“Leelee.” The Thai accent was unmistakable and I knew exactly who it was the second I heard it.

“Hi,” I turned around and came face to face with the smiling faces of the two guards from last year, Ang and Ginjan. It was uncanny how all of this was playing out, as if it was an exact repeat of last year- except this time I wasn’t being dragged off in handcuffs and looking and smelling like a hobo from hell.

“You come back,” Ginjan said with such enthusiasm that it seemed to be our cue to start hugging each other like long lost friends- which in a way we were.

“I did come back.” I said, half squeezed to death in Gin’s surprisingly strong bear hug.

“You become famous last year after you left airport.” Ginjan’s eyes lit up with a scandalous excitement.

“Yes, your picture was everywhere, and we all say, ‘we know that girl’. Ang added with even more scandalous excitement in her voice.

Yes, the infamous photo had had a life of it’s bloody own, even after I’d returned to SA. The photo had continued to circulate and the applications had gotten pretty bizarre, until one little techie teenager- no doubt a pale kid with an ipad and pimples lurking in a dark messy room with Playboy under his mattress- decided to make a crudely animated cartoon of my head walking around town scaring people. He posted it on YouTube and BAM! Overnight it got over a hundred thousand hits, and it was at a whole million by the end of its first week. I know, it’s completely unbelievable, but there it was, little old me, plastered across every computer screen, smart phone and tablet across the globe. From Papua New Guinea to Patagonia, I was everywhere.

The cartoon had gotten me requests for radio and TV interviews, of course I declined them all, I didn’t want to drag this thing out indefinitely. And the pimple faced teen had apparently gotten a job as a cartoonist for a TV show. Good for him I guess. My sister- in law had threatened to sue everyone naturally, but I declined that offer too. Luckily a few months later the people of the world moved on- so fickle- they got bored of me and I was replaced by a video of a cat that appeared to be talking to a bird. Personally I think it’s a bit disturbing, but as long as it was keeping them from looking at me, I was glad.

The picture was finally forgotten and my five minutes of infamy were over.

“So you have boyfriend now?” Ang asked me.

I shook my head, “No.”

“So you and that other guy just become friends?”

“Which other guy?”

Ang pointed in the direction of the door, “The one that was just here. The one you with last time. The thin one?”

My heart started racing- could it be true?

“Damien?”

Ginjan nodded, “Yes. One with tattoos and dark eyes.”

My adrenalin spiked and my whole body woke up instantly, “Damien was here?”

I looked in the direction that Ginjan had pointed, but couldn’t see him.

Ang nodded and looked at her watch, “Only five minutes ago. He went through customs and Ginjan and I say to each other, that we know him!”

“What?” My shriek startled them and some other tourists who were standing too close.

My BFF’s looked at me curiously, “Is this good or bad thing?”

“It’s good. Very good. I came here looking for him.”

Ang and Gnjan looked at me together, “Aaah, that so sweet. You in love Leelee?”

I didn’t need to think about this for a single miniscule split-second, “Yes, yes I am in love. And I have to get to him before he leaves.’

Ang and Ginjan said a few things to each other in Thai and then suddenly grabbed me by the arm and dragged me across the airport whispering.

“That line take too long. We slip you through back so you can get him. Come, come this way.”

Love.

Losing love. Getting love. Looking for love. And anything pertaining to it.

It’s universal. The universal human condition. It transcends all barriers, ages and languages. It turns strangers into friends, friends who are willing to sneak you through a series of winding tunnels and doors in the arse- end of an airport. We all want the girl to get the guy. We all want the wedding, the fairytale ending followed by the happily ever after, that’s why we all watch ‘The Bachelor’ isn’t it? (Okay, bad example- since none of those couples seem to stand the test of time, or the test of a few months)

We finally reached our destination, a little door at the end of a passage, at the end of a concrete maze that I would be lost in if it wasn’t for them.

“Okay, this it. Quickly you must go before anyone sees.” Ang then whipped my passport away, stamped it and sent me on my way. We all hugged again and before I left Gin said something that made me smile.

“When you get that boy, you must feed him. Too thin.”

Ang nodded in agreement and added, “Too thin. Too thin. He need sandwich.”

If only they knew the punch he packed underneath that shirt.

