European Males, Males in Europe
Note 1: I'm not sharing these chronologically, just as I remember them.
Note 2: metro = underground = tube = train (I noticed as I wrote that I
keep changing which one I use, which seemed like it could be confusing)
Anecdote 01: At the bus station
I'm at the Victoria bus ("coach" in England, heh) station, waiting to board
my bus to Bath. An extremely attractive Hispanic man is clearly tracking
me, and I'm in a good mood, so I'm spending part of my time tracking him
back and smiling, and part of my time trying to figure out where the Hell
the bus is because it's supposed to be leaving in 10 minutes (I have not yet
discovered that an efficient, ubiquitous public transit system implies that,
unlike the US, you don't have to be everywhere 45 minutes early to do
paperwork, transfer to a different bus because yours was cancelled, etc.)
The bus finally appears, he waves to me as I leave the station to get on the
bus outside, and I wink at him. He kind of reminds me of Jenner, one of my
favourite people, who is half Venezuelan. Jenner has permanently corrupted
me on well-built (tall, broad shoulders) short-haired Hispanic men. Sigh.
Anyway.
I sit down in the front seat of the bus, where I can see over the driver's
area and back into the terminal, where the guy is still watching me. He
notices that I've realized I can still see him, and starts signing to me,
trying to spell something out in the air. Still in a good mood, I figure
what the Hell, I have two minutes before the bus leaves, I'm in a public
place, so I go back out and he meets me halfway. After the initial
establishment of our nationalities (he's -- but living in Quebec and on
holiday in Europe) and first names, he tells me I should just stay in London
and spend some time with him. I laugh and tell him that, no, I'm going to
Bath.
He smiles, and tells me I'm very beautiful, and that truly, it would be a
lot of fun if I stayed.
I go to Bath.
Anecdote 02: Sikh on the metro.
I've left a bar that was playing mediocre music to hunt out a place some
guys told me about called FABRIC - a dance club made from an old underground
station. I hop on the metro and start following the directions I got from a
web site - I'm heading towards the Farringdon underground station. The
underground car is crowded, so I'm standing towards the back. Because I
knew I might go dancing that night, I'm wearing a small blank tanktop and
jeans - nothing too risque, just something that'll keep me from overheating
immediately.
A Sikh boards at one of the stops en route, and stands very near me at the
back of the car. A few other men also board. He smiles at me and I smile
back. He puts an arm above to grasp the rail overhead and leans in towards
me, effectively blocking me into the corner. I remind myself that most East
and Far East people have very different personal boundaries than I do and
keep breathing. "How are you?" he asks.
"Very good. And you?"
"I am good. Do you have plans for tonight?"
"Yep. I'm going to go dancing."
His eyes swing to me nervously a few times, and then he asks, "Would you
like to have some fun with me?"
As an American, this seems to me like the beginning of a business
transaction with a hooker, personally. "No, I'm going to a club to have fun
by myself."
"You are a very beautiful woman."
I imagine I snort or do something else that is typical of me when receiving
a compliment. Something involving mild dismay and suspicion.
"Truly, you are very beautiful woman! I am not just saying this."
"Well, thank you. You are also very handsome." I'm not into turbans or
bushy curling beards, but given that, he was, in fact, a very handsome man
and, I suspect, about my age, though the attire and facial hair made him
look older. I risk saying this because he sees more nervous than
aggressive, and I'm trying to get into the habit of letting people down
without actually shooting their knee caps off - traditionally, it doesn't
really occur to me that someone is getting up their nerve and asking me out.
Traditionally, I think they're trying to sucker me into something that would
lead to sexual violence. Also pretty American of me - possibly more middle
American. I'm deeply suspicious of strangers, and between news media around
age 14 and a based-on-life made-for-TV movie I saw where a girl was lured to
a guys van because he said she was beautiful and that he was a photographer
and wanted to take pictures of her and wound up kidnapping and repeatedly
raping her ... well, let's just say that I've come to understand that while
my cautiousness is well and good, it's not going to kill me to treat men
like human beings instead of universal rapists. So, digression aside...
"No. No... Do you think so?"
"Yes, I think so." And then I said something to him about confidence, I
don't remember what. I was in a philosophical mood.
At last, we arrive at Farringdon station, and I excuse myself to "alight at
the station", and he leans in and kisses me full on the lips.
I get off, and go to the club. He stays on the train, and I'm very grateful
for this. It made the whole kiss thing mildly flattering in a really weird
way, instead of hugely terrifying to me. It was still a little scary. I'm
glad he stayed on the train.
Anecdote 03: En route to FABRIC
It took me a few minutes to get the streets right and get to FABRIC from
Farringdon Station. I was the only woman on the crowded streets walking
unescorted. Some men walked unescorted, but no women. All women were with
other women or their date.
I passed by a bar, and a white British man of about 45-50 was standing
outside having a cigarette. I could see him checking me out in my
peripheral and just kept my eyes straight ahead. Being checked out by
Europeans is very different than being checked out by all but the most drunk
and belligerent Americans. Basically, they head to toe you slowly, and then
clearly undress you to their preferred level of clothing and then hold that
image in their head while continuing to stare, which will often include
bodily turning around as I pass to continue to stare. As an American, this
is unnerving and terrifying to me. I feel violated. And as more and more
men were doing this to me, I felt more and more afraid until I finally had a
long talk with Marijke and European men, which I'll get to much later on.
Anyway, as I pass this guy, he calls out to me and asks, "Will you come in
and have a drink with me before continuing on with your evening?"
"No thanks," say I and continue on.
Anecdote 04: Culture. At FABRIC.
I was at the dance club FABRIC in London, and I walked into the unisex
bathroom.
