Prologue
Traveling has always been a big part in my life, and I have never lived in one place for more than four years at a time. I was born on Christmas day 1967 in Copenhagen, and being a diplomat’s daughter, my childhood was shuffled between Denmark, Ireland, Japan and Germany. We moved to Germany when I was 8 where I attended a German school in Bonn. Though I picked up the language fairly quickly, and made some good friends, I was never allowed to forget that I was an outsider. It’s not easy to be an outsider when you’re young. My older sister, Emer, who was twelve at the time, went to a boarding school in Ireland. She would come home during the holidays, telling me all about the fun she was having back in Ireland. So when I turned twelve, I pleaded to be allowed go to boarding school. After four years in Germany, it was great to be back in Ireland where I felt equal to my peers once again. I completed my second level education at home, before attending art school in 1986.
After college, I spent an enjoyable and carefree summer in London with a group of friends. As the summer drew to a close, I was not ready to go home. I decided to take myself off to a Kibbutz in Israel. Why I chose Israel, I don’t know, but I did -a decision I would later regret. It wasn’t long before I realised that Kibbutz life was not for me, and after a few weeks, headed south to the resort of Eilat on the Red Sea. I fell in with a crowd and started seeing a guy who, as I was to discover, had quite a shady past. Back home, I doubt I would ever have gone out with him, but here, I felt somewhat removed from the ‘real’ world, and did things that were uncharacteristic of me. We moved into a converted ice cream van for a bit, before heading to Greece and then eventually home.
Back in Ireland, I came to my senses, and we went our separate ways. I recounted my adventures to a close friend. He was concerned by my escapades and saw health implications that had not occurred to me. They preyed on his mind. A month or so later we met again. ”Rachel, you should have a HIV test,” he said. I scoffed the idea but, just to set my mind, and his, at rest, I went to my GP for a test, fully expecting a negative result. Even so, during the two weeks of waiting, I too became concerned. ”The tests are back and I’m afraid they’re positive,” the doctor told me. It was April 16 1991. I thought: ”I’m going to die young. I’m never going to have a partner. I’m never going to have children. In ten years time I could be gone.”
I told my friends. My sister, Emer, was in the Philippines so I had to wait six months to tell her face-to-face. It took me almost two months to tell my mother. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. She was living in Rome but came straight over to be with me. I wanted to stay healthy so I cycled and went swimming every day. I found a secluded spot in the seaside town of Dalkey and spent a lot of time here, painting. In September, I took part in a group exhibition hosted by a restaurateur who wanted to raise money for charity. I even sold three paintings but on a practical level, it was clear that I wasn’t going to be financially successful as an artist. I found whatever part-time work I could in galleries and as a picture framer and simply got on with day-to-day living. They were difficult years, but I still had my full health, which was great.
I was on the phone to my dear friend Maeve in late 1995. She was and still is based in the U.S, and was telling me of her impending trip to Australia and making me very jealous. Then I thought “Hey! What’s keeping me here? What’s stopping me heading off to Oz?” The answer was nothing. I phoned Maeve back a few weeks later, and told her I’d be seeing her in Sydney in the New Year. Going to Australia changed my life. Maeve and I lived and worked in Sydney for a few months before flying to Perth. It was here that we met up with another friend, Eileen, and her Australian boyfriend, Geoff. The plan was to go from Perth up to North West Australia where Geoff’s friend had a fruit farm and we could all get work. En route there were places to see and explore, like Monkey Mia, famed for its friendly dolphins and the Ningaloo reef, where we could go snorkeling, and hopefully get a glimpse of the manta rays. The day we got there was the first fine day for a while. The boat had not sailed for some time, which partially explained the demeanour of the two Scots in the group.
They looked green and hung over and one of them had cut his foot on a rock getting onto the boat. They had waited for days for the weather to clear so they could see the rays. They had sat in the pub and argued about staying. Garry was determined to wait. Jimmy wanted to push on. On a particularly heavy drinking session, Jimmy lost his dentures in the pint glass and was too drunk to notice. Thereafter, he was known as “Jimmy Nae-teeth.” At any rate, Garry won the argument so they ended up on our boat. They were camping in a tent on the same site as we had our caravan. So were many of the people on the boat. During the boat trip, the captain had caught a queen fish and offered it to us. That night we barbecued it and drank beer and everyone got along. In particular, Garry and I got along. We were all heading in the same direction so from the next day we all traveled together. It was an amazing time. We traveled all around the country in our old blue Ford Falcon. When our cash ran low, we’d get jobs picking fruit, driving tractors, picture framing or carpet fitting. Whatever. Garry made quite a bit winning pool tournaments. In the Kimberley, we spent months visiting crocodile-infested rivers, deep gorges and magnificent red rock formations. We jumped off waterfalls, cooked barbecues at night and laughed all the way. And I fell in love with Garry.
He was from Edinburgh. Raised in a housing scheme and educated in the local comprehensive school. At sixteen, he started training as a panel beater and then went to work in his father’s coach business. In between driving passengers and delivering British Airways lost luggage, he played snooker and dreamed of becoming a professional. It might have happened; he was good enough. For whatever reason, what should have been a reality remained a pipe dream. To this day he regrets it. This was his second visit to Australia. After his first year he went back to Edinburgh, working to make enough money to return. It was just a matter of time and that time came. His mother had died tragically of Leukaemia at the age of forty-nine and his father found it increasingly difficult to run the business without her. A year after her death he sold it. Without its core, the family fell apart. With no work and no ties, the time was right for Garry to return to the life he loved in Australia.
It was in Broom, two weeks after we met that I knew I had to tell him. I had not had a boyfriend since I was diagnosed as being HIV positive and I didn’t want to lose this one. “If you really like him, you’ll have to tell him,” Maeve said. It took time to find the moment. When it came, we were on the beach and I was full of Dutch courage. He had already guessed. He was hoping that he was wrong but when I told him it did not come as a surprise. ”Are you healthy?” he asked, sympathetically. “Are you alright?” I nodded. ”It’s not going to come between us, you know,” he said, hugging me close to him. That night, Jimmy Nae-teeth moved into the caravan and I moved into tent. Garry and I have lived together ever since.
I have been “lucky” in the sense that I have remained so healthy, with no symptoms. Most people might think I was crazy, going off to Asia in my situation. It’s an easy place to fall ill, even for the healthiest of people. Yes, I was taking a risk. I made sure to take all the necessary precautions before embarking on this journey, but that was still no guarantee. It was neither bravado nor stupidity that urged me to visit these countries; just a true love for traveling and living my life as I would have before being diagnosed. I have never let the HIV take over my life, and hopefully, with all the medical advances being made, will never have to. I never thought ten years ago that I would have such a perfectly normal, full and exciting life ahead of me. I’ve been luckier than I could ever have imagined.
Rachel Turner
A Gentle Baptism
Out trusty Enfield
It was late November. The cold Scottish winter had really kicked in - the sort of cold that seeps right into your bones and is almost impossible to shrug off. Edinburgh is dismal at that time of year. The days are short and darkness has fallen by the time you trudge home from work. Thick winter clothes weigh you down and the rain is an ever-present threat. Most of all, I miss the light that lifts your spirits. Fantasizing about far off places with palm trees and warm beaches was starting to become an everyday occurrence for both Garry and myself. The memories