Around the World in 80 Dates (6 page)

But he didn't give me the flower. Instead, he sat back down on the bench, smoothing out the creases in his impeccable trousers and straightening his cuffs. Feeling more than a little disconcerted, I followed his lead and sat down next to him. Together we surveyed the rippling rows of nodding tulips stretching up to meet the weak spring sunshine. Row upon row of frilled heads: lilac, black, yellow, white shot with scarlet, some feathery, some furled, puckered tight, some blown and fading, all color and life spent. It was magnificent, and, in a way, an intimate and emotional sight to share.

The atmosphere between Willem and me, however, was anything but intimate. It was completely silent and increasingly awkward. I was waiting for him to take the lead, but not only did he show no indication he would, he showed no indication that he even knew I was there.

“Do you know why I'm here?” I asked brightly, trying to hide the hurt I felt at his distant attitude and determined to break the mood.

“Not really,” he replied stiffly with the dignified resignation of a highly decorated military man who, due to circumstances beyond his control or understanding, now finds himself selling sex toys in a shop in Soho.

“Well,” I said brightly, taking a deep breath and launching into an explanation that was meant to be both reassuring and intriguing. “It's just we all work so hard,” I trilled. “We have no time for love, so I'm traveling the world dating people to see if I can find my Soul Mate.”

I finished with a flourish and turned, expecting to see Willem smiling, relaxed, and ready to talk. Clearly I had fallen short of the tone I was striving for: Willem was still surveying the flowerbed, staring ahead stonily but now with a grim expression that unflatteringly hovered somewhere between disgust and disbelief. It was as if I'd suggested we both take off our underpants and look at each other's bottoms. A moment passed. Then another. Not a word was said. I sat rigid with rising panic, feeling a wave of hot shame wash over me, completely and horribly mortified. And this was only Date #3.

Willem, maybe sensing my distress, maybe just wanting to end his own, got to his feet.

“Shall we have some lunch?” he asked politely. I nodded gratefully, misery robbing me of the ability to speak. As we walked past the raspberry posies that peppered the rhododendron and the soft papery apricot of the azaleas, I watched Willem take the tulip he had picked for but not actually given to me. As he walked, he neatly and methodically folded the flower over and over and over on itself until its broken stem and crushed head were no more than a ruined, sap-bleeding ball. I pretended not to notice when he silently dropped it into a trash bin at the side of the path and continued marching without breaking his stride.

Willem relaxed a little over lunch and actually turned out to be quite amiable, with a dry sense of humor. But after a gentle walk around the beautiful gardens and a look at the gorgeous displays of scented lilies, I was grateful to be back in my car and heading for Schiphol airport, alone with my thoughts about the journey ahead. What if my Dating Odyssey failed to find me a boyfriend and just succeeded in making me feel freaky and bad about myself?

As I took endless wrong turns and dodged through rush-hour traffic, trying to make it in time for my connection, the phone started ringing on the seat next to me. An Amsterdam number. It would be Henk ringing to collect on the promised second date. I frowned and gripped the steering wheel harder, ignoring the phone; I just didn't have the emotional energy to deal with Henk now. Also, I don't mean this horribly, but I didn't want to go back over old Dates; I wanted to look forward and get on to the new ones. I was flying to Sweden in the hope that my next Date would give me some much-needed insight and perspective on the journey I had undertaken. Professor Lars-Görsta Dahlöf at Gothenburg University was one of the world's leading authorities on psychology and sexology—the science of love and attraction.

This was one Date I'd happily devote a day to.

Date #5—The mysterious
Anders in Gothenburg, Sweden

Gothenburg does itself no favors having a Volvo museum. Drawing attention to the fact that it's the birthplace of arguably the dullest, least-adventurous car in the world is not a PR coup for a city that's easily as hip as Stockholm and just as much the party town as Malmo.

But Sweden generally seems to suffer from a bit of a personality crisis, and I don't think I'm going to win any awards for insight by suggesting it's probably due to the weather. Nearly a sixth of Sweden is north of the Arctic Circle and winter nights last anything up to eighteen
stay indoors, stare at the walls for four months
hours. From May to August, however, the height of the sun and the tilt of the earth's axis go to the other extreme, creating the midnight sun and up to twenty-three hours of sunshine a day.

And when the midnight sun shines, so do the Swedes. Everyone seems to spin and show, like overwound ballerinas in a music box, making the most of every bright second before the lid slams shut for another winter of introspective darkness.

But maybe the city does its thinking in the dark, because over the last forty years, Gothenburg has been at the forefront of pioneering research into sexology, the science of human sexuality and how it affects us chemically, socially, and physically. And I had an appointment at the university to meet one of the world's leading sexologists; I had come to date the Love Professor.

