Cycling into Moldova's capital city of Chisinau (its pronounced Kishi-now) wasn't too bad as there was mostly a shoulder or a footpath for me to cycle on, although the scenery was predictable in its drabness. Lots of tower blocks and lots of concrete, although the city centre, at least around the Cathedral, seemed to have quite a nice atmosphere, possibly because it was almost Christmas time. I must confess that I didn't spend very much time soaking up this atmosphere as I was desperate to get on to my hostel. A hot shower and a quiet night with a wifi connection studying up on the most pressing of the many v!$as that I needed was what I was looking forward to.

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It was only the second time in four years that I had checked into a hostel, the other time being in St Petersburg, and I was surprised to find that the girl on reception was once again the most beautiful girl in the world. Not the same one, obviously, that would have been really weird. Just, well, I mean, there must be more than one most beautiful girl in the world. And they all seem to work in hostels and I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. This one could actually speak English and was from Chisinau and was, like about 90% of the females in Eastern Europe, called Anna.

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It was a small hostel and Anna was checking me in right next to the social area where two guests were sitting. One was a cute young Romanian girl who sat quietly while the other spoke. He was an old man with a drooping white moustache, blue eyes sunken into his slightly droopy face and a few white hairs covering a mostly bald head. He looked a bit like an old, fat, British, weak Hulk Hogan. Maybe in the movie he can be played by Hulk Hogan's dad. He had an English accent and reminded me of an old British Sergeant Major as I caught bits of the conversation. I heard him refer to "us in the east" which I found odd because I was sure he was English and he was saying how Eastern Europe was better than Western Europe. As my check-in was complete I turned to the table ready to join the conversation just as the old man said to the girl "now show me an Englishman with a soul. I bet you can't."

"Hi," I said, "I'm from England. Nice to meet you."

The old man introduced himself as Gerry and explained that he was Bulgarian but had been educated in England which explained the accent, although not why he was called Gerry Thomson. I felt like I had met him before. Several times in fact. This older gent who travels and stays at hostels and commands his younger audience with his stories which tend to be somewhat dubious at best. Whether Gerry was telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth we may never rightfully know, but he was entertaining and quite a nice fellow nonetheless, and so I will tell you his life story as it was told to me, and you can draw your own conclusions.

Gerry was born in Bulgaria in 1947. His father was a high-ranking military official and moved the family to England when Gerry was three. After receiving the full benefits of the English private school system, Gerry turned his back on the diplomatic career that was planned for him and joined the Bulgarian Air Force for seven years. He then spent eight years working as military intelligence. Somewhere along the way, and this part of the story was told at a seperate time so one cannot be sure of the chronology, Gerry switched careers to the music industry. He was tour manager for The Police for four years. He was also tour manager for James Brown for several years and Alanis Morisette for a couple of years. He said there was someone else as well but I can't remember who it was, and it wouldn't be right for me to make things up. He has been to 129 countries and speaks 16 languages, including English, French and French Canadian. (I personally can speak English and English Canadian although I don't like to boast.) He has written an autobiography which is going to be published by a Romanian publisher although at another time Gerry did say he hates Romania and never wants to go there again so we'll see how that goes. Finally. the 66 year-old Gerry confessed privately to me that he has a 26 year-old girlfriend in Georgia "So there's life in the old dog yet" and she is going to come to Odessa soon so they can be together.

I picked all this up about Gerry during the course of the evening even though I was spending a large part of the time being anti-social and trying to get things done online from the bedroom. Because the bedroom was right next to the social area and Gerry had a loud voice this made very little difference. I was using the computer trying to organise some places to couchsurf and researching the most pressing of my v%sa issues as well as updating this blog. And the hostel was really very srangely busy considering the time of year and the fact that it is Chisinau, Moldova. I had partly been expecting to be the only guest, which would have been much better news for the blog, but as it was I was constantly having to make conversation and, you know, try to enjoy life.

The cute Romanian girl, Lavinia, was very friendly and fun and kept coming to talk to me and then her four friends that she was travelling with also came back to the hostel from somewhere. And then there were three American Peace Corps that were also staying in my dorm. It had been a while since I had been in contact with any Americans and I forgot how very over-the-top nice and friendly they are. And there was also an Italian guy. There is always an Italian guy. So there was quite a party going on in this hostel and dear old Gerry was at the centre of it all.

I must admit the skeptic in me had got the better of me and I couldn't help trying to work out if he had been telling the whole truth. Lavinia came into the bedroom and I asked her if she believed our elder guest.

"Think about it" I said "He was born in 1947, so he must have studied until about 1967. Then he was in the air force and the military for a total of fifteen years, so we are up to about 1982. Then he said he was manager of The Police for four years, Someone else for four years, James Brown for three years, Alanis Morisette for two. Hmm, I think actually it is possible."

"But," Lavinia replied, "he told me that he lived in Canada for fifteen years and Venice for twelve!"

We burst out laughing at this point.

But I don't want to call Gerry a liar about any of these things. Alanis Morisette is Canadian after all, and his time as her tour manager may have coincided with this period. And there is no reason why James Brown's tour manager wouldn't live in Venice. No, I don't want to call Gerry a liar about any of these things. But the 26 year-old girlfriend? Well, I refuse to believe that this is possible if she has ever spent the night with the dear old man. Because after midnight everyone retired to their beds and Gerry was on the bunk below me. You will remember I hate sleeping in hostels because of people snoring and naturally I was lying awake waiting for the snores to start from beneath. But, to my surprise, Gerry didn't appear to be much of a snorer. I was in luck, I thought, I might actually get some sleep. And then the farting started. Big rip-roaring farts that made the whole room shake. Constantly. All night. Dear Lord Gerry, no. I'm never staying in a hostel again, not for all the most beautiful women in the world.