In August 2020, during the pandemic, I bumped into Ai Weiwei in Lisbon. I’d never understood the urge to approach famous people, until that moment. I let go of my girlfriend’s hand, interrupted his conversation with a shop owner, and awkwardly said, “Hey Ai Weiwei,” while offering my hand. He smiled with his eyes and shook his head. COVID, of course.
I apologised, then asked why he was in Portugal and not China. I already knew the answer, but somehow that became my opening question. He explained that he didn’t have the best relationship with the Chinese authorities. “Ah yes… of course. China… you… not good. Not gooood.” He nodded, seemingly embarrassed on my behalf.
My girlfriend watched in silence as I asked her to take a picture of us. I put my arm around him, completely forgetting about the rejected handshake. After thanking him, I offered my hand again. “Still not a great idea,” he said. I stepped back, and he took off his mask so I could take this photo.
As we left, my girlfriend asked what had just happened to me. Temporary insanity, I told her. I waved and shouted, “Byebye Weiwei!” as if we’d known each other for years.
