Gay times

I walked slowly to the door. Everything that could be crossed was. I turned the handle and entered the room. 'Is this the Intrepid group?' 'It's one of them,' a man who looked like one of the Chuckle Brothers replied.

My eyes flitted around the faces. There were more men than women. What was going on? There are ALWAYS more women than men on organised tours because they enjoy the security that such a mode of travel confers. I did a quick count up. There were seven men and five women, although the group leader was also female.

Two of the women were clearly with their partners. So that left three. And what a three they were. Early twenties, shocking North American dress sense and a look of panic on their faces that suggested that it might be a close call with me as to who was going to burst into tears first. I won, so I excused myself from the room, feigning a nose bleed, and went for a drink.

Over the next two weeks, it transpired that the three girls were Canadian bible bashers on their first trip overseas. They were pleasant enough, but had nothing to say for themselves. Given the choice of an evening in their company or a night clipping my toenails, the latter option would have won every time.

So that left the 25-year-old Chinese tour leader. She was attractive and had a bubbly personality. But like so many Chinese women, she was young for her age, as exemplified by her Hello Kitty handbag. Not that immaturity was a deal-breaker. But when I saw her tucking into chickens' feet, and realised that she carried a vacuum-packed duck's neck in her rucksack, I lost all interest.

It was just my luck. The make-up of the group meant that I had a single room for the Hong Kong to Shanghai leg. And apart from the two couples and three Canadians, the other four were gay men. So I didn't even have any competition. But there are so few westerners travelling in China that you don't meet anybody outside the group.

Over the course of the two weeks, I became the butt of all jokes, thanks to my unsuccessful quest for love. It was just as well there were no suitable women in the group because I was one minute being portrayed as 'desperate' and the next on the point of 'going over to the dark side'. I like to think that both opinions were well wide of the mark. But one of them probably wasn't.

No laying Angkor

Needless to say, Marie didn't show up. I wandered up and down Bar Street (what is the world coming to when the gateway to one of the world's most iconic temple complexes, Angkor Wat, has a street by such a name?) half a dozen times, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had assured me that she would be sitting outside one of the dozen drinking establishments. But she wasn't. I walked back and forth so many times that the touts offering 'personal services' must have thought that I was just trying to pluck up the courage to strike a deal.

I did, however, bump into Zoe, with whom I had spent the previous evening (I said 'evening'  not 'night'). I don't know what came over me, but I was walking back to my hotel, when I saw this beautiful woman sitting alone outside a bar. So I went in, ordered a beer and, after a couple of minutes of shilly-shallying, asked if I could join her. I was so pleased with myself for getting that far, that I forgot to say anything. Eventually, she broke the ice. Zoe was an Australian in her mid-twenties who was at the start of her first trip into the less developed world. And I know this is going to sound corny, after saying that Stella was the sexiest woman I have ever met, but I would have to say that Zoe was the most attractive. She had an understated beauty (unlike most backpackers, she wasn't wearing as little clothing as is just about considered socially acceptable) that I found mesmerising, as well as a very attractive air of confidence.

We had a couple of drinks, then she suggested going to another bar. So we did. After a third beer, I was contemplating my next move. A fourth beer may have given me the Dutch courage to make a move on her. After all, she hadn't mentioned a boyfriend. And as a first-timer, she did need showing the ropes. Suddenly, she asked whether I wanted to come to the night market. I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do less. So I racked my brains for potential hidden meanings in her suggestion. Did she want to 'do the business'? Was I being offered the chance to 'sample her wares'? But an 04.15 alarm call, so that I could make it to Angkor Wat for sunrise, was never far from my thoughts and, against my better judgement, I declined her invitation.

So I went over to Zoe and asked how she had enjoyed the night market. She said she had met a local who had offered to take her to a Cambodian nightclub. After making it clear that she wasn't interested in him, she went to the techno club, where she had been the only Westerner. Then at 03.30, he had driven her 10 miles to Angkor Wat, where he had given Zoe her first-ever motorbike lesson - in the pitch black. She had got back to her hotel at 05.00. Now Zoe was waiting for him to pick her up and take her back to the club. I bade her goodnight. That girl is going to have a lot of fun. But she could find herself in a lot of trouble, too.

I had a final look for Marie's Croydon facelift before heading back to the hotel. Another country, another notchless bed-post.

Things are looking up

OK, it might be something only a teenage virgin would brag about, but you have to be thankful for small mercies. So, after longer than I care to admit, I have shared a room with a woman. Just the two of us.