There was a gorgeous black man in there, clearly working, with his name tag
on. I never quite figured out his purpose, though I suspect it was a
multifunctional one involving throwing out people who were so drunk they
were vomitting, keeping people from having sex in the bathrooms, etc. As I
was attempting to wash my hands, I coudln't figure out how to make the sink
work. He stepped forward with an incredibly charming smile, and explained
that I had to clap my hands to make it come on. I kind of thought he was
kidding, but he gave me a reassuring smile so I did. The water came on.
The second time that night I visited the restroom, I realized that the damn
sink had foot pedals. Smart ass dude. So I flung water on him, and we
proceeded to shout at each other over the noise of the music for awhile. I
was very entertained by this guy and he asked if, since I was in London and
had some time on my ways, I wanted to get together for a drink or something
with him. This wasn't the first time a guy had approached me with this
invitation, and I handed had a chance to grill any London women to see if
this is completely normal, acceptable social behaviour in the city or not,
so I figured what the Hell, I'll try out the experiment.
I give him my email address on a piece of paper and write that maybe we
could get together on the upcoming Sunday. He emails me, we agree to meet
at the Globe bar across from one of the metro stations. I meet him there,
and he goes inside to buy me a beer, but I'm hugely cautious with strangers
and insist on buying the beer, and when he tries to grab it to carry to the
table, I insist on carrying it as well. The last thing I need is a rupee in
my beer, y'know? And I have no reason to trust this guy not to do that.
We head outside and enjoy our beers. He gives me a geography and history
lesson on Ghana, where he is originally from, though he hits me as being
culturally British by now. A few times he grabs my hand and then he starts
basically shoving his tongue down my face.
I'm completely taken aback. On the one hand, yeah, the guy is really
attractive. On the other, he just stepped way the Hell over my comfort
level. I make a comment about him being aggressive and say that I move a
lot slower than that. Although, really, he's freaked me out enough that I
don't have any interest in seeing this guy again. I quickly bow out and say
that I'm going to spend the rest of the day doing my own thing. He wants me
to come back to his apartment, just for a "quick one". And his lip starts
twitching as I repeatedly say "No", "Not interested", "I'm leaving now",
etc. He grabs my hand and walks with me to my tube station and then leaves.
I would've made a bigger scene, and become a lot angrier, but I was kind of
in shock, and have a tendency to underreact when I get that way.
Regardless, I made safe decisions, and got out of the situation and hid in
my hostel for several hours trying to figure out if this was a Culture
thing, or a British thing, or a European thing, or if I'd said anything at
all that might've indicated even a 1% sexual interest in this guy (nope.
Unless you count agreeing to meet to talk (I'd been clear with the "to talk"
in both the note with my email address and then our corresponding emails))
and eventually calmed down and got back out to enjoy London again.
Anecdote 05: The French Belgian.
I was walking along the Strand in London, and saw a very attractive black
man. I mean, this guy just utterly put Denzel Washington to shame. We both
smiled at each other. Several blocks on, I realized I'd been heading in the
wrong direction, which is very normal navigation procedure in London, which
actually has invisible warp gates that suddenly leap you half way across the
city into a quaint lane no near a metro station. So I turn around and head
back and I see the same guy again, and we both chuckle because it's now
obvious that I had no idea where I was confidently walking to a minute ago.
He falls into step with me, and starts talking with me. He's convinced (my
only guess is my the blue jeans - British women tend to dress in kind of a
weird combination of feminine conservative and crack whore that I can't
quite explain) that I'm French, but I tell him in French that I can't speak
a word of it. He tells me he's from Belgium. I've just come from Belgium
the day before, so I know then that he's likely to also speak Dutch, so I
also proceed to tell him in Dutch that I can't speak Dutch. I'm so useful!
;) He asks me where I'm going, and I say that I'm just doing my own thing,
enjoying some time alone. Subtle, right? This would work on any American,
I'm pretty sure.
He seems nice enough, but soon he's asking me out for a drink and he's still
walking with me which is starting to make me nervous, even though it's broad
daylight and we're in the middle of a very crowded public area. (I'm in no
fear of danger of him being a pickpocket or distractor for one because I
have everything that matters in my front pockets of jeans that require
jumping to get into, so I'm not going to miss noticing anything removed from
these pockets).
I say no. He asks me if this is because he's a stranger. I say yes, and
also I want to be alone today.
He says we should have coffee so I can get to know him better. I say no
thanks.
"You are a gorgeous woman," he says. "My English is not so good, but truly,
you are a stunning woman."
So, on the one hand, someone more attractive looking than Denzel Washington
has just told me I'm attractive, and I'm getting the impression that he's
sincere.
On the other hand, I want to be alone, and after the Culture experiment, I
don't feel like getting to know any more Europeans in pubs, thanks very
much. He keeps walking with me. Eventually, I realize I missed my turn to
get back to Covent Garden, and I stop and say, "I missed my street. I'm
going to head back. It was nice to talk to you. You have a nice day."
I could tell he was hurt. But, bless his heart, he went his own way and
didn't follow me, and left me alone. Which made me feel more like he was a
decent guy in a good mood and up for some flirting with an American girl in
a pub just for the heck of it, and I chose to remember it fondly that way.
I was very grateful for him respecting my wishes, again, which seems funny
to keep saying given that that is an expectation I absolutely have of
people.
Ancedote 06: Bench park guy #1
I'm sitting in Russell Square park in London, reading on a beautiful day, on
one of the park benches away from the main path but still in plain sight of
the whole park (it's less than a city block in size). An attractive young
black Londoner (probably 22 or 23) sits down next to me - on the other side
of the wrought iron partition that divides each of the benches into two
sections.
I keep reading. After a minute or two, he says that it's a beautiful day.
