evening out – fit men in speedos to watch while we enjoyed a drink in the stands. We spent the warm up session picking out who we thought had the nicest design on their trunks and then got ready for the competition. I wasn’t paying attention when the announcer said what the first dive would be. I turned to Sarah and asked her what they were doing.

Sarah: “I think it is a back one and a half somersault with tuck”

Me: “With tut?”

Sarah: “Yeah, just as they are about to hit the water they have to tut”

Dean and Ramon

• Having successfully navigated around the world for nine months I managed to get totally lost on the way to Claire’s 30th birthday party, in central London. I arrived about a half hour later than planned but we had a good catch up and reminisced about the wine tasting tour we had done a few months earlier in Sydney. Neither of us had been able to think about a Semillon in the same way ever since.

• Dean got a new friend, Ramon, to join him on the European leg of my trip, courtesy of Sarah and Marcella who had given me Dean as a going away present. 

“It's so nice to be back home where I belong” 
Lyrics from Hello, Dolly! from the musical Hello, Dolly!

It would sure be nice to be back home

 It would sure be nice to be back home

It had finally arrived. The day I was flying back to London having been away for some 262 days (and 68 gays). It felt simultaneously as though I had been away for an eternity and an instant. I was really ready to see family and friends again, a feeling that I hoped would be mutual. My flight wasn’t until the evening so I had most of the day to do stuff although I knew I would set off for the airport with more than enough time to spare. I had breakfast once more with Brian and Pavlo. They were headed off for a trip to China and were very excited about that. It had taken a bit of effort to arrange their visas and they planned on making the most of the time there. China was on my list of places to visit, but that would have to be another trip.

I wasn’t really in the mood for doing more touristy things so I decided I would completely empty my suitcase, get rid of anything that I didn’t need to take home and then make use of the space created by going and doing some shopping. I figured it was about time for another full wardrobe change, the previous one having been back in Portland in October. I was hoping the prices in Hong Kong would be a lot more reasonable than the prices back in London.

The shopping trip was proving fairly successful into the last store, Esprit. The rails of clothes were very close together, with not enough room to pass someone if they were coming in the opposite direction down the same aisle as you. I wandered a few of the aisles, picking up a couple of shirts and about a half dozen t-shirts to try. Armed with my prospective purchases I headed towards the changing room. As I got to the end of one aisle there was a woman coming down the one I needed to go up to get to the changing room. I stepped to one side allowing her to pass. As I set off I felt myself being pulled back and could hear a large metallic scraping sound. I had managed to get my bag strap caught round the end of the rail and was dragging it behind me. I could feel myself turning red as people turned to look at me.

Mother, stuck inside the Statue of Liberty

The incident reminded me of the time in New York on a family holiday with my sister and Mother. We had taken a trip over to the Statue of Liberty. It had only recently reopened fully and we had tickets to go inside the statue. Having climbed up to the crown and had some pictures taken we made our way back down the spiral staircase. My sister was in the lead, then Mother with me last. I stopped a couple of times to take some photos of the inside of the statue so a little gap had opened up between us. I heard the unmistakeable voice of Mother echoing up through the hollow metal interior of Lady Liberty, announcing to all that she was stuck. She had managed to get the back of her jumper caught on the handrail of the staircase. Having gone down a couple of steps she was unable to go any further. I made my way down the stairs to unstick her, first pausing to record the moment for posterity with a photo.  

Having untangled myself from my predicament and returned the clothing rail to its original position I continued on to the changing room. My face had just about returned to its normal colour. The shop assistant at the changing room entrance smiled broadly at me. I showed her the items I wished to try on in case there were a limit to the number you could take in in one go. She pointed to one of the t-shirts and said “This for lady. You no lady”. My face once again returned to a hue of deep red as I handed her the t-shirt back. In my defence, the only signs I had been able to read in the store had been the price labels and there was not a clear dividing line between menswear and womenswear. 