OK, it wasn't by choice - well, certainly not on her part. I was on a two-night trip around the Mekong delta, when the group was joined by five new people. As we checked into the hotel, it transpired that all but two of us were in couples. This left me and a twentysomething woman. As neither of us wanted to pay the $3 single supplement, the solution was obvious. 'All right with you?' 'Yes.''All right with you?' 'Yeeeeeeeeeesss!!!! I mean yes.' I found out her name as I put the key into the lock.

I imagine this is how it sometimes works with one-night stands. I was in a bar in Costa Rica last year with a group including a statuesque and stunning Danish girl. Suddenly, a short American with a Brian Blessed beard and skateboard shorts round his ankles went up to her and after about two two minutes of chat over the deafening europop, they left hand in hand. She didn't reappear till the following lunchtime - and they had never bet before.

Needless to say, Stellar and I didn't become so well acquainted. But waking up four feet away from probably the sexiest woman I have ever met (who also happened to be nearly naked), certainly put a smile on my face.

It might not be time to get those party poppers out yet. But one step at a time. Particularly as I am meeting Marie tonight (see 2/7/09), after bumping into her at Angkor Wat at 05.30 this morning (as you do).

Age can be a barrier

As one of very few men travelling on his own (and the only one with a certain level of 'maturity'), I should have the over-30s market sewn up. The trouble is that almost every woman over the age of 25 is travelling with her partner.

Two weeks into my trip, I have met only three women into their fourth decade: Tandy, Mel and Marie. I have written enough about Tandy. Mel was one of the Kiwi girls, who I would definitely have been interested in had she not just met someone at home. One night, we were discussing what makes a good kiss and the fact that with the exception of my ex, I haven't had a decent one for years. Mel got quite passionate on the subject and offered to demonstrate on me what she likes - in front of a bar full of people. I must need my head tested, cos I turned her down.

So that leaves Marie, a fortysomething Yorkshire woman now living in the Cape Verde Islands. I was introduced to Marie on about my fourth day in Vietnam. She had been sitting alone in a bar, when a group of people that I knew joined her. To cut a long story short, everyone else (all couples) left, leaving Marie and I alone in the bar. We were getting a bit tactile and there was definitely interest from both sides. She looked really good for her age, although she was a bit northern (dyed hair, cleavage out, tattoo, too much jewellery - like an Essex girl, come to think of it).

We drank till the bar closed. I then put her in a taxi. She gave me her email address, and with a look in her eye that I recognised from about 20 years ago, she told me to drop her message.

Unfortunately, I lost the all-important beer mat on which I had scrawled the address. So now I have left the Kiwi girls and Tandy behind, every evening I trawl the bars in the hope of seeing her. Marie is on a group tour (which apparently comprises nine women and three men) travelling exactly the same route as me, but is a day behind. But Marie is no Tandy, so I'm not wasting another day waiting around for her.

I doubt I'll catch up with Marie. But the three-to-one sex ratio of her trip (I'm starting a one-month tour of China with the same company next Monday) was music to my ears.

I should have known better

I was so down the following morning. Tandy is one of the 10 nicest women I have ever met. But like eight of the other nine, she wasn't interested in anything other than friendship (and I had to beg the other one, my ex, for weeks before she agreed to a date). A New Edition to an ever-growing list (gedditt??).

I emailed Tandy to apologise for my behaviour, saying that I had enjoyed her company so much in Hue, I was disappointed that things had not continued in the same vain. She eventually replied, wishing me happy travels. I was indignant. It seemed stupid that she would be sitting alone in her hotel room for the next few nights, while I would be sitting alone in a bar. She may have got an inkling that I fancied her, but I haven't acted in any way inappropriately.

The cavalry arrived in the form of the Kiwi girls, Bex and Mel, who had just turned up in Hoi An. They agreed to join me in a drowning-my-sorrows session (until the Antipodean witching hour of 22.00, of course). When they left the Britpop bar, their seats were pounced on by two stunning Danes in their early twenties. They tried to engage me in conversation, but I was more interested in watching Any Murray's Wimbledon quarter-final. When I say 'more interested', what I meant was that I was just being realistic. As I looked around the bar, all I could see was countless tall and tanned English lads, 20 years my junior. If I can't pull someone my age, who understands the nuances of my humour, what chance have I got with women who say 'pardon' why I tell them from England?

In the end, I sought salvation in the arms (figuratively, not literally) of a 15-stone Welsh journalist more plain than a bar of Bournville, who asked me for a light. Despite having little in common, we chatted for an hour, until she mentioned she was a huge rugby fan (I could see that for myself). I made my excuses and left.

Jim Diamond hit the nail on the head (although I didn't lie to anyone beautiful – I even told Tandy my real age). I was just stupid enough to think that someone without more stubble than me or any psychiatric issues, who was willing to pay her own way, could fancy me. Or even just enjoy a little holiday snog with someone she clearly really liked. Am I really asking too much?