I take a moment before responding, without looking up from my book, "It
definitely is."
He asks me where I'm visiting from, because he hears my accent. I read on
for a moment, before very dramatically tearing my eyes away from the book to
glance at him and say, "The States." Then go right back to reading.
This kind of behaviour, really clear body language, etc., works ar least 75%
of the time on Americans, I think. More subtle body language, it depends on
the person. But really obvious things like the complete actions of "Hi, I'm
reading, and I don't want to talk" are generally understood in the USA.
"You are a lovely woman."
"Thank you."
"Would you like to go for a drink to the pub with me?"
"No thank you, but enjoy your evening!"
And he smiles at me, and gets up and leaves.
Anecodte 07: Bench park guy #2: Jonathan
I'm sitting on one of the park benches at Russell Square park again, in the
circle around the water fountain, and a white guy sits down next to me,
probably in his mid 20s. He fumbles with a variety of bags and eats a bunch
of different things. Lots of buttering, and pouring things into other
things, and peeling things. I read, and ignore him.
Eventually, he starts talking with me. I decide what the Hell, because at
this point I hadn't really talked to another human being in a few days, so I
put my book down and proceed to have a conversation with him.
His name is Jonathan and he's from California. He's in London on business.
He asks me where else I've been and I tell him. He asks me some questions
about Amsterdam and by being totally straightforward about what he's clearly
not willing to ask me (the Red Light District), I completely fluster the
guy. He changes the topic, and asks if there's any other day trip places
that I'd recommend. I recommend Bath, and explain some of what I liked
about the city.
Eventually, we trip on to the fact that he is, in fact, familiar with Taoism
and that he's actually been practicing Buddhism for a few years now. He
educates me on the concept of dharma (the belief in dharma, it turns out, is
implicit to how I think. Example: Rain is wet because wet is an intrinsic
property of rain. Those who don't believe in dharma might say, AHH! But if
you freeze the rain it is no longer wet. To which I would say, Duh, that's
called snow. Snow is frozen, which is an intrinsic property of snow. See?
;>) Anyway, we wind up having a really good conversation about Taoism and
Buddhism and eventually I really have to pee so I want to head back to the
hostel.
He, btw, also happens to be in the computer industry and has done the
classic thing of computer geek males everywhere of assuming that, because I
am also in the computer industry and have a whole other interest that is
similar to his, clearly I'm his soul mate. I'm really mean in responding to
the expression of this belief, because I think it's insulting to me. I know
I'm not the most common girl in the universe when it comes to some of my
geekier interests (especially outside of Seattle), but the assumption that
I'm ready to get married the second they are just annoys the shit out of me.
It's arrogant and insensitive, and while I do understand how tough it is on
geek guys to find women they can really relate to, ultimately, I'm looking
out for me. Anyway.
He wants my email address and my phone number and to get together when we
get back to the states. Knowing from a lot of recent experience that after
I get away from a situation, and away from the implicit kind of peer
pressure involved in simply being social with other human beings, I'm less
likely to want to share that kind of information, I insist that instead he
give me his email address and I tell him I'll think about contacting him,
but that I've discovered that I need time to think after meeting people,
away from them, before I can make a clear decision. He tries to argue this
down, but I'm firm.
I have his email address, but I'm not going to email him. After replaying
the whole conversation, he was too deep into the whole mindless-adoration
coupled with apologetic-for-speaking no-confidence category that I'd just be
exposing myself to someone who is socially retarded, and they have a higher
tendency of going stalker because they don't have some basic social
mechanisms in place to deal with interaction and rejection, etc. I have a
lot of stories behind why I believe this, but it would take too long to type
out! ;) So, for now, I may damn well be totally wrong, but it's the
conclusion I came to anyway.
Anecdote 08: Nibel
In Amsterdam, I frequented a wonderful Dutch bakery. Almost everytime I
went in, whether it was noon or 2am, the same Iraqi-Dutch man was almost
always there. On my last night in Amsterdam, I decided to actually talk
with him, and get his picture. We talked about his history (he's the guy
from Iraq I mentioned in an earlier story about my trip). Eventually he
said that if I came back to Amsterdam, I should stay with him to save money.
I said that that was very kind, but I like having my own personal space, so
no thanks. I figured that was the politest way to handle not wanting to
stay with a 35-40 year old male stranger.
I went to leave and he did the European cheek kissing thing. This alarms me
slightly as an uptight, sexually oppressed American, but I'd experienced
this 6-7 times before by now, so I handle it OK and do it the proper three
times, side to side to side. Then he hugs me and then he's suddenly not
letting go of me, keeps grabving my hands and grabbing me for another hug.
I keep trying to pull away and out of it, because I really don't like it,
but I've just had this really good conversation with an interesting human
being and I don't want to actually kick him in the balls. I eventually get
away, red in the face, very flustered, and more than a little uncomfortable.
And I don't know if what he was doing is normal for Iraqis or Europeans, or
specific to saying goodbye, or what. But it definitely wasn't normal or OK
for me.
Anecdote 09: Free massage
After a wonderful evening with Peter and Marijke, I'm heading along Dam
Straat back to my hostel. I'm finally feeling confident and comfortable
about the way European men have been checking me out over the last several
weeks because of a long, revealing talk with Marijke, so I'm more or less
strutting. My head is high, and I'm making good eye contact with the guys
who are checking me out that I think are also attractive. I pass a
restaurant and a waiter shouts to me, "Hey, come have a cappucino." I turn
and smile. "Some tea?" I grin and wink at him and keep on walking. From
behind me, I hear him call, "A free massage?"
I laugh, and head back to the hostel.
