Wednesday, February 17, 2010


I live for inexplicable phenomena and strange coincidences. Strange coincidence No. 2,881: Last Friday was my first night in Rio for Carnaval, and I went with my brother to a club called Le Boy. At the bar, we struck up a conversation with a guy from Melbourne, Australia, whom we had seen earlier in the evening at the restaurant where we'd had dinner with our group. Of course, I told him that I had been planning a three-month adventure in Australia, which, had everything gone according to my lack of a concrete plan, would have been underway as I write.

But alas, there I was, in Rio, at Le Boy.

This guy, by the way, is not the reason for this post

By the end of the night, I was tight with Andrew, 35, a guy who lives in Sydney, the city where I had planned on settling for the majority of my Australian adventure. But Andy isn't from Sydney. He's a Brit, who, pre-Syndey, lived for several years in London, my all-time favorite city which I visited several times a year from 1994 to 2004. In two weeks, I'll be on my way to London for the first time in five years.

It gets better. Andy is leaving Rio on Friday. His next destination: Buenos Aires!

Strange how things work out. So many cities in common, yet we won't be in any of them at the same time. At least we'll always have Rio. Three excellent days in Rio with Andy, a guy my own age with an iPod Touch music library that includes Dannii Minogue, Texas, Kelly Rowland, Sugababes and Sugarcubes, a guy who, as by brother put it, "has good energy" and can lie in bed with me singing along to "Hanging On Too Long" by Duffy.

But what irony! I spend nearly three and a half years in Buenos Aires looking for one decent guy. Just when BA and I decide to take a break so that I can see other people, a good guy arrives in town. Timing is everything, and this time, mine sucks.
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