…continued from my last two posts.
And I boarded the train and left for Paris.
ML and I arrived in Paris, late in the afternoon on Friday, two weeks after I had arrived in Europe. Our first stop. To find Michelle. Yes, my best friend Michelle was flying over to meet us. Once we found her, and got checked into our hotel it was off to have dinner. ML goes to Paris each fall at Thanksgiving. He knows the city well and speaks fluent French, so we let him choose the restaurant. It was a small place, off the beaten path, that was one of his favorites in Paris. It was a wonderful meal. Afterwards we found a small gay bar and had a couple of after dinner beverages. We called it a night kind of early and made our way back to the hotel.
Michelle and I had been to Paris once before during the summer of 2000. We spent 9 days there and loved every minute of it. During that first trip, we did all of the major sight-seeing. We hit all of the important spots, but both agreed that our favorite spot was the Rodin Museum. It was filled with the most beautiful sculptures I’d ever seen, but even better were the gardens out back. They were the most peaceful and serene in the entire city. We each found benches hidden away and sat there for a couple of hours just enjoying the beauty of the place.
I tell you this, because the Rodin museum was our first stop the next day. We arrived and quickly made our way through the house and found ourselves in the garden. It was just as nice as I remembered it. Once again we both found separate benches and lost ourselves in the peacefulness of our surroundings. I sat on my bench and thought of Pablo. I reminisced about the two weeks I spent in London and how wonderful they were. But with all things they must come to an end. And I recognized it as such. It had been fun while it lasted.
Michelle and I were off to see the rest of the city. We drifted from one place to the next, not really having an agenda. ML had left earlier in the day so we were on our own. I don’t remember where all we went. It’s a bit of a blur. We went about our task of relaxing and having a good time. We went out later that night, but once again made an early night of it.
On Sunday afternoon we were flying to Barcelona to spend the rest of our vacation there. We had made the plans for this trip several months earlier, and then ended up scheduling it around my work trip. We made our way to the airport, got through security and found our gate. We were sitting there, when I remembered that I had a French calling card with about 15 minutes left on it. I excused myself from Michelle, and found a pay phone. I pulled a piece of paper our of my wallet and dialed the numbers. The phone rang a couple of times before it was answered. I smiled to myself. I told Pablo that I was calling from Paris just to say hello before I flew to his country of Spain. We talked for a few minutes, when he asked me if he could ask me a question. I said of course. He then proceeded to say in his very thick Spanish accent, “How would you like it if I came to Barcelona and showed you around.” I was floored. I said of course I would love that, but how could he arrange it. It turned out that he had Monday and Tuesday off work, and had asked a friend to cover Wednesday. He had found a cheap flight from London to Barcelona and would be there late in the morning if it was okay with me. I was jumping up and down inside. I told him of course it was okay, and that once I got to the hotel, I would try and book us a room separate from Michelle. I told him where we were staying and he told me what time to expect him.
When I was off the phone, I ran over to tell Michelle the news. I realize many people might not like the idea of having someone tag along on their vacation. But Michelle and I had worked that out long ago. We spent part of our time together. Part of our time apart. If someone needed space then they just asked for it. We’ve now taken four major vacations together and we’ve only ever had one spat and that’s a post in and of itself. She seemed just as excited as I did.
So we flew to Barcelona, took a cab to our hotel and got settled in. We were right in the middle of the city, in walking distance to most everything. After we dropped off our luggage we headed out to explore. We didn’t do much sight-seeing that day, we just wandered from place to place taking in the sights and the people. Around 5:00 or so we headed back to the hotel. We were tired and hungry. We both showered and went looking for dinner. Our gay tour guide book gave us the names of several restaurants that were gay owned, with excellent reputations. It was about 7:30 or so, and off we went. We looked and looked but could not find the restaurant. So we tried another. And another. And another. All of them looked as if they had been closed permanently with huge garage doors covering their entrances. Finally we went back toward the hotel, found a small cafe and had the worst meal we had on our vacation. We called it a night, and went back to the hotel and went to sleep.
The next morning we got up and had breakfast. By the time we were back to the hotel it was time for Pablo to arrive. I was as giddy as a school girl. He got there right on time. I introduced him to Michelle and they hit it off immediately. I told him that we had our own room, but couldn’t check in until later in the afternoon. We all changed into our swim wear and headed to the beach. We all teased each other and laughed all the way there. We spent the afternoon, sunning on the beach and swimming. We were all having a wonderful time. After the beach we went back to the hotel. Pablo and I checked into our own room where you can guess what happened and then we took a nap.