Anecdote 10: Dam Square guy #1
I'm sitting in Dam Square in Amsterdam, on the steps of one of the
monuments, where I've frequently spent immediately-post-sunset evenings
people watching and enjoying a Dutch soft-serve cone. I chose to sit
between a scattering of couples, feeling safer about this then putting my
back directly to a bunch of men and leaving space on either side for more to
crowd in around me.
Eventually, a (maybe middle eastern?) guy sits down just within the distance
that makes me a little uncomfortable, to my right. Not because it's too
close, but because it's too close relative to how much space he had
available to him. He's probably about 8 feet away from me.
I'm reading.
After awhile, he turns and is looking at me. He can see him in my
peripheral, but I ignore him.
Then, he starts speaking, very clearly to me. It's not in a language I even
recognize. I pretend I don't notice. This goes on for several minutes. He
tries changing his language, his tone, what he's saying, and his volume. He
leans in towards me several times.
I just keep ignoring him and eventually move to a spot right in front of two
Japanese-Dutch women.
Ancedote 11: Dam Square guy #2
That same evening, a white guy comes and sits down right on top of me. Well
not exactly, but he crouches so that he's only about an inch from me, and is
hugely invading my space in a way where i'm forced to acknowledge him.
"Do you speak English?" he asks. This is the opening line of all junkies in
Amsterdam which will result in being asked for money.
I stare at him. "Spreken Nederlands?" he tries again.
I keep staring. Now, I happen to have an English-text book in my damn hand,
but it doesn't occur to him to do that, or he may not be able to read
English. I'm totally pissed at his presumption to come speak to me like
this.
"You can't speak. OK. Sorry." And he leaves me alone.
Anecdote 12: Damrak Flood
Everytime I walked along Damrak in Amsterdam, an inordinate number of men
would do the European checking-out of me. See 03 for details.
Anecdote 13: Cook at my favourite Dutch restaurant
My favourite restaurant in Amsterdam, Hollands Restaurant just a block from
the Flying Pig Hostel, had a cook that I spoke to several times. He spoke
very little English and none of my other languages, so we had a big
communication barrier. The kitchen is upstairs, where the water closets are
also located, so sometimes I'd throw him a friendly high as I was heading
back downstairs.
At one point, he stopped me, as he had some free time, and tried to explain
to me what he liked about me. It was very clear that he thought my offset,
crooked dimple was charming. And he said that I was beautiful.
I was trying to ask if he'd ever been to den Haag before, because I was
planning to go there that day, and he thought I was asking him to join me
there after work, EEK!, which I quickly corrected. He hugged me one time in
all over our communication and was otherwise very sensitive to not
overtouching the American girl.
He was one of the only Europeans (Peter aside, who I know, but who is also
incredibly culturally sensitive) I ran into who really responded well to my
body language and was sensitive to it, and therefore wins a ton of points in
my books. He was a very charming man from Crete.
Anecdote 14: The Mediterranean Coffee Shop Boiz
There was a coffee shop just outside one of the hotels I'd stayed at in
Amsterdam (the Tourist Inn). Ever single time I walked past in, the boys
within would cat call me and invite me to join them. There were
consistently 3 or 4 that were always there, and I quickly came to recognize
them. I got everything from, "Come, have some coffee!" to "Join us,
beautiful woman!" to "Please, please, come sit for awhile and relax with
us!"
Depending on my mood, I either ignored them or smiled and waved them off.
Anecdote 15: The plethora of kissy dip shits
Dip shits strewn about all of Europe, in every damn city I was in, would see
me walking and start making kissing noises. I believe this is a French
thing - I know I ran into at least one verified-French who did it. The
French have several noises they make that grate on my nerves. This is one
of them.
Does that actual work to attract a woman's attention *anywhere*? That's how
I call a stray dog to me, gah.
Ancedote 16: Jerry, French dude on Bicycle
In Bruges, a very attractive part Phillipino guy on a bicycle passed me and
about fell of his bike looking back at me. Gorgeous guy. And my age. And
non-threatening enough that I smiled.
Anecdote 17: "How much?" Three goats and an oxen.
D and I were crossing a bridge in the Red Light District in Amsterdam, and
some white American male with a black shirt and baseball cap, in a thick and
breathy voice, leans into me and asks, "How much?"
D starts very loudly pointing out interesting things that are absolutely
anywhere this guy isn't, because this seems like less energy than pulling me
off of this poor kid as I pummel him into the ground. (I actually was
offended at his huge social faux pas and general ignorance, not so much the
implication). We later joked that my answer should've been, "Three goats
and an oxen."
Anecdote 18: The London Comedians.
I went to an amateur comedy club night at the Angel and Crown pub on St.
Martin's Lane in London during my last week in Europe. Before the show, I
wound up talking with several of the comedians, who were very curious about
my travel journal and my tiny little perfectly lined writing.
---------
And the whole time, in every single story, I kept hearing Chandra in my
head, saying "Men don't know how intimidating they are."
True to form, the best I can do with the assload of compliments that I don't
think were all entirely coincidental or a massive continental conspiracy, is
that some Europeans dig the American mutt look. ;) Thick skull, I know. I
recognize that I should be preening a bit more, but I'm pathologically dense
about this kind of thing.
In conclusion:
- Subtlety is lost on European men.
- European men are extremely aggressive.
- Being scoped out by someone in Europe should be flattering to the scopee
and a point of pride if the scopee's gf/bf/spouse/partner is with them
(which is the important lesson I learned from Marijke and Peter on my last
night in Amsterdam).
- British and American tourists in Europe become increasingly aggressive and
exploitative towards women (I didn't go into nearly enough detail here to
back this up, but I'd give it a 85% truth factor given various experiences I
had, and I think it has as much to do with lack of social laws and a
complete inability to be sensitive to simple cultural faux pas as anything
else, but that's a long conversation, feel free to ask in person
sometime...).