I'd come across Professor Lars-Görsta Dahlöf in an online article, reporting on a conference he'd held called “The Science of Love and Passion.” At the time it was casual curiosity: I thought it would be fascinating to learn more about his theories and ideas. But now that I was here, I realized my questions were less theoretical and more personal. I was slightly unsettled by how my journey was turning out and hoped he'd have some theories that would help me establish whether I stood any chance of success, or could, at the very least, emerge with a shred of dignity. The memory of Willem's blatant disapproval still stung.

The plan was that we'd meet at the reception area of my downtown hotel and then drive out to the Japanese Gardens past the university for a walk and a chat. Now it was 11:30 a.m. and I had literally just checked into my room when reception rang to say the Love Professor was downstairs waiting for me. Damn, he was forty minutes early. I'd hoped to have a quick shower and a moment to gather my thoughts before I met him.

I flipped my bag onto the bed. I'd packed my waterproof jacket and sweater on top—even without his early arrival, I'd known it would be a tight turnaround. As I pulled the jacket out I noticed a puddle of sticky white fluid on the sleeve. I stopped dead and looked at it, mystified. Gingerly I checked my bag; nothing was broken. I really didn't want to smell it, but—and I had no good feelings about this—what the hell was it?

I was tired and feared I was going crazy, but…was it possible a baggage handler had opened my bag and…?

NO, it was too much to even think about. Why would they do that? Holding my breath and grimacing, I plucked the coat carefully out of my bag and took it into the bathroom to sponge the fluid off, all the while painfully aware that the Love Professor was downstairs waiting to meet me. At arm's length, I dropped the sleeve into the sink and, stepping back, turned the tap on full. As soon as the water hit the sticky mess, it started frothing and foaming. Foam? I hadn't expected foam. I looked at the sleeve in confusion, turned the water off, put the wet coat down on the edge of the sink, and walked back into the bedroom. Minus my coat, there was now more room in my case to investigate. I gingerly lifted out the rolled clothes and peered cautiously underneath them.

A bottle of shampoo I had missed earlier was lodged in the corner of the case, its lid unscrewed and white soap oozing out of the unsecured top.

I closed my eyes and groaned in exasperation. Apparently, it wasn't just the lid that was coming unscrewed. Was the fact that I was meeting the Love Professor making me see sex everywhere, or was I doing this to myself by undertaking this journey? Just think what kind of interpretation he would put on this: “Ahh, so, Jennifer, you imagine your traveling persona to be the focus of unsolicited sexual attention, and yet it is a journey you have chosen to make. Is it not possible that you are filled with a desire to have your ‘baggage handled' by strangers and you are seeking to make this fantasy a reality?”

 

The Love Professor was looking out of the window into the Nordstan shopping center outside when I finally made it down to reception. He was a kind-looking man, about 50, with a Woody Allen Does Academic appearance, a lived-in tweed jacket, and sparse brown hair framing a thin, contemplative face. My entrance felt a bit scattered, in utter contrast to his quiet, serene pose at the window, and on seeing him I became gripped with the urge to fling myself down onto the reception sofa and blurt out everything that had happened to me so far. With steely resolve, I resisted the impulse. Instead, waiting for the Love Professor to transfer a huge armful of papers from right to left, I smiled warmly, shook his outstretched hand, and answered: “Yes, I had a lovely journey here, thank you, no problems at all. Quite uneventful. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, shall we go?”

He drove me out to the Japanese Gardens, a tranquil refuge at the top of a steep trail in the public gardens beyond the university where he worked. As we settled in a wooden arbor, off the path overlooking a bamboo garden, I explained my theory and mission to the Love Professor. If I did meet my Soul Mate, I asked, how would I know he was The One? Were there any signs or signals I should be looking for?

“Well, we have a physical response which we define as sexual…,” he began cautiously, as if realizing for the first time that I had a vested interest in his answers. “Also understanding that although we all fall in love, few of us know anything more about it than how we feel.” Like technology: I can send you an email without either of us having the faintest clue how it got from my computer to yours. The Love Professor was about to explain the Love Equivalent of firewalls, IPs, wireless applications, and the laser printer.

“…but it starts in the earliest relationship: the one between the mother and the child. It is an intense experience of trust and well-being: feeling everything is as good as it could be. To fall in love and to be close to another human being at any age in your life…” Uh-oh, not the whole oedipal thing.

“So when you fall in love,” I interrupted impatiently, “you're looking to relive those bonds of comfort and security?”

“Yes, you are seeking to relive something you don't consciously remember but your body does,” he replied.

I knew this must be relevant somewhere, but time was short and I wasn't looking to date either of my parents on this trip, so I moved it along.

“So apart from my historical needs, what about the physical side? How will I know if I'm attracted to somebody?” An obvious question, with an even more obvious answer, but the Love Professor didn't seem to think me odd for wanting to know. Apparently you fall in love in three stages: lust, attraction, and attachment. Each stage has distinct characteristics, accompanied by set behavioral patterns and a variety of hormones. Evidently it was more complex than just thinking someone looked good in a leather jacket.

