"I never travel without my diary. One should always have
something sensational to read in the train." Oscar Wilde
Michelle, my best friend and I are sitting on the back steps enjoying the spring sun, dipping our lick ‘em sticks in unidentifiable purple powder. I wipe powder off my cheeks, lick my fingers and wipe them on my pants. “I think I’ve decided to get married when I’m twenty three.” I announce. Michelle nods like this is a smart decision. “I’m nine now, and I’ll graduate from high school when I’m eighteen. Then I’ll go to college for a few years, meet a good man and marry him when I’m twenty three. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get married really young.” I’m wise at nine years old.
“I want a big family.” Michelle adds. “At least six or seven kids. And at least one set of twins.” I nod in agreement, showing her my approval, though I really I think her plan is ridiculous. I mean, who can plan on twins?
I’m happy to report Michelle did have a big family of six or seven kids, and she did have one set of twins. Sadly, she lost her oldest to Leukemia, but apparently went on to have two more. We’ve lost touch. My mother heard the news and filled me in. I on the other hand, never did get married at twenty three. -Nor twenty-eight nor thirty-three. But I don’t regret being wrong at nine.
Here are a few of my own personal experiences of love, marriage and relationships abroad over the years.
SHANGHAI, CHINA
“So when are you getting married?” I ask my Chinese friend. “2008! She replies happily. “Really?” this is news to me. “Did you find someone? Or did your parents find someone for you?” “No no,” She answers. “I haven’t found anyone suitable yet. But I’ll get married 2008. It’s important to have a goal, Melanie.”
INDIA: SHARING A BOOTH ON A 3RD CLASS TRAIN THROUGH RAJASTHAN WITH A GROUP OF TWENTY SOMETHING YEAR OLD INDIAN MEN
“Are you married?” The one with the best English asked, encouraged by his four best friends with large unblinking inquisitive eyes.” “Yes.” My sister lied confidently. “I’m married.” It sounded so weird. Early in our travels we hadn’t put much thought into our fictitious husbands.
“What is your husband’s good name, Madame?” Ooooh. We hadn’t thought that far ahead. We thought the answer would have been enough. “”My husband???” Ummm ummm…” Rene blanked. It was painfully funny. Her husband had no name. “Why do you want to know my husband’s name?” Nice try at a save. I muffled giggles. “I am only trying to determine if your husband is a good match for you, but I can see you are ashamed by your love marriage.”
“Robert!” Rene snaps; “my husband’s name is Robert!” After a few hours of constant drilling about our marriages, the boys arrived at their station and we continued our journey on to Udaipur.
“You’re married to DAD?” I shriek. “I can’t believe the only name you came up with was Dad’s. Not Russell Crowe or Brad Pitt- not someone famous and gorgeous, but DAD.” “What can I say?” Rene shrugged and laughed. “I blanked!”
CANADA: GROUP OF KOREAN STUDENTS I WAS TEACHING
“Melanie! We want to see if you suitable for marriage.” I laughed. “And how do you propose we find out?”
“Put your hands together like this: palm up, little finger together. Ohhhhhh. Very interesting.” “What? What’s the answer? Suitable or not?”
“Very suitable. Can you see half moon line? One that go up between middle finger and pointing finger? If it make half moon across two hands you are good marriage partner.” “Really. I wonder what my boyfriend’s hands look like.” “We check him already. No good. His line terrible. He is no future!”
EGYPT: SINAI DESERT, CURRENCY EXCHANGE OFFICE
We left Cairo in such a hurry that I forgot to change money. Though I probably wouldn’t be spending a lot climbing Mount Sinai and visiting the Monastery of St. Catherine’s, I stepped into a very dusty office which sheltered two chairs, two desks and some very Taliban looking men. One clerk shuffled through my passport and traveller’s cheques while the other stared hard at me from across the room, and I have to say it was a little uncomfortable being the object of his gaze. I checked my clothes. Everything covered. Had I done something? Why was he looking at me that way? Why hadn’t he found something to do?
Finally, the Staring Man muttered something to the clerk, and the clerk put everything down and looked at me. “Are you married?” He asked. I tried to see if that information was written on my passport clutched in his hand. Thinking it had something to do with cashing my travellers’ cheques, I answered truthfully. “My friend here would like to know if your father will allow him to marry you.” I looked over at Staring Man, who, without changing the hard gaze nodded vigorously. “I’m engaged.” I lied. This was translated to Staring Man who shrugged and went back to work staring harshly at the papers in front of him.
INDIA, UDAIPUR, LIVING ROOM FOR THE SPICE BROTHERS COOKING CLASS
“What do you as Canadians think about arranged marriage? You must think it’s terrible.” Spice Man sits on his couch, hands clasped in his lap. We’ve just finished an all day cooking class and this was the after dinner conversation. We glance at each other. What do we say? I’ve never really formulated an opinion on arranged marriage and I bet this guy is biased. “We really know nothing about it. Fill us in!”
“Did you see my wife? I love her very much now, and we have two beautiful children. But when we got married, I only liked her. My family chose her, and I spent a lot of time with her, and I decided she would be a suitable wife and mother so we got married. And now I love her more than anything.”