Note 2: metro = underground = tube = train (I noticed as I wrote that I
keep changing which one I use, which seemed like it could be confusing)
Anecdote 01: At the bus station
I'm at the Victoria bus ("coach" in England, heh) station, waiting to board
my bus to Bath. An extremely attractive Hispanic man is clearly tracking
me, and I'm in a good mood, so I'm spending part of my time tracking him
back and smiling, and part of my time trying to figure out where the Hell
the bus is because it's supposed to be leaving in 10 minutes (I have not yet
discovered that an efficient, ubiquitous public transit system implies that,
unlike the US, you don't have to be everywhere 45 minutes early to do
paperwork, transfer to a different bus because yours was cancelled, etc.)
The bus finally appears, he waves to me as I leave the station to get on the
bus outside, and I wink at him. He kind of reminds me of Jenner, one of my
favourite people, who is half Venezuelan. Jenner has permanently corrupted
me on well-built (tall, broad shoulders) short-haired Hispanic men. Sigh.
Anyway.
I sit down in the front seat of the bus, where I can see over the driver's
area and back into the terminal, where the guy is still watching me. He
notices that I've realized I can still see him, and starts signing to me,
trying to spell something out in the air. Still in a good mood, I figure
what the Hell, I have two minutes before the bus leaves, I'm in a public
place, so I go back out and he meets me halfway. After the initial
establishment of our nationalities (he's -- but living in Quebec and on
holiday in Europe) and first names, he tells me I should just stay in London
and spend some time with him. I laugh and tell him that, no, I'm going to
Bath.
He smiles, and tells me I'm very beautiful, and that truly, it would be a
lot of fun if I stayed.
I go to Bath.
Anecdote 02: Sikh on the metro.
I've left a bar that was playing mediocre music to hunt out a place some
guys told me about called FABRIC - a dance club made from an old underground
station. I hop on the metro and start following the directions I got from a
web site - I'm heading towards the Farringdon underground station. The
underground car is crowded, so I'm standing towards the back. Because I
knew I might go dancing that night, I'm wearing a small blank tanktop and
jeans - nothing too risque, just something that'll keep me from overheating
immediately.
A Sikh boards at one of the stops en route, and stands very near me at the
back of the car. A few other men also board. He smiles at me and I smile
back. He puts an arm above to grasp the rail overhead and leans in towards
me, effectively blocking me into the corner. I remind myself that most East
and Far East people have very different personal boundaries than I do and
keep breathing. "How are you?" he asks.
"Very good. And you?"
"I am good. Do you have plans for tonight?"
"Yep. I'm going to go dancing."
His eyes swing to me nervously a few times, and then he asks, "Would you
like to have some fun with me?"
As an American, this seems to me like the beginning of a business
transaction with a hooker, personally. "No, I'm going to a club to have fun
by myself."
"You are a very beautiful woman."
I imagine I snort or do something else that is typical of me when receiving
a compliment. Something involving mild dismay and suspicion.
"Truly, you are very beautiful woman! I am not just saying this."
"Well, thank you. You are also very handsome." I'm not into turbans or
bushy curling beards, but given that, he was, in fact, a very handsome man
and, I suspect, about my age, though the attire and facial hair made him
look older. I risk saying this because he sees more nervous than
aggressive, and I'm trying to get into the habit of letting people down
without actually shooting their knee caps off - traditionally, it doesn't
really occur to me that someone is getting up their nerve and asking me out.
Traditionally, I think they're trying to sucker me into something that would
lead to sexual violence. Also pretty American of me - possibly more middle
American. I'm deeply suspicious of strangers, and between news media around
age 14 and a based-on-life made-for-TV movie I saw where a girl was lured to
a guys van because he said she was beautiful and that he was a photographer
and wanted to take pictures of her and wound up kidnapping and repeatedly
raping her ... well, let's just say that I've come to understand that while
my cautiousness is well and good, it's not going to kill me to treat men
like human beings instead of universal rapists. So, digression aside...
"No. No... Do you think so?"
"Yes, I think so." And then I said something to him about confidence, I
don't remember what. I was in a philosophical mood.
At last, we arrive at Farringdon station, and I excuse myself to "alight at
the station", and he leans in and kisses me full on the lips.
I get off, and go to the club. He stays on the train, and I'm very grateful
for this. It made the whole kiss thing mildly flattering in a really weird
way, instead of hugely terrifying to me. It was still a little scary. I'm
glad he stayed on the train.
Anecdote 03: En route to FABRIC
It took me a few minutes to get the streets right and get to FABRIC from
Farringdon Station. I was the only woman on the crowded streets walking
unescorted. Some men walked unescorted, but no women. All women were with
other women or their date.
I passed by a bar, and a white British man of about 45-50 was standing
outside having a cigarette. I could see him checking me out in my
peripheral and just kept my eyes straight ahead. Being checked out by
Europeans is very different than being checked out by all but the most drunk
and belligerent Americans. Basically, they head to toe you slowly, and then
clearly undress you to their preferred level of clothing and then hold that
image in their head while continuing to stare, which will often include
bodily turning around as I pass to continue to stare. As an American, this
is unnerving and terrifying to me. I feel violated. And as more and more
men were doing this to me, I felt more and more afraid until I finally had a
long talk with Marijke and European men, which I'll get to much later on.
Anyway, as I pass this guy, he calls out to me and asks, "Will you come in
and have a drink with me before continuing on with your evening?"
"No thanks," say I and continue on.
Anecdote 04: Culture. At FABRIC.
I was at the dance club FABRIC in London, and I walked into the unisex
bathroom.
