The smell of incense was in the wind, and there was a distant jingle from a prayer bell. He scooped up the bottom of his sarong so his “bits” weren’t on display, whistled to Merlin, his wolf, and rhapsodized about wasabi caviar, whitefish salad and the sturgeon from Russ & Daughters, which he misses.

That, and going to the opera. His love of opera came from visiting the Bolshoi Theater in Moscow in the 1990s when he was recruited to bring a “glam crew” to the opening of a nightclub, Manhattan Express, in Red Square.

We headed into the woodlands, past mythical old trees. Along the way, he collected stray plastic bottles that had been left behind, depositing them at a Hobbit-like house that belongs to an ancient toothless woman.

Another friend?

“Well, we don’t go out to lunch together but yeah, over the years I’ve gotten to know her. I advised her to ask tourists for donations. We’re marching through her home and she’s got 50-kilo bundles of wood on her back every day. ”

In well-informed detail, he told me about the farmers and the birds fighting.

It’s a significant change from the kind of gossip Mr. Baker trafficked in circa 2000, when he opened Lotus in the meatpacking district and items appeared on Page Six seemingly every day.

“That upstairs room at Lotus — the Peter Beard room — I have seen everybody you’ve ever heard of doing something they shouldn’t have been doing in a state of undress or just being human,” Mr. Baker said. “The reason why we had such a celebrity following was because we never exposed anyone. I felt paternal towards them.” He paused. “ We took the cameras out, by the way.”