It never happens to me

The morning after I had been out with Tandy, we were both catching the 08.00 bus to Hoi An (fate?). Unfortunately, we weren't on the same bus. But it wasn't a problem because I had taken her email address.

So I sent Tandy a message suggesting meeting at 19.00 in a particular bar. I was so excited all day. As the big moment approached, I put on my second-least-creased shirt and my lucky pants (the only semi-clean ones).

As I set off for the bar, I was 90 per cent confident of pulling. Only once in my life have I ever gone out with such a level of bravado before (in fact, a confidence factor of more than 10 per cent): to one of Nicola Evans' parties in the late-1980s - and I failed.

When I arrived at the venue, I was shocked to find it had shut down. Now unlike Hue, Hoi An has dozens of bars and clubs dotted all over the town. So the chance of us meeting had suddenly severely diminished. I wandered round in an increasing sense of desperation - and after 20 minutes bumped into Tandy.

She certainly hadn't made as much as an effort as the previous evening and I immediately felt that there was something wrong. Almost the first thing she said that she was so tired. We found a restaurant and sat down to order. Tandy opted for water. As deep and personal as the conversation had been the previous evening, tonight it was perfunctory and serious. Her lack of interest in being there rubbed off on me and rather than trying to win her round with my gift of the gab, I turned into a sulky schoolboy. At one stage, she asked why I was fed up. I just said that I had a lot on my mind.

We finished our meal, paid the bill and I walked her in the direction of her hotel. She said it was well out of my way and that she could do the last part on her own. I didn't even try to kiss her.

Feargal Sharkey, I know where you're coming from.

Tandy girl - you are my world

So there I was, in a bar on my first night in Hanoi. I was still shattered from the 31-hour journey and was quite happy sitting alone watching the world go by.

I had almost finished my beer and was contemplating going in search of something to eat, when a woman with long blonde hair walked in and sat opposite me. She was carrying a huge day-sack and was more glam than your average backpacker.

She experienced some language problems when she tried to order a drink. As I looked over, she gave me a beaming smile. I decided to order another beer. A few minutes later, we made eye contact again.

I wanted to go and sit with her. But I didn't want it to look as if I was on the pull (although I obviously was/am). A few minutes later, she came over and asked if she could join me. As I can't remember a woman ever having done this before, I was hardly going to say no.

Tandy was a 36-year-old from Adelaide, who was travelling around Thailand and Vietnam on her own. She was heading in the same direction as me, although she had slightly more time. We had a really interesting conversation that went beyond the usual travellers' gambits of 'where are you from/where are you going/where have you been?'. Two hours had soon passed, but to my disappointment, at 22.00 on the dot, she said she was going to bed (as most Antipodean girls seem to). We never swapped email addresses, but I was fairly confident that we would catch up with each other again.

Over the next couple of days, I found myself thinking about Tandy quite regularly (and I don't mean the eletrical retailer). Although not particularly my type, and there hadn't been the chemistry I'd had with the Doctor (see 23/9/08), for example, she was a really nice person. And unlike almost every single thitysomething I encounter, she had no obvious flaws (she was attractive, intelligent, fun, successful and had no baggage).

A week later, I had moved on to Hue. I was pretty sure that Tandy had arrived in town the previous evening, and as there were only two bars in town that travellers frequented, I was confident that I would bump into her. So I had a shave and put on the least-creased shirt in my duffle bag.

I walked into the first bar and there was a hot-looking (in every sense - the humidity here is unbearable) woman sitting by the pool table. I thought it was Tandy, but she looked so different, I couldn't be sure. As I went to walk out, she called my name.

We sat down and the conversation flowed as freely as the beers. Tandy looked absolutely stunning. We were joined briefly by a couple of Kiwi girls who I had been spending time with (and whose ears I had been bending about Tandy) and they agreed that she was lovely. They left us to it. By 22.00, we were both quite tiddly, and decided to head for some food. We found a restaurant where the only free table had chairs side by side, so we rearranged the furniture so that we could sit opposite each other.

Although there was no overt flirting, there was a little bit of 'accidental' touching. A waitress came over and asked if we were married. We put her straight, but she kept on about what a lovley couple we would make. Although it sounds a cringeworthy situation, it didn't embarrass either of us.

We walked home very closely. When we reached her hotel, I leaned forward to give Tandy a peck in the 'corridor of uncertainty' (about an inch from the corner of her mouth) and she swivelled her head and puckered up, so that our lips met. Perhaps I should have pushed it, but ever the gentleman, I knew that we potentially had another five days together. I walked back to my hotel very happy with the world.