There was a gorgeous black man in there, clearly working, with his name tag
on. I never quite figured out his purpose, though I suspect it was a
multifunctional one involving throwing out people who were so drunk they
were vomitting, keeping people from having sex in the bathrooms, etc. As I
was attempting to wash my hands, I coudln't figure out how to make the sink
work. He stepped forward with an incredibly charming smile, and explained
that I had to clap my hands to make it come on. I kind of thought he was
kidding, but he gave me a reassuring smile so I did. The water came on.
The second time that night I visited the restroom, I realized that the damn
sink had foot pedals. Smart ass dude. So I flung water on him, and we
proceeded to shout at each other over the noise of the music for awhile. I
was very entertained by this guy and he asked if, since I was in London and
had some time on my ways, I wanted to get together for a drink or something
with him. This wasn't the first time a guy had approached me with this
invitation, and I handed had a chance to grill any London women to see if
this is completely normal, acceptable social behaviour in the city or not,
so I figured what the Hell, I'll try out the experiment.
I give him my email address on a piece of paper and write that maybe we
could get together on the upcoming Sunday. He emails me, we agree to meet
at the Globe bar across from one of the metro stations. I meet him there,
and he goes inside to buy me a beer, but I'm hugely cautious with strangers
and insist on buying the beer, and when he tries to grab it to carry to the
table, I insist on carrying it as well. The last thing I need is a rupee in
my beer, y'know? And I have no reason to trust this guy not to do that.
We head outside and enjoy our beers. He gives me a geography and history
lesson on Ghana, where he is originally from, though he hits me as being
culturally British by now. A few times he grabs my hand and then he starts
basically shoving his tongue down my face.
I'm completely taken aback. On the one hand, yeah, the guy is really
attractive. On the other, he just stepped way the Hell over my comfort
level. I make a comment about him being aggressive and say that I move a
lot slower than that. Although, really, he's freaked me out enough that I
don't have any interest in seeing this guy again. I quickly bow out and say
that I'm going to spend the rest of the day doing my own thing. He wants me
to come back to his apartment, just for a "quick one". And his lip starts
twitching as I repeatedly say "No", "Not interested", "I'm leaving now",
etc. He grabs my hand and walks with me to my tube station and then leaves.
I would've made a bigger scene, and become a lot angrier, but I was kind of
in shock, and have a tendency to underreact when I get that way.
Regardless, I made safe decisions, and got out of the situation and hid in
my hostel for several hours trying to figure out if this was a Culture
thing, or a British thing, or a European thing, or if I'd said anything at
all that might've indicated even a 1% sexual interest in this guy (nope.
Unless you count agreeing to meet to talk (I'd been clear with the "to talk"
in both the note with my email address and then our corresponding emails))
and eventually calmed down and got back out to enjoy London again.
Anecdote 05: The French Belgian.
I was walking along the Strand in London, and saw a very attractive black
man. I mean, this guy just utterly put Denzel Washington to shame. We both
smiled at each other. Several blocks on, I realized I'd been heading in the
wrong direction, which is very normal navigation procedure in London, which
actually has invisible warp gates that suddenly leap you half way across the
city into a quaint lane no near a metro station. So I turn around and head
back and I see the same guy again, and we both chuckle because it's now
obvious that I had no idea where I was confidently walking to a minute ago.
He falls into step with me, and starts talking with me. He's convinced (my
only guess is my the blue jeans - British women tend to dress in kind of a
weird combination of feminine conservative and crack whore that I can't
quite explain) that I'm French, but I tell him in French that I can't speak
a word of it. He tells me he's from Belgium. I've just come from Belgium
the day before, so I know then that he's likely to also speak Dutch, so I
also proceed to tell him in Dutch that I can't speak Dutch. I'm so useful!
;) He asks me where I'm going, and I say that I'm just doing my own thing,
enjoying some time alone. Subtle, right? This would work on any American,
I'm pretty sure.
He seems nice enough, but soon he's asking me out for a drink and he's still
walking with me which is starting to make me nervous, even though it's broad
daylight and we're in the middle of a very crowded public area. (I'm in no
fear of danger of him being a pickpocket or distractor for one because I
have everything that matters in my front pockets of jeans that require
jumping to get into, so I'm not going to miss noticing anything removed from
these pockets).
I say no. He asks me if this is because he's a stranger. I say yes, and
also I want to be alone today.
He says we should have coffee so I can get to know him better. I say no
thanks.
"You are a gorgeous woman," he says. "My English is not so good, but truly,
you are a stunning woman."
So, on the one hand, someone more attractive looking than Denzel Washington
has just told me I'm attractive, and I'm getting the impression that he's
sincere.
On the other hand, I want to be alone, and after the Culture experiment, I
don't feel like getting to know any more Europeans in pubs, thanks very
much. He keeps walking with me. Eventually, I realize I missed my turn to
get back to Covent Garden, and I stop and say, "I missed my street. I'm
going to head back. It was nice to talk to you. You have a nice day."
I could tell he was hurt. But, bless his heart, he went his own way and
didn't follow me, and left me alone. Which made me feel more like he was a
decent guy in a good mood and up for some flirting with an American girl in
a pub just for the heck of it, and I chose to remember it fondly that way.
I was very grateful for him respecting my wishes, again, which seems funny
to keep saying given that that is an expectation I absolutely have of
people.
Ancedote 06: Bench park guy #1
I'm sitting in Russell Square park in London, reading on a beautiful day, on
one of the park benches away from the main path but still in plain sight of
the whole park (it's less than a city block in size). An attractive young
black Londoner (probably 22 or 23) sits down next to me - on the other side
of the wrought iron partition that divides each of the benches into two
sections.
I keep reading. After a minute or two, he says that it's a beautiful day.
I take a moment before responding, without looking up from my book, "It
definitely is."