Purchases complete I made my way back to Brian and Pavlo’s. I packed my new purchases and soon I was all ready for my return home. I left a thank you card and a bottle of bubbly for my hosts and then headed out, remembering to drop their keys off with the porter. I got a cab to the station and then the train back to the airport. Once my luggage was checked in and I had cleared security I had plenty of time to have a wander round the shops. I picked up a very belated present for my friend Gail, who would be picking me up from Heathrow the following morning. I had set off on my travels a month before a rather large birthday of hers. I also picked up a couple of gifts for my sister and Mother. Part of the reason I was headed home for a couple of weeks was so that I could go see my granddad on his 92nd birthday. I picked up some of his favourite little cigars, one of the few presents we still bought him. I chuckled to myself at the advert on the package, which was warning that smoking could lead to erectile dysfunction. At nearly 92 I didn’t think he would be too bothered.

My attention in Duty Free wandered over to a cute guy in the gin section. Given I like both gin and cute guys I made my way in that direction. He looked up from his gin browsing and we made eye contact. It lingered for slightly longer that it would have done if he were a straight man so I smile. There was a hint of a smile before he looked back at the shelves. The was another moment of eye contact and smiling as he made his way to the till to pay for his shopping. I felt like I had been standing in the shop for a little while so I went and found a seat in towards the direction of my gate, but not that far from Duty Free that I wouldn’t be able to see him leave.

I decided if fate brought him in my direction I would do something that I had rarely done before – I would ask him if he wanted a drink. Fate did bring him my way but it also brought a woman with a clipboard doing some sort of survey. She said hello and then launched into a well-rehearsed monologue about the survey she was doing. I listened, waiting for her to pause for breath so I could interrupt and politely decline her invitation to answer a few questions. In the time it took me to get rid of the survey woman the cute gin guy had walked right by where I had been sat. I looked down the terminal building and could see him not that far ahead, walking away. I reckoned I could catch him up so I grabbed by bag and made off after him. I was nearly caught up with him when he turned off and into the entrance for one of the lounges. I took myself and my economy class ticket back to the gate to wait for my flight back to Heathrow.

“It would sure be nice to be back home” 
Lyrics from Home from the musical The Wiz

No good deed

No good deed goes unpunished, Sure, I meant well

No good deed goes unpunished

I woke early on my second morning and made myself some coffee, returning to my room to do a bit of writing. I finished another blog post then quickly checked my email and Facebook. I had a friend request from someone I didn’t recognise. I flicked back through my journal to see if it was someone I had met recently but the name didn’t ring any bells. I clicked on their profile and noticed we had one mutual friend, N, a guy that I had dated for a few months before I had left on my travels. I dropped N a message to ask if I had ever met the person who was now trying to befriend me. I heard Brian and Pavlo up and about so went to join them for some breakfast.

Over breakfast Brian & Pavlo gave me some suggestions of things I should definitely see and do in my remaining time in Hong Kong.  On their list of suggestions was a trip to see the Big Buddha up at Ngong Ping.  They told me I could get the subway to Tung Chung and from there it was either bus or a cable car. They recommended taking the cable car for the views and the comfort of the ride, assuring me it was worth paying that bit extra compared to the bus. When I arrived at Tung Chung I found out that the cable car was closed for repairs so I was left with no choice but to take a bus. I found the bus stop, noted the sign saying that they only accepted the exact fare in cash and joined the queue.

  

The bus arrived and we slowly filed aboard. I found a seat about halfway down the bus, next to an open window, which was providing a nice breeze. The bus was just about full to capacity when I heard an American woman talking to the driver, her voice getting increasingly louder. It wasn’t hard to hear what the issue was. She didn’t have the exact fare and was trying to get him to accept a large note. It was clear that he wasn’t going to let her on without the exact fare and she wasn’t going to get off the bus to go get some change as that would mean the bus would leave without her. I checked through my wallet. I had enough change to pay her fare. I headed up to the front of the bus and gave her the change for the fare. She thanked me profusely and I politely allowed her in front of me to go find a seat. By the time I turned to go back to my seat I saw that someone had moved into it. I was left having to make do with the seat right in the centre at the back of the bus, which meant no nice window seat, no breeze, no view and a rather uncomfortable journey. Thanks karma.  