I had told Pablo about not being able to find the restaurants we were looking for last night because they all seemed closed. He laughed at me and told me it was because we went too early. Most of the restaurants don’t reopen for dinner until at least 9:00 and for some it’s as late as 10:00. Of course they are there, we just had to try it later. We showered and went down to meet Michelle. Pablo then took us to one of his favorite bars where we had a couple of beers before dinner. Finally around 9:30 he lead us down the street to his favorite Barcelona restaurant. It was wonderful. He helped us figure out what to order and made several suggestions. The night was perfect.
The next day he took us sight-seeing. We hit all the major tourist destinations. He was giving us a sort of overview of what to do after he left. It was great having our own tour guide who had lived in the city and spoke Spanish. He wrote down restaurants for us to try. Museums to go to. And all of the places to see. The day flew by. He took us out again that night to another of his favorite restaurants. The night ended too soon.
The next day we got up and checked out of our room. We carried our stuff downstairs to Michelle’s room and then we all went to have breakfast. After breakfast, Michelle excused herself and Pablo and I went back to the room. We spent the rest the morning in bed talking, and dreaming. About what it would be like if I could move to London. What it would be like if he could come to the States. About what it would have been like if we had met under better circumstances. I joked about what our life would be like in New York. He then shared the news that he had a trip to Florida planned for the end of September and that perhaps he could change his ticket so that he could spend a week or so in New York. I was ecstatic. I told him he was more than welcome and just to let me know the dates. We fooled around one last time, and then it was time for him to go.
I walked him downstairs and put him into a cab. I was teary-eyed as the car drove away. I went back to the hotel room to wait for Michelle. I felt like I had just lost someone very important to me.
The rest of the trip is a blur. We did the sights. We ate at all the gay restaurants where because we were American everyone took great care of us. We went swimming. And got drunk drinking Sangria on the deck of a boat. We went dancing at a lesbian bar. We walked a lot. And talked a lot. And had a great time. During the whole trip, I never had an inkling to go out to a gay bar to pick someone up. I wanted to treasure the beauty of what Pablo and I shared.
Michelle and I flew home on September 9th, 2001. We were on different flights. I left first, and she flew home much later in the day. We talked later that night to confirm that we had gotten there safely. I called Pablo that night as well to tell him I was home. We talked for about 30 minutes. I know, I know, it’s expensive, but what can you do.
The next morning because I was jet lagged I went to work early. I got there around 7:00. I got caught up on email and tried to focus. It was hard because mentally I was still in Barcelona with Pablo. I chatted with my co-workers and told them about the trip. I went home early that day because I was tired and went to sleep around 9:00.
The next morning. I got to work early again. I went in and started the coffee, turned on my computer and then left to get breakfast. I came back with my cereal and milk, and poured it into a bowl. I wrote on a post-it note to not to forget to call my mother because it was her birthday. I was sitting eating my cereal when my desk moved about six inches across the floor. I had no idea what had happened. Eventually I looked out the window and the top of the first WTC building was on fire. I was still looking out the window when the top of the second building exploded. The rest of this day is NOT a blur. I remember it moment for moment and I suppose I always will. I was four blocks from Ground Zero at the time of the attack and I lived one block closer. The rest of my day is for another day and another post.
Pablo and I were in constant contact over the next several days. He knew where I lived in the city and was quite worried about me. I assured him that I was fine, and in no danger. We talked of his upcoming visit and I promised to show him what I could of the city when he got here.
His trip never happened. After 9/11 all international flights to the U.S. were cancelled. Eventually the days for his trip came and went and there was no way for him to get here. Unfortunately, his vacation time had been scheduled and he had to take it. There was no way to reschedule. We talked for many months after this. Short conversations that were sweet and wonderful. But eventually the reality of our situation came to light. We finally had a conversation and agreed it was silly to think that any more could come of this. In all we stayed in touch for about a year after our first meeting.
I haven’t talked to him in almost five years. But I think of him often. I hear his accent. I hear him say to me that he likes me because I’m an American size guy. I hear him laugh. I feel him lying next to me in bed. And I think of what might have been. I have no regrets. It is what it is. And it was what it was.
I still have the piece of paper with his number written on it in a box. I often think I’ll pull it out and just see if his number still works. Or if his email is still good. But I don’t. I prefer instead to remember it like it was. A beautiful moment in my life where two people came together and shared something wonderful.
A Maddog In The City 