In order to fully understand this post, I feel its appropriate to reference my favorite TV show, "Sex and the City." During season six Carrie begins dating the famed Russian artist and playboy, Aleksander Petrovsky. They're from two completely different worlds; hers is a world filled with Manolos, cosmopolitans and glamour, set to the backdrop of modern New York City. His is a world filled with art, international travel and intellectualism. They converge in a romance filled with passion, but not many shared interests. One of their prominent differences is how they approach romantic relationships. Being from Europe, "The Russian" showed his affection through grand romantic gestures (i.e. - poems, writing love songs, etc. See video clip below: skip ahead to 2:14). However, as a modern American gal, Carrie found it difficult to stomach his sweet romantic gestures.
While its true that I've often thought of myself as the missing member of SATC, I never quite thought I'd be living out my own version in this particular manner. A couple of weeks ago I met a handsome Spanish gentleman at Bariloche who I'll refer to as "The Spaniard." Since then, the romance that has ensued would leave you thinking you were watching a Danielle Steel novel unfold: a single long stemmed red rose and decadent chocolate truffles on the first date; an endless shower of compliments containing metaphors that seem to be penned by Shakespeare; seranades of Spanish love songs; pulling over on the roadside for a slow dance...and the list goes on.
Looking back, I realize that I spent most of that first date festering in my own cynicism, trying to figure out The Spaniard's alterior motives. After all, if an American guy professed to me, "you have the face of an angel," I would probably eloquently reply, "fuck off." Pardon my French. Needless to say, when it comes to Spanish romance, I found that I was more than a little lost.
Now whether you believe these "grand romantic gestures" are a true proclomation of feelings, or something else just for show, what this really boils down to is cultural differences. A friend of mine, who is Hispanic-American, assured me that everything I was experiencing is normal within Spanish-Latin culture. After all, its a culture known of its passion, and the expression of that passion is considered natural. It can be found everywhere: the language, the music, the food and in romance. On the other hand, American culture is strongly influenced by British culture, which is infamous for being cold, closed and reserved. And today more than ever, we are a nation of cynics.
So after yet another intricate compliment, seeping in sweetness, I explained to The Spaniard that I am American, and not quite sure I can stomach this. He looked at me startled and confused, which propmpted further explanation into American culture and the common notion that "romance" is dead. At the end of my explanation, he asked one simple question: how do you flirt with someone you like if you don't tell them how you feel? Sometimes its the simplest answers that make the most sense. This made me think that I've been so tangled in my web of American cynicism that I couldn't recognize that a little Spanish romance can actually be a good thing.
It's too much! "I'm an American!"
While its true that I've often thought of myself as the missing member of SATC, I never quite thought I'd be living out my own version in this particular manner. A couple of weeks ago I met a handsome Spanish gentleman at Bariloche who I'll refer to as "The Spaniard." Since then, the romance that has ensued would leave you thinking you were watching a Danielle Steel novel unfold: a single long stemmed red rose and decadent chocolate truffles on the first date; an endless shower of compliments containing metaphors that seem to be penned by Shakespeare; seranades of Spanish love songs; pulling over on the roadside for a slow dance...and the list goes on.
Looking back, I realize that I spent most of that first date festering in my own cynicism, trying to figure out The Spaniard's alterior motives. After all, if an American guy professed to me, "you have the face of an angel," I would probably eloquently reply, "fuck off." Pardon my French. Needless to say, when it comes to Spanish romance, I found that I was more than a little lost.
Now whether you believe these "grand romantic gestures" are a true proclomation of feelings, or something else just for show, what this really boils down to is cultural differences. A friend of mine, who is Hispanic-American, assured me that everything I was experiencing is normal within Spanish-Latin culture. After all, its a culture known of its passion, and the expression of that passion is considered natural. It can be found everywhere: the language, the music, the food and in romance. On the other hand, American culture is strongly influenced by British culture, which is infamous for being cold, closed and reserved. And today more than ever, we are a nation of cynics.
So after yet another intricate compliment, seeping in sweetness, I explained to The Spaniard that I am American, and not quite sure I can stomach this. He looked at me startled and confused, which propmpted further explanation into American culture and the common notion that "romance" is dead. At the end of my explanation, he asked one simple question: how do you flirt with someone you like if you don't tell them how you feel? Sometimes its the simplest answers that make the most sense. This made me think that I've been so tangled in my web of American cynicism that I couldn't recognize that a little Spanish romance can actually be a good thing.
It's too much! "I'm an American!"
At last...laughing with romance and not at it.
Besos,
B
Brittany... words cannot express how much love that blog post. And, I can't believe you made it through all those long stemmed roses and roadside slow dances without puking...
ReplyDeletehaha thank you my dear. all i have to say is baby steps...
ReplyDelete