The journey up to Ngong Ping was up a windy mountain road and took an age. I could see how a cable car would have been a lot more appealing. The Big Buddha lived up to its name. The place felt eerily remote, surrounded on all sides by wooded hills with little signs of civilisation. The Buddha sat atop a hill with a long set of stairs to climb up to it. Even before I got to the top I knew that this would be another place where I wished I had someone with me to share in the experience. I spent about an hour wandering around the Buddha and the surrounding area, taking in the sights before steeling myself for the bumpy bus ride back down.

Once back in civilisation I found a spot to have some lunch. I still had the pay as you go SIM card from Australia in my phone and so I was able to get online as I used up the last of the credit on it. I had a quick check on Facebook to see what was happening as a distraction whilst lunching alone. I saw a message from Brian inviting me to dinner with some of his friends that evening. My only plans for the rest of the day had been to do a spot of clothes shopping so I ditched that in order to go meet Brian and make some new friends. I made my way back to Brian & Pavlo’s place to freshen up and change into something more suitable for dinner than the shorts and t-shirt I was sporting.

Having showered and changed I checked out where I needed to get to as I wasn’t entirely sure where I was headed. I had a street address and had looked it up on Google maps, taking a photo of the screen as a reference for if I got lost. I headed out, stopping en route to buy a bottle of wine and then took the subway downtown. I was soon in the area I thought I needed to be in but couldn’t see the street or building number I needed. I checked the photo of the map a couple of times, retracing my steps and checking the streets off as I went. I still couldn’t find where I needed to be. I tried to get online to message Brian but I had clearly used up my credit, which meant I was unable to call him either. As I stood thinking what the best thing to do was I spotted Pavlo, looking similarly lost. Thankfully he could call Jack, whose place we were headed to and soon we had the directions we needed.

I was introduced to Jack and the wine was cracked open. Jack was British and had been in Hong Kong with work for a couple of years. We chatted for a while about the things we missed from back home. Brian arrived a little later with another friend, Tina. More introductions were followed by more wine. Over dinner I regaled everyone with tales of my travels, answering the usual questions I would get from strangers – favourite places, strangest moments, best host so far. As my travels got longer it was becoming increasing more difficult to answer the questions. By the end of dinner and a lot of wine I was ready for the taxi home.

Sure, I meant well

Just before I climbed into bed I checked my messages and emails. I had received a reply from N. It turned out that the friend request was from his new boyfriend. I didn’t realise he had even started seeing anyone. Apparently the new boyfriend had looked through N’s Facebook messages and had seen some flirty messages we had shared a few months previously. It turned out that N was already seeing the new boyfriend when we had been messaging. He asked me to ignore the friend request. The old, pre-travel me would have felt bad and apologised for the flirty messages, even though I had no idea the new boyfriend was on the scene. The new, post-travel me figured I had done nothing wrong – the messaging had been mutual, he could have told me he was seeing someone but he didn’t. I didn’t bother responding to him, I just defriended him. I had made so many new friends on my trip that I wouldn’t miss losing one.

“No good deed goes unpunished, Sure, I meant well” 
Lyrics from No Good Deed from the musical Wicked

The fog rolls in

The fog rolls in, and there it stays

The fog rolls in

The flight from Sydney to Hong Kong lasted three films, four episodes of The Big Bang Theory, two meals and several gin and tonics. It had been the longest flight of my trip so far that I had been awake for. The flights from Los Angeles to Auckland and Buenos Aires to Mexico City had both been longer but had been night flights and with the help of a couple of sleeping tablets and gin I had slept through them both.  In the nearly nine months of travelling so far I had had no success in being seated next to any gays (as far as I knew) or been seated in a section of the plane being looked after by a gay trolley dolly. I’d not been able to flirt my way to any upgrades either, not that I had ever been good at that sort of thing. The only time I had ever managed anything like that was on a very short flight from Aberdeen to Gatwick. During the 40-minute flight I had got through four G&T’s because the steward serving them was cute and we had made a lot of eye contact. He told me in a text the next day that the crew on that flight had been checking out all the passengers as we boarded and that I had been unanimously voted “Bob” – Best on board. We dated for a year.

