Remembrance

1.32pm. After asking for directions at the hotel reception, I found myself wandering around for about ten minutes, until I found the bus stops, which are set back from the roundabout at Plaza de Santa Ponça. I took a quick diversion to a small supermarket to get a bottle of water and a can of San Miguel for later. I am now sitting on a bench at the bus stops, watching the world go by and listening to people's conversations. There is a group of English people to my left, who I am steadfastly ignoring. I do dislike the English abroad.

I am going to catch the 102 into Port d'Andratx, and then I am going to find Stephen Gately's apartment, and pay our collective respects. It seems the right thing to do, especially as I am staying so close by, in Santa Ponsa, just 15 kilometres away. His recent death was a shock to to many, Alan and I included, and since I bothered to track down where he lived, it seems only right to go. It's an act of remembrance for someone I admired.

1.43pm. I am on the bus, which arrived early. The Spanish guy who was to the right of me at the bus stop was not best pleased as he had been waiting ages, only for two buses going in the opposite direction to arise.

My driver, a Matt Parkman lookalike

My driver is in his early thirties, chunky with an easy pleasant face, and he looks as though life is gentle to him and nothing really worries him. Think of Matt Parkman from 'Heroes', and you will get the idea. The bus is a bendy one, clean, well laid out and in good order with fine suspension. Buses in Birmingham could learn a thing or two here. It's a hazy day, and I feel quite peaceful.


2.18pm. After a nice leisurely drive through a couple of small towns, I'm finally in Port d'Andratx, and it is lovely. It has a nice bay with boats moored alongside, wide footpaths, and large handsome streetlights. The sun is shining, it is an attractive town that looks immaculate. I'm following a footpath on a seriously uphill road which is taking me to the village of Cala Llamp. I am rapidly becoming out of breath. I just passed a couple of vaguely Scandinavian cyclists who had stopped by the side of the road, one of whom had his lycra shorts around his ankles, urinating completely unselfconsciously in the vague direction of a tree, downy haired bum aired to the wind one side, genitalia in hand the other. People tickle me.

2.34pm. Just asked a gardener for some directions, and it is just as well I did. Although I was heading in the right direction, there are lots of turnings and lots of little roundabouts. I should be able to find it, although it is apparently half an hour on foot. There are some large fincas set back from the road, most of which have privado signs across the fronts of their drives. It is very green here, and pretty peaceful. I have hardly seen anyone except for the cyclists. I wouldn't have thought that cyclists would have appreciated all the hills. Just shows that I know squat about cycling.

2.41pm. Still walking. I'm pretty sure I'm getting closer. The buildings and the landscape look more and more probable.

2.49pm. I'm in Cala Llamp. I'm still walking, following the directions that I was given. No sign of it yet but I'm still searching the skyline as I walk. This has to be one of the most beautiful places I think I've ever seen. It's no small wonder they came here.

2.54pm. Just found the road that the house is on, which was a right hand turn, so the directions I was given were good. The road is meandering gently downhill, which is encouraging. I feel like I'm really close. It is stunning here, the view is spectacular, there are great cliffs perhaps a couple of hundred feet high, and at intervals up and down them are beautiful whitewashed houses, in pale yellows, dusty dark browns and white. There is barely a sound, except for my own footsteps (and occasional moaning about how buggeringly hot I am), and some birds in the trees which are dotted to my right. There are hardly any cars moving, and I have seen hardly any people. As I look to my left, all I can see is the sea, shimmering and glistening in vivid blues in the sunshine. I could go home right now without finding the house, and it would not have been a wasted journey.


Later. I found the house at 3pm precisely, it too is beautiful. The house is set back slightly from the road, sheltered in a small bay with a magnificent view. It is an apartment complex, with perhaps 30 dwellings. It looks exactly the same as it did on television all those months ago. I stood and regarded it for a while, regarded the view too. I can certainly see what drew Stephen and his husband to this place, it is a shining jewel of a place to live.

The magnificent view from the ground floor of the building

A wave of sadness overcame me, and I had a little cry. To compose myself I sent Alan a text message with a photo attached, saying that I wished he could be here to share the moment with me. I am glad that I came, but I am sorry that I had to. A young man with everything going for him whom everybody loved has gone, a shining star in the night. Such a shame.

Feeling somewhat teary-eyed outside the house.

Their name plaque still on their letterbox.

I stood for ages, looking at first the house, then the view over the almost private sheltered bay it inhabits. I finished what was left of the water, less than half an inch in the bottom, and then retrieved a small can of San Miguel from my bag, and drank it in silence, reflecting on the house, the view, the island, and what the place must have meant to them both. Afterwards, I set up the camera, and stood with my head looking up at the roof of their house, and held a formal minute's silence, before making my goodbyes, and beginning the walk back.

I expected to feel upset but I hadn't expected to feel upset enough to cry. I guess when you are in front of the house where something awful happened, it is not hard to find your empathy gets the better of you. Seeing their nameplate on their letterbox too was pretty choking. Part of me wanted to go and gently knock on the door, I guess I wouldn't be human if I didn't, but then I imagined a constant stream of well-meaning but intrusive people all doing it. Now I just want to leave a man in peace with his grief.

I'm glad I came, but I'm really sorry that I had to.

4.12pm. I am now on another bus back to Santa Ponsa. It has started to cloud over a little, so I definitely came at the right time. The bus arrived just as I approached the stop, in fact I had to jog to make sure I caught it. If I'd missed it, there would have been a half-hour wait. I needn't have worried though, there was a crowd of Germans waiting for it. This bus is another bendy bus, full (and I mean full, hardly a spare seat) to the rafters with German tourists.

My driver this time is in his fifties, serious, uncommunicative, inaccessible and much more typical of bus drivers around the world. He reminds me of the drivers we met on the buses in Malta last year, although he did look a little surprised when I said 'buenos tardes' as I got on board. To his credit he echoed it, meeting my eye for an instant before examining something slightly more interesting just over my left shoulder.

The bus is certainly not hanging around, he is driving like there is a matter of national security and the end of the journey.

I am pensive, thinking about the little journey I have made to pay my respects. In terms of actual difference, achievement if you like, it was worthless. But I am content that I made the journey, put myself out a little as a mark of respect. I would have always regretted it if I'd decided it was too much like hard work and so not done it. It cost me virtually nothing except for a couple of bus fares and a fair bit of physical exertion.

I will have a bite to eat, a shower and get a change of clothes when I get back, then I should have a read of tonight's activity. This is the formally assessed one, so I need to be on my toes tonight.