On my last night in Athens, I got to see parts of the city off the tourist map, as Alex and I went here and there in the rain, the streets looking evocatively shiny and wet in the yellow streetlights, first looking for a cafe, and later a nice bar in which to celebrate my birthday after it turned midnight. By shortly after midnight, after walking around an old industrial neighborhood called, I believe, Gasi, because of the gas works - a neighborhood that is being ripped apart in order to clean it up for the Olympics visitors, with a new park and an art center, and tons of chic bars - we settled on the only "nice" gay bar Alex would countenance, called Sodadi. It "only" being midnight, there were precisely three customers. But it was a comfortable enough place, and I was enjoying my company.

We were talking at one point about our romantic histories, when Alex mentioned that he recently broke off dating someone he really liked. The point over which they'd broken off was that the guy had asked him too many personal questions, and Alex explained to me that he's a very private person, and that he finds it difficult to open up to people. He then proceded to open up to me about how he felt when things went sadly wrong in this case, and I suddenly felt that Alex was like nobody I'd met before. It was more a visceral sense I experienced rather than anything I could easily put into words. But there's nothing trivial or insubstantial about him; he's a man of deep, volcanic feelings, a person for whom the traits of honesty, decency and even honor are central. I had the feeling that he was somebody I'd grow to value immensely if we lived in the same city.

He's very charismatic, and rather striking looking, with hard, angular features, deep, dark eyes and a compact, muscular body. He was wearing, last night, a tight long-sleeved shirt in which he looked very sexy, and as the evening wore on, we moved into closer proximity with each other, each of us sensing the other's electric field, I guess you could say. Although I'd no intention of sleeping with him, I felt myself drawn to him, and it felt quite sad to say goodbye to him at the end of the evening, not knowing if I'd ever see him again.

Nonetheless, I got back to my hotel feeling exhilerated with well-being and bonhommie. As the hotel desk clerk looked up as I entered, I smiled at her and told her it was my birthday. She wished me happy birthday, and good health. That must be a Greek custom, because the airline check-in person at the airport the next day bade me the same pair of good wishes when she saw the birthdate on my passport.

From the hotel roof, the Acropolis in the rain

I love getting into a routine when traveling, however briefly. Today, taking the metro out of the city center like any Athenian, walking through a suburban shopping district to the gym, I felt like I was a citizen of the world. I just barely had time to work out however, before rushing back to the hotel to shower, pack and check-out by 1.00 p.m. My flight wasn't until 7.00, so I had time finally, after lunch, to go to the Acropolis Museum, or so I thought. I'd just started up the long set of steps towards the Acropolis when a bolt of lightening sounded out, and the rain started to get heavier. Much heavier. Soon it had reached biblical proportions, and I sought shelter wherever I could find it. I'd never seen a downpour so heavy; the streets were soon flooding with streams of water gushing to lower ground. Just when you thought it couldn't rain any harder, it would get worse. I eventually made it back to my hotel, where I'd checked my bags, soaked through and through. They were kind enough to let me use a guestroom to change and dry myself out, but it was in the dark since our part of Athens had lost electricity.

So I never did make it to any of the Athens museums. I caught an early cab to the airport, and passed the time in British Airways superb first-class lounge. And now I'm on the flight home to Heathrow, where I'll be met by my sister to spend Christmas with the family.