He asks me where I'm visiting from, because he hears my accent. I read on
for a moment, before very dramatically tearing my eyes away from the book to
glance at him and say, "The States." Then go right back to reading.
This kind of behaviour, really clear body language, etc., works ar least 75%
of the time on Americans, I think. More subtle body language, it depends on
the person. But really obvious things like the complete actions of "Hi, I'm
reading, and I don't want to talk" are generally understood in the USA.
"You are a lovely woman."
"Thank you."
"Would you like to go for a drink to the pub with me?"
"No thank you, but enjoy your evening!"
And he smiles at me, and gets up and leaves.
Anecodte 07: Bench park guy #2: Jonathan
I'm sitting on one of the park benches at Russell Square park again, in the
circle around the water fountain, and a white guy sits down next to me,
probably in his mid 20s. He fumbles with a variety of bags and eats a bunch
of different things. Lots of buttering, and pouring things into other
things, and peeling things. I read, and ignore him.
Eventually, he starts talking with me. I decide what the Hell, because at
this point I hadn't really talked to another human being in a few days, so I
put my book down and proceed to have a conversation with him.
His name is Jonathan and he's from California. He's in London on business.
He asks me where else I've been and I tell him. He asks me some questions
about Amsterdam and by being totally straightforward about what he's clearly
not willing to ask me (the Red Light District), I completely fluster the
guy. He changes the topic, and asks if there's any other day trip places
that I'd recommend. I recommend Bath, and explain some of what I liked
about the city.
Eventually, we trip on to the fact that he is, in fact, familiar with Taoism
and that he's actually been practicing Buddhism for a few years now. He
educates me on the concept of dharma (the belief in dharma, it turns out, is
implicit to how I think. Example: Rain is wet because wet is an intrinsic
property of rain. Those who don't believe in dharma might say, AHH! But if
you freeze the rain it is no longer wet. To which I would say, Duh, that's
called snow. Snow is frozen, which is an intrinsic property of snow. See?
;>) Anyway, we wind up having a really good conversation about Taoism and
Buddhism and eventually I really have to pee so I want to head back to the
hostel.
He, btw, also happens to be in the computer industry and has done the
classic thing of computer geek males everywhere of assuming that, because I
am also in the computer industry and have a whole other interest that is
similar to his, clearly I'm his soul mate. I'm really mean in responding to
the expression of this belief, because I think it's insulting to me. I know
I'm not the most common girl in the universe when it comes to some of my
geekier interests (especially outside of Seattle), but the assumption that
I'm ready to get married the second they are just annoys the shit out of me.
It's arrogant and insensitive, and while I do understand how tough it is on
geek guys to find women they can really relate to, ultimately, I'm looking
out for me. Anyway.
He wants my email address and my phone number and to get together when we
get back to the states. Knowing from a lot of recent experience that after
I get away from a situation, and away from the implicit kind of peer
pressure involved in simply being social with other human beings, I'm less
likely to want to share that kind of information, I insist that instead he
give me his email address and I tell him I'll think about contacting him,
but that I've discovered that I need time to think after meeting people,
away from them, before I can make a clear decision. He tries to argue this
down, but I'm firm.
I have his email address, but I'm not going to email him. After replaying
the whole conversation, he was too deep into the whole mindless-adoration
coupled with apologetic-for-speaking no-confidence category that I'd just be
exposing myself to someone who is socially retarded, and they have a higher
tendency of going stalker because they don't have some basic social
mechanisms in place to deal with interaction and rejection, etc. I have a
lot of stories behind why I believe this, but it would take too long to type
out! ;) So, for now, I may damn well be totally wrong, but it's the
conclusion I came to anyway.
Anecdote 08: Nibel
In Amsterdam, I frequented a wonderful Dutch bakery. Almost everytime I
went in, whether it was noon or 2am, the same Iraqi-Dutch man was almost
always there. On my last night in Amsterdam, I decided to actually talk
with him, and get his picture. We talked about his history (he's the guy
from Iraq I mentioned in an earlier story about my trip). Eventually he
said that if I came back to Amsterdam, I should stay with him to save money.
I said that that was very kind, but I like having my own personal space, so
no thanks. I figured that was the politest way to handle not wanting to
stay with a 35-40 year old male stranger.
I went to leave and he did the European cheek kissing thing. This alarms me
slightly as an uptight, sexually oppressed American, but I'd experienced
this 6-7 times before by now, so I handle it OK and do it the proper three
times, side to side to side. Then he hugs me and then he's suddenly not
letting go of me, keeps grabving my hands and grabbing me for another hug.
I keep trying to pull away and out of it, because I really don't like it,
but I've just had this really good conversation with an interesting human
being and I don't want to actually kick him in the balls. I eventually get
away, red in the face, very flustered, and more than a little uncomfortable.
And I don't know if what he was doing is normal for Iraqis or Europeans, or
specific to saying goodbye, or what. But it definitely wasn't normal or OK
for me.
Anecdote 09: Free massage
After a wonderful evening with Peter and Marijke, I'm heading along Dam
Straat back to my hostel. I'm finally feeling confident and comfortable
about the way European men have been checking me out over the last several
weeks because of a long, revealing talk with Marijke, so I'm more or less
strutting. My head is high, and I'm making good eye contact with the guys
who are checking me out that I think are also attractive. I pass a
restaurant and a waiter shouts to me, "Hey, come have a cappucino." I turn
and smile. "Some tea?" I grin and wink at him and keep on walking. From
behind me, I hear him call, "A free massage?"
I laugh, and head back to the hostel.
