My girlfriends have called my recent string of guys, my “Euro Trip.” I didn’t realize until afterwards, how accurate the title was. I have always been fairly diverse in who I’ve dated in the past, as none of my boyfriends have been the same ethnicity, but I’ve been on a recent roll in terms of diversity.
I’ll start first with Irish Guy. He drank pints and pints of Guinness and Cider, saying he was a “sensible drinker.” He loved his football (even if he said he was rubbish at it), which is soccer for us Americans! His favorite food was meat and potatoes. His night of culture was going to a lecture on the Irish Famine. And he had a sibling or two with ginger hair.
I can’t remember where he was from exactly, but he was definitely from the country and his accent was obvious. I had a hilarious time chatting with one of his flatmates about the way he talked. She was much easier to understand because she didn’t mumble over her words like he did. According to Irish Guy, her accent was the posh variety because she was from Dublin.
Through them (and her fiancé), I got to interact a lot with the Irish folk. I went to the pubs. I saw an Irish movie based on a real Irish story, Philomena. I celebrated Pancake Tuesday (and ate lots of homemade pancake with nutella). I became semi-used to them drinking loads of alcohol even on a Sunday. And then, well, we decided to stop seeing each other as he was eventually going to move away and we were altogether not serious about this thing we had (there’s more of a story to this that I will get at a later date).
The Norwegian is next. I was actually seeing both the Irish Guy and The Norwegian at one point at the same time, then just The Norwegian. He was blond, tall, but didn’t have the blue eyes I expected in a Scandinavian. He wasn’t educated like guys I’ve dated in the past, having been trained as an electrician and now working as a field technician in an Oil & Gas company, but I was intrigued enough to date him for a bit. And it certainly helped he treated me well.
He often cooked for me (although ingredients for traditional Norwegian fare was hard to come by so I had to settle for American-style food). He introduced me to the guys he worked with offshore. He told me about his wild nights in his youth drinking moonshine in the back of a car and in a bunker that had been converted into a local bar in the small town he’d grown up in a valley surrounded by mountains. He even dropped off a care package for me on my time of the month because I had been feeling poorly. Too bad that when the mystery faded, so did my interest in continuing to see him.
I don’t feel bad about the time I spent with him; in fact, I enjoyed myself quite immensely. It was a good several weeks, fond memories, but I couldn’t see myself dating him seriously and he had told me quite plainly in the beginning he wasn’t the marrying type. I guess it’s a good thing to know when to end things, and our ending was much like our beginning, quite amiable.
I don’t think Hazel Eyes really counts as European, even though I’m lumping him into this post because he’s ethnically half-Finnish. I started seeing him just as things with The Norwegian were concluding. I didn’t spend much time with Hazel Eyes, but emotionally and mentally he’s the one I connected with the most. What also didn’t help was that I found him attractive. He was tall with a toned body that leaned toward the lanky side (which is just my physical preference) and had a head of brown hair that curled at the tips, eyes a myriad of colors, and a very Jewish nose.
If only timing didn’t mean so much, but it does. Timing is everything (“my” Mr. Big and I know that all too well).
Hazel Eyes had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and he wasn’t ready. He had no idea what he wanted in life, except that he didn’t want to be with anyone seriously. He also didn’t want to lead me on by dating me casually and he was scared he was getting attached. His rambling explanations were probably a cop out; regardless, I’d rather find out sooner rather than later. I’ve learned my lesson well.
No matter how hard you push and try, unless he’s in it with you, it doesn’t work. And that’s okay. You move on, you live life, and you are better for it (believe me, you are).