We all hugged one last time and I bolted straight for the door and for my happy ever after (hopefully). I imagined seeing Damien standing outside the airport in all his black, dark glory looking as hot and mysterious and deliciously dangerous as I had remembered him every night in my dreams- God that was a corny thing to admit. But it was true; he was an almost nightly feature in all my dreams.

I ran out of the airport and was hit by that familiar wall of sticky heat and humidity. I immediately scanned my surroundings; Tuk-Tuks, confused looking tourist pointing at maps and trying to decipher the signs, lovey- dovey honeymooners who didn’t care if they could read the signs, all they cared about was how fast they could get to their hotel rooms and tumble into bed.

But then I saw him.

Far, far in the distance I could see a little black head of hair disappearing into a Tuk-Tuk.

Fuck.

This was it. This was what I had come for.

I ran. Almost tripping over ten people as I went and falling over someone’s suitcase. And then I shouted.

Loudly.

Everyone around me turned and stared- not that I wasn’t used to that.

“Damien, Damien!” I shrieked like a banshee waving my hands around my head and almost swatting a few people on the way. But it was too late, his Tuk -Tuk pulled off and started making it’s way out into the congested road.

Now I am sure you’re all familiar with those Hollywood movies, where someone jumps into the back of a taxi, points and shouts, ‘Follow that car!' And then the driver springs into action and the car goes careering forward. Well, this was not like that.

I jumped into he nearest Tuk -Tuk and pointed, “Follow that car.”

But the driver turned around and looked at me with a decidedly confused kind of a thing happening on his face.

“Not understand.”

“Follow. Go after. Chase.” I could see my words were still not getting through.

Google translator, Google translator!

I typed in the word as fast as I could, every second counted after all. Bingo!

“Pt̩ibạti tām.” I said, hoping my pronunciation wasn’t too terrible, but he seemed to understand, indicated by the profuse nodding and pointing he did.

“Yes, yes,” I screeched again, “Follow.”

Naively I was still expecting that speedy pull off, that dramatic tire spin as the car flies into the road, perhaps even creating some sparks as the undercarriage scrapes on the speed bump it grinds over. But no! This was a rather lack luster take off.

The Tuk -Tuk chugged to life and spluttered and shuddered it’s way into the road, and straight into bumper- to- bumper traffic. We were not moving- at all, and when we did, it felt like I was being pulled along by a granny riding a tricycle. This was not going to do it at all. So I threw the driver some money and jumped out, heaving my heavy bags with me.

I ran from Tuk-Tuk to Tuk-Tuk, sticking my head into every opening and peering inside- causing much fright as I went, especially to an elderly couple who looked shell- shocked enough by the loud, vibrant and overwhelming streets of Thailand. But no Damien.

And just as I had given up, standing there, sweat dripping from my head, heavy bags in hand, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, driving in the opposite direction. But it was no use. He was too far away and by the time I'd climbed into the next Tuk-Tuk, he was also totally out of sight.

The only thing I could think of now was to systematically go to all the backpacker’s lodges and ask for him. And so began my long, tedious and ultimately unsuccessful Damien hunt through the backpacking underworld of Thailand.

Let me tell you a little something about backpackers- they can easily be divided into two groups. Hippies with dreadlocks and dirty feet and young, drunk students, and for that reason, every back packers lodge I visited was an experience unto itself. And by the end of the day, I had somehow managed to drink two rounds of shots with the students, who promised to relay my message to Damien if he checked in- although I suspected that two minutes after departing they would forget. I had also reluctantly had one very small puff of weed from a hippie who had insisted that the clarity of mind the magic herb would provide, would help me find Damien. (I was desperate okay, and by that stage maybe a little tipsy too.)

If I compare the backpack- lodge- traveling Lily of today, to the uptight one of last year, I would never have done this. And although I didn’t find Damien, I did have quite a bit of fun.

Night time.

The sun was now setting over Phuket and the creatures and partygoers were all coming out to play. But I still had no idea where to find Damien and the map for the party had not yet been sent out. I wandered the market aimlessly for a while, looking at all the pretty shinny things, but resisting the temptation to purchase them, well, maybe just one handbag and an adorable little necklace that would look great with a pair of earrings I owned. I walked further and further into the night and wondered whether I should try and find that strip club, on the off chance that I would find a half- naked gyrating Damien

The thought made me stop dead in my tracks and I momentarily indulged it; the tight abs, the lines, the sexy naughty boy grin. Suddenly finding that strip club seemed like a bloody excellent idea.