Anecdote 10: Dam Square guy #1
I'm sitting in Dam Square in Amsterdam, on the steps of one of the
monuments, where I've frequently spent immediately-post-sunset evenings
people watching and enjoying a Dutch soft-serve cone. I chose to sit
between a scattering of couples, feeling safer about this then putting my
back directly to a bunch of men and leaving space on either side for more to
crowd in around me.
Eventually, a (maybe middle eastern?) guy sits down just within the distance
that makes me a little uncomfortable, to my right. Not because it's too
close, but because it's too close relative to how much space he had
available to him. He's probably about 8 feet away from me.
I'm reading.
After awhile, he turns and is looking at me. He can see him in my
peripheral, but I ignore him.
Then, he starts speaking, very clearly to me. It's not in a language I even
recognize. I pretend I don't notice. This goes on for several minutes. He
tries changing his language, his tone, what he's saying, and his volume. He
leans in towards me several times.
I just keep ignoring him and eventually move to a spot right in front of two
Japanese-Dutch women.
Ancedote 11: Dam Square guy #2
That same evening, a white guy comes and sits down right on top of me. Well
not exactly, but he crouches so that he's only about an inch from me, and is
hugely invading my space in a way where i'm forced to acknowledge him.
"Do you speak English?" he asks. This is the opening line of all junkies in
Amsterdam which will result in being asked for money.
I stare at him. "Spreken Nederlands?" he tries again.
I keep staring. Now, I happen to have an English-text book in my damn hand,
but it doesn't occur to him to do that, or he may not be able to read
English. I'm totally pissed at his presumption to come speak to me like
this.
"You can't speak. OK. Sorry." And he leaves me alone.
Anecdote 12: Damrak Flood
Everytime I walked along Damrak in Amsterdam, an inordinate number of men
would do the European checking-out of me. See 03 for details.
Anecdote 13: Cook at my favourite Dutch restaurant
My favourite restaurant in Amsterdam, Hollands Restaurant just a block from
the Flying Pig Hostel, had a cook that I spoke to several times. He spoke
very little English and none of my other languages, so we had a big
communication barrier. The kitchen is upstairs, where the water closets are
also located, so sometimes I'd throw him a friendly high as I was heading
back downstairs.
At one point, he stopped me, as he had some free time, and tried to explain
to me what he liked about me. It was very clear that he thought my offset,
crooked dimple was charming. And he said that I was beautiful.
I was trying to ask if he'd ever been to den Haag before, because I was
planning to go there that day, and he thought I was asking him to join me
there after work, EEK!, which I quickly corrected. He hugged me one time in
all over our communication and was otherwise very sensitive to not
overtouching the American girl.
He was one of the only Europeans (Peter aside, who I know, but who is also
incredibly culturally sensitive) I ran into who really responded well to my
body language and was sensitive to it, and therefore wins a ton of points in
my books. He was a very charming man from Crete.
Anecdote 14: The Mediterranean Coffee Shop Boiz
There was a coffee shop just outside one of the hotels I'd stayed at in
Amsterdam (the Tourist Inn). Ever single time I walked past in, the boys
within would cat call me and invite me to join them. There were
consistently 3 or 4 that were always there, and I quickly came to recognize
them. I got everything from, "Come, have some coffee!" to "Join us,
beautiful woman!" to "Please, please, come sit for awhile and relax with
us!"
Depending on my mood, I either ignored them or smiled and waved them off.
Anecdote 15: The plethora of kissy dip shits
Dip shits strewn about all of Europe, in every damn city I was in, would see
me walking and start making kissing noises. I believe this is a French
thing - I know I ran into at least one verified-French who did it. The
French have several noises they make that grate on my nerves. This is one
of them.
Does that actual work to attract a woman's attention *anywhere*? That's how
I call a stray dog to me, gah.
Ancedote 16: Jerry, French dude on Bicycle
In Bruges, a very attractive part Phillipino guy on a bicycle passed me and
about fell of his bike looking back at me. Gorgeous guy. And my age. And
non-threatening enough that I smiled.
Anecdote 17: "How much?" Three goats and an oxen.
D and I were crossing a bridge in the Red Light District in Amsterdam, and
some white American male with a black shirt and baseball cap, in a thick and
breathy voice, leans into me and asks, "How much?"
D starts very loudly pointing out interesting things that are absolutely
anywhere this guy isn't, because this seems like less energy than pulling me
off of this poor kid as I pummel him into the ground. (I actually was
offended at his huge social faux pas and general ignorance, not so much the
implication). We later joked that my answer should've been, "Three goats
and an oxen."
Anecdote 18: The London Comedians.
I went to an amateur comedy club night at the Angel and Crown pub on St.
Martin's Lane in London during my last week in Europe. Before the show, I
wound up talking with several of the comedians, who were very curious about
my travel journal and my tiny little perfectly lined writing.
---------
And the whole time, in every single story, I kept hearing Chandra in my
head, saying "Men don't know how intimidating they are."
True to form, the best I can do with the assload of compliments that I don't
think were all entirely coincidental or a massive continental conspiracy, is
that some Europeans dig the American mutt look. ;) Thick skull, I know. I
recognize that I should be preening a bit more, but I'm pathologically dense
about this kind of thing.
In conclusion:
- Subtlety is lost on European men.
- European men are extremely aggressive.
- Being scoped out by someone in Europe should be flattering to the scopee
and a point of pride if the scopee's gf/bf/spouse/partner is with them
(which is the important lesson I learned from Marijke and Peter on my last
night in Amsterdam).
- British and American tourists in Europe become increasingly aggressive and
exploitative towards women (I didn't go into nearly enough detail here to
back this up, but I'd give it a 85% truth factor given various experiences I
had, and I think it has as much to do with lack of social laws and a
complete inability to be sensitive to simple cultural faux pas as anything
else, but that's a long conversation, feel free to ask in person
sometime...).