Another lovely day I had in New York. I'm fortunate, when I travel, in that I almost always come in to contact with people because of my website. Apart from friends whom I hung out with here, I've also met up with a few new guys. Neil, the other day, a charming Italian-American who goes by a bewildering number of pseudonyms as he documents the porn industry, and today, Richard (more of him later) and Mike, a gangly location scout with the infectious energy of a big kid.

One thing that's always a little bit unusual about these encounters is that the people I meet tend to know a lot about me because of my journals, while I, of course, know next to nothing about them. So we chat, while I wonder if I'm boring them because they've heard all my stories before.

It's quite unlike how I used to travel before I did the journal. Way, way back in time, my whole approach to travel was different. I was still excited enough about being gay that a big part of travel was just the desire to get laid in a new location. Actually, I'm slightly misrepresenting myself there. It wasn't so much that I wanted to just get laid, it was more that I had the romantic idea of a vacation romance in my head. And it sometimes came off. I remember a few, fond days in Mexico City with Saul; the two of us barely knew each others' languages, and I spent the days walking around the city with him with my tiny phrase book in hand. I remember a wonderful week in London where I met a sexy model called Kevin, who was visiting from Florida and staying at a five-star hotel on Picadilly.

But it's been a long time since I had that kind of affair, and now, I don't even go out to the gay scene any more, even when traveling. But I still, from time to time, have the fantasy of a vacation romance in mind, and today, it sort of happened, even though it was only for one day. Richard is a young actor/singer/dancer/pianist/you-name-it who lives way uptown. We spent a lovely day today just enjoying each other's company in the most relaxed, and appreciative way. There was no pretense about it, but neither was there anything sordid. It was just two guys passing in their journey, exchanging some affection, respect and intimacy which will always be remembered.

Towards sunset, I went for a run in Central Park again. This time I headed up the park and then around the big reservoir, along with seemingly every other runner in Manhattan. It was a beautiful, if humid, evening, and rose red clouds stretched over the tops of the heavy, Gothic-looking apartment buildings which hang over the park along Central Park West. It was much more humid than the weather I'm used to running in, so I was unsubtly proud with myself that only one person (everybody runs the same direction round the reservoir) overtook me. Although I guess my extra-long legs do give me an unfair advantage over everybody else.

As I walked back to the hotel along 77th Street, I reflected how time seems to slow down here on evenings like this. It starts to get dark, but dusk seems to linger for an hour or two, the sun doesn't so much go down as get swallowed in the pinkish haze on the horizon, and everybody seems to walk more slowly. You feel relaxed, and indolent, letting your legs swing slowly along in the warm air that seems to stick to your skin.

I've had such a great time here in New York. While I'm not officially leaving for England until Wednesday, tomorrow I'm spending most of the day in Philadelphia. I'm taking Amtrak down (assuming they haven't gone out of business yet) to see a show at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, and to take in the new symphony hall they've finally built on Broad Street (or the "Avenue of the Arts" as they prefer to call it.) Of course, I'm also going just to say hi to the city in which I feel I really did my last and most important bit of growing up in the late eighties.