But in the red light district, everything looks the same. It’s red and luminescent and the streets are lined with Lady boys in short skirts. I must have walked around in circles for a hour before I found the club. It hadn’t been an easy find, and on the way I’d been solicited by at least five men, well at least I knew if my career as a lawyer didn’t pan out, I could move to Thailand, buy a pair of Perspex heels and a short skirt and probably make a good living.

I was nervous to enter the club- not because I was scared of what I might find inside like last year, but because I was nervous about seeing Damien. I had to center myself with a few deep breaths, psyching up for the possibility that I was going to walk in on him mid performance. I was still dragging my suitcase behind me, and by this stage my arm left like it was going to snap off and fall into a puddle of water on the pavement.

And so I dragged myself, and my suitcase inside, but Damien wasn’t there, instead a blonde beefcake was thrusting his G-string bum into air and slapping it with his hand. A sight I wish I hadn’t seen. The man was so muscular, that he had nothing that vaguely resembled a neck, his head just kind of attached straight onto his shoulders. He bumped and grinded a bit more until the song was over and the houselights came on.

Mmmmm. Not my type. That’s for sure. But the crowd didn’t seem to share my opinion, as wads of coins and cash suddenly began flying through the air.

“OM- Bajeezes, well if it’s not Miss. Infamy herself.” I looked up and that’s when I saw them, Red and the man I called 'The Jaw'. Red jumped out of his seat and ran towards me with open arms, one of which was holding a flute of champagne that was sloshing onto the floor and he minced

“Babes, babes, babes.You look Beulah, that Harriet of yours! Come, come you must have a Dora with us. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

Now, I’ve spent enough time with Gay men to understand the meaning of ‘Gayle’, the language spoken by cool, stylish gay guys.

For example, Red had just said; “Babes, babes, babes. You look beautiful that hair of yours! Come, come, you must have a drink with us. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

To which I replied, “My, you are a bit of a Betty Bangles tonight!” Which meant, you are a bit of a policeman tonight!

But I was so glad to see the lads, two familiar faces, and more importantly, two people I knew were also going to Burning Moon.

“I can’t believe I found you here,” I said to them sipping the champagne that had already been shoved into my paw.

“Oh, this is our little tradition, we come here every night before the party while we wait for the map to come through.”

“Do you have any idea where the party is going to be this year?”

“Nope, it’s always such a closely guarded secret, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it.” He winked at me.

“So…” A conspiratorial smile swept across Reds face and although he raised his eyebrows at me, his forehead didn’t move. It remained as smooth and silkily as Botoxed Marble, “So.. Where is that dish Damien? We were secretly hoping to see him here tonight, I mean, who can forget that little show he put on for us, and of course, who can forget your little smooch. I think every gay man in this club harbors a secret crush on him.”

“Ag,” I sipped my champagne melancholically, “It didn’t work out.”

“No my babes that’s Sheila (shit). Don’t you think Bruno?” Bruno just grunted as usual.

“That’s why I’m here actually. I’m kind of here to-”

Red cut me off as he laid a tender hand on Bruno’s’ shoulder, “Hear that Bruno, she’s here to win him back. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?” Another grunt from the Jaw.

“I’m hoping that I will-“ He cut me off again.

“Find him at the party. Aaaahhh. So divine.”

Suddenly he jumped up clapping. “Well, you must come with us, we must all go together! We’ll help you find your guy and get you there safely. It would be so Milly (Mad fun)! Don’t you think Bruno?” he looked at The Jaw and this time I noticed a small smile quivering at the corners of his mouth. I smiled back at them, “I would love to come!”

“Lets drink to it then,” Again another round of expensive champagne, which I must say wasn’t mixing too well with the two shots from earlier and the puff of weed that HAD NOT given me clarity of mind- remind me to never do that again.

“I’ll drink to that.” I said slightly reluctantly before we all clicked glasses. Then suddenly, and almost scarily, the jaw opened, and it looked like words were finally about to come out.

And they did.

“Pouvons-nous avoir dîner première?” He said in a high-pitched voice that took me by total surprise, since it seemed to contradict the manly exterior.

“Of course dear.” Red said to Bruno before leaning over to me and whispering in my ear, “He’s French. We’ve been together for five years and I swear I don’t understand a word he says!”