encounters

When you’re at a party in Chennai, with loud music and lots of people you don’t know, it’s one thing. When it’s in Cairns, it’s a different ballgame. You’re less aware of whether your underwear is peeping out from somewhere [actually, if it is, then all the better], you don’t know anybody there, and I mean nobody, the weather is nice, the music isn’t bhangra, other girls aren’t checking to see how good/bad you look [or maybe they’re more subtle?], hell, there are women dancing on the bar-table with feathers and fishnet stockings and guys aren’t trying to feel them up! So yes.. Cairns is certainly different from Chennai when it comes to parties.

There was one difference I didn’t realise, however. Men. The mistake I made was to freeze out whichever poor dude tried to hit on me, the way I do when in India. Yes, I’m judgemental and I think all boys are creepy. Sue me. I’ll win.

So here I am, in Cairns [Rhino Bar to be precise] and I meet one of the most “hmmm” people ever when my friend disappears to smoke. I don’t even remember his name, not that it matters. I was tired after walking around Cairns the whole day and it was 1 am and I was a few beers down, so please excuse the lack of precise details. He looked a little older than the other guys at the bar. Slightly mature, not a beach boy type. White shirt and black pants, I think, and dark hair, with a nice smile.

“Why do you look so serious… aren’t you having fun?”

I’ve heard this line before so I must have rolled my eyes and waited for him to go on his way. He didn’t. He repeated the question. So I gave him a perfunctory “Yes, sure I am. I’m just a little tired.”

“Hmm. Where are you from?”

“India.”

“India?! Wow. You come all the way from India to Cairns and you’re at Rhino Bar saying you’re tired?!”

I had to crack a smile. The man had a point.

“How long are you here for?”

“Another day. I’m travelling with a friend and we’re headed to Cape Tribulation tomorrow.”

“Ah. That’s nice. I don’t get out often so excuse me.”

That’s not a line I hear everyday.

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you get out often?”

“Well I’m busy. I live in Sydney and in Cairns and I have a lot of work in both places.”

“What do you do?”

“I own a bar.”

Now I don’t know if he said he owned that particular bar or a bar in general.. they were playing Ke$ha a little too loudly.

“Seriously. You own one. And you don’t visit a bar often?”

He laughed.

“No. It’s pretty boring actually. I prefer chilling in my big house with my horses. My kids occasionally visit but usually it’s just the horses and me.”

“Horses. And kids. Hmm.”

“I’m pretty much a loner though. So, what do you do?”

“I’m a journalist.”

“Oh! So you’re here for a story?”

“No, I’m here on holiday.”

This went on for a couple of minutes (now I realise that was a pretty long smoke-break my friend was on) before he inevitably asked me to join him at his place, horses et al. I actually grinned when I said no, considering this was the first slightly intellectual conversation I’d had with a male in a bar. “Are you sure?” Perfectly sure. At that point a very drunk friend of his came by to ask him where they were headed next. I was introduced. “Are you joining us?”

“No, she isn’t,” John Doe grinned. The friend disappeared into the vast crowd and loud music. “Sorry about that. I have to go and socialise now. Then I’ll make my escape. It was nice to meet you. Really.” Another grin.

“Have fun.”

And that was that. I finished my beer, looked around at people and the girls dancing on the bar and thought, what are the odds of meeting a bar-owner who loves horses and talks about journalism in India with me? I was only shaken out of my reverie when my friend returned.