My hosts in Hong Kong were Brian and his boyfriend. Brian and I used to work for the same company before I had quit. We had met when he moved over from the Los Angeles office to work in London. He had put me in touch with Matt who had been one of my LA gays and after his move to Hong Kong he told me I was more than welcome to stay with them once my travels brought me there. He had been pencilled into my itinerary for over a year but we had only finalised the details a few days before my arrival. He had explained that they would both be at work when I arrived so he would leave a key with the security guard at their building. He gave me detailed directions on how to get from the airport to central Hong Kong and where to tell the taxi driver to go, including a phonetic pronunciation of the address in Cantonese in case my driver didn’t speak much English. He told me roughly what the taxi should cost too. It made my arrival stress free which given I was a little tired and was probably 10% gin was a good thing.

I cleared immigration, collected my case and got the train into Hong Kong. There was a queue for the taxis but it moved pretty quickly. I found the piece of paper I had jotted down Brian’s address and showed it to the driver. Thankfully I didn’t need to attempt the phonetic Cantonese version.  The traffic was very heavy and progress was very slow. The driver asked if I was ok with him taking the mountain road as it was probably going to be quicker. I had no idea where Brian’s place was in relation to where we were so I said “sure, why not”. A few minutes later we had turned off the main road and were heading upwards. The mountain road turned out to be the road up to Victoria Peak. As we neared the top the road was busy with coaches, many parked up as groups of people milled around on tours. They had not chosen a great day for it as the city was shrouded in fog. It was impossible to make out any of the buildings but the fog was lit up in a rainbow of colours.

And there it stays

I arrived at the rather cutely named Wendy Apartments where I would be staying for the next few days and found Brian’s building. As per his instructions a set of keys were waiting for me with the security guy on reception. I headed up to the apartment and let myself in. There was a light on but I didn’t think anything of it. I lugged my case across the threshold, closed the door behind me and headed in to the apartment. The sight of someone sat at the dining table just in front of me scared the crap out of me. It was Brian’s boyfriend who I had only met once before. I momentarily forgot his name, so opened with a safe “Hello you!” and followed it up with a swift “I didn’t think anyone was going to be home”. As he showed me to what would be my room and made me feel welcome I racked my brain to remember his name. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something desserty.  A short while later Brian returned home. As we hugged Brian said “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to message you to say that Pavlo would be home”. Pavlo! That was it. 

The next morning I woke up early and found Brian and Pavlo already up and having breakfast.  They poured me a coffee and asked me about my plans for the day. I said that I didn’t have a set plan and would probably just have a wander around the centre for a while, get my bearings and soak up the atmosphere.  They both left for work and I took my time getting ready. Armed with a map, my iPod and wearing some comfortable shoes I set off for my day of wandering. The fog of the previous evening remained making a tourist trip up Victoria Peak rather pointless. Instead I contented myself with just wandering the busy, narrow streets taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the place. It was completely different to anywhere I had been on my travels so far. As I passed a Bank of China I noticed a large queue outside. It snaked across the path and I had to navigate a way through the queue. I suddenly felt very self-conscious about how English I must have sounded as I said “Pardon me please”.

My wandering brought me into the centre of the city and to the Bank of China main building.  The queue outside it was unbelievable. It wrapped around the building a couple of times, up over a bridge and round a corner. It must have been a couple of miles long.  It had me perplexed. Thankfully I randomly bumped into Pavlo who was on his way to the gym in his lunch break and he explained that a new 100 dollar note had been released to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the bank and people were queueing up to buy them as the new money was considered to be lucky. I decided against joining the queue. Instead I filled my day visiting the Hong Kong Gardens, walking round the harbour and embarrassing myself at lunch by my complete lack of language skills which meant I ordered by doing an impression of a chicken and then pointing towards the big plate of noodles on the next table.

“The fog rolls in, and there it stays”
Lyrics from Entering Grey Gardens from the musical Grey Gardens