The Love Professor gave me an example: “There are a number of factors working beneath your consciousness, and one of them is smell. Not only does smell influence you, your smell also carries information about your genetic makeup.”

This was intriguing. “So am I wasting my time kissing when I should be sniffing?” I demanded.

The Love Professor looked momentarily confused and then replied, “No, because kissing is a good opportunity to take a good sniff.”

We both laughed. “I'm intrigued and a little concerned for your kissing technique,” I teased. Funnily enough, I found the fact that we were compelled to do romantic things for practical reasons really reassuring; almost as if it wasn't totally my fault if I made a mess of it, nature had to take a share of the blame, too. “Okay, that's a fantastic piece of information.” I beamed; we were getting somewhere now. “Are there any other things that will help me work out if my Dates are compatible or not with me when I first meet them? I only have one date with each of these people, so I have to take in a lot of information and make a lot of decisions very quickly.”

The Love Professor warmed to the subject. “When two people are attracted, we send messages that we are interested and want to become better acquainted, often by mimicking each other's actions. If a woman strokes her hair, the man will make the same movement a second later. After a while, if everything works and there is a mutual interest, there will be a perfect synchronicity. We tend to like a partner who is a reflection of ourselves: A person who mirrors you in such a positive way is very easy to fall in love with.”

Presumably the same was true from a negative perspective, too: If you felt like rubbish, were you more likely to pick a partner who made you feel you were rubbish?

Again, the Love Professor concurred. “If you have a secure and positive image of yourself—being nice, liking yourself—you will be more likely to pick someone who sees and affirms that in you. However, if your self-esteem is absent or very low, you find it harder to believe there is someone else out there like you or who will like you.”

I could see how that would be true. “So you're saying: Work at making yourself feel good before you get involved with anyone else, because they'll only be good for you if you're good to yourself.” But what did this mean for me? I was a pretty positive person—generally cheerful and comfortable with myself—yet I had chosen relationships that had not been in my best interest. Wasn't it possible there were other important factors that played a role in who you chose as your partner? I had my own theory on the subject and wanted to ask the Love Professor what he thought of it.

“So, to go back to the idea of selection. I have a theory—which I'm hoping is wrong—about work and relationships. Basically, work is where we meet our partners, but work is more demanding than ever, and men are coping less well with the pressure than women. As a result, working women find their jobs the most emotionally satisfying relationships in their lives, so they either settle for so-so romances or end up chronically single. Could there be any truth in this?”

The Love Professor thought for a moment. “Traditionally, the most important reason for being in a relationship was to reproduce: Couples married and had children. The man supported the family; the woman stayed at home and looked after it. Most women these days are not looking for partners in order to have babies, or at least not right away. A change has taken place in a very short period of time; men and women have become more equal. Although we have acknowledged the change, we have yet to address how the needs and expectations of relationships have changed as a result.”

I genuinely found this sad and disturbing: Was the implication that men were only attracted to women who wanted to have children? I tried to get it straight in my head:

“You talk about how we telegraph information in nonverbal ways, through smell, etcetera…. If women want careers, could we be unconsciously transmitting a desire not to have children and be less desirable or attractive to potential partners as a result?”

The Love Professor considered what I was asking. “I don't know about that, but body odors are certainly affected by high levels of stress. Working too much, too many problems, no time for leisure, etcetera, can—on a subconscious level—be recognized in the way you smell.”

So maybe the issue wasn't about wanting or not wanting kids; it was that career women literally smelled like hard work. I felt the need to bring the conversation back around to me. “But I've quit my job, I'm not stressed, and I've nurtured a positive self-image. I should be smelling relaxed, right?”

The Love Professor nodded noncommittally, not sure where this was going but willing to let me carry on until I got there. I got there: “Do you think I'm going to meet Mr. Right?”

Faced with such an emotionally charged question, the Love Professor retreated to the safety of science. “Our research has shown that when you are waiting or starving for a relationship, you will be very open to all types of stimuli that will tell you this is the right person. That means you will probably be quite uncritical….”

The scientific way of saying “desperate”…

“Looking at it from a scientific view,” the Love Professor said evenly, “when two people meet and get involved, they each bring their own history with them. How you bring these histories together provides the condition for the future of your relationship. A person who gives you too much of his ‘history' shows an inability to choose or prioritize his relationships.”

This reminded me of a guy I dated, Grant—“I'm separated, I just forgot to tell my wife.” He seemed incapable of going anywhere without at least two of his friends, and his cell phone never stopped ringing when we were out. It baffled him that I thought this was a problem.

“And also, from the opposite perspective, it can be quite disappointing when the one you want to share your life with will not share very much of his or her own life with you. The person who will not share their past is unlikely to see you in their future.”