“It’s important that the family chooses a wife for you. They know you well, and they know what kind of person is suitable to your personality -even better than you do. Of course your family won’t choose someone unsuitable- they want you to be happy, but moreover, they also have to live with this person. So really it’s a family decision. If I bring someone in to our home that my parents or brothers don’t approve of, Ooohhhh imagine the quarreling -and me in the middle!”
Spice Man leans forward. “Can I ask you a question? Why are you two girls not married? You are getting old. What is the problem?” Rene answers. “It’s hard for us to find people we connect well with.” Spice Man chuckles. “I will never understand you people in the west. I met two girls before I was married and I chose the second one and we are happy and in love. You people have so much access to the other sex yet you are still so lonely and challenged at finding suitable partners and making marriages last!”
JORDAN: WADI RUM DESERT
We waited patiently in the family living room for our guide who was busy collecting things we would need for our two nights camping in Wadi Rum, the desert that the real Lawrence of Arabia made his home and the place where the movie was filmed.
Our guide, a quiet tall lanky fellow named Abdullah answered the door to a tall beefy light skinned cousin with crystal blue eyes. He glided across the room in his crisp clean galabeyah and arranged himself artfully, reclining across the couch directly in front of us, never breaking his gaze.“Salaam aleykum” he mustered his most seductive soap opera look. “My name is Mohammad, and I am a real Bedouin, rising from the deserts of Jordan.” He breathed.
Silence. Then Rene retorted straight faced. “Good Evening. I am Rene and this is my sister Melanie. We are real Canadians from the country of… well, Canada.” Poor guy looked so confused as we doubled over in laughter. That’s the best thing about traveling with a sister. We have the same humour so we both think one another is devastatingly hilarious.
Later, Mohammad rode along with Abdullah in the front of the jeep us in the back out in to the beautiful desert full of incredible stars. Wow- magical and indescribable. Like the crisp clear nights you see on the greeting cards of the three wise men in search of baby Jesus. Except it was blow-dryer warm and deafeningly quiet. We must have been ten kilometers from civilization-so far we could no longer see the lights from anywhere. There was no moon at all.
“I love the stars,” Mohammad crooned, again, artfully arranged next to the quick fire Abdullah lit to heat up the tea pot. He edged a little closer to Rene who had been on to him from the moment we left civilization. “Yes, so does Melanie’s husband. He is soo intelligent, he knows everything about constellations and astronomy. He is amazing.”
“Oh Rene, Please!” I mused, “Your husband is the one who knows everything about the sea! When we go snorkeling, he can name every fish, and knows which ones are poisonous and which ones are safe. Once, he swam next to a shark in the wild! Oh he is so brave! You are a lucky woman, Rene.”
“Oh but Melanie your husband- “Mohammad stood up. “I see I have been mistaken about you ladies. Enjoy your husbands and be good wives. Have a good night.” He promptly turned and walked over the sand dune into the black night, never to be seen by us again.
HAVANA CUBA, STROLLING ALONG THE MALECON WITH AN ITALIAN I MET IN THE NECROPOLIS
We were perched on top of the wall dividing the road from the sea, chatting away about life, love, travels, past relationships etc. watching Cuban lovers wander arm in arm down the street. Massimo was listening to me with that attentive look that means “I’m waiting for my chance to kiss you. Just shut up and turn your head a little to the right and it’s done.” I kept talking, head down, twirling the toes of my shoes..
A Cuban man approached us. I admit, I’d seen shabbier. This one had been drinking and had freshly shined shoes. “Give me some money, my foreign friends. Buy a poor Cuban some dinner.” Massimo looked at me. He spoke Italian, not Spanish. I didn’t need to say anything, Massimo figured it out. He spoke to the beggar in English, “Here. I am leaving for Italy tomorrow and I have a pocket full of Cuban Sols. Take them.” I translated.
The beggar looked at the coins and asked Massimo for American dollars. He even reached over to pat Massimo’s pants and said, “Cmon, Gringo. I see a fat wallet. Give me some green bills.” Massimo looked mortified. I stepped in and told him in Spanish, ‘Look, if you need money and can be choosy about which currency to beg in, I don’t think you need the money. Take the sols. There is more than enough for you to eat a good meal in Havana.”
The beggar gave me a dirty look and took the coins in his hand. He walked a few feet down the Malecon then turned, raising his fist full of coins in the air. “Hey! Gringos! This is for LOVE!” he shouted and threw the coins into the ocean.
“That is sooo bad.” Massimo looked deflated. “Yes,” I agreed. “There are Cubans out there who could have used that money for a good meal tonight.”
“No, you don’t understand. He cursed love and I’m Italian.”
MEXICO: CANCUN AIRPORT
Did you pack this luggage yourself or did your boyfriend help you?” The inspector asked, lifting my underwear up by a finger for all to see. Good thing it was clean. I joined in with the giggles. “Of course!” I answered, shoving my underwear back into the bag much to the delight of the inspection staff. “Is that guy your boyfriend?” pointing at some stranger in the airport.” “Umm no.” “Are you married?” Sigh. The question. I’m too old to lie and I no longer care.
“No, Im not.” “Wanna marry me? I like your Spanish. It’s cute.” More giggles. He’s smirking. Still poking around my dirty clothes and castanettes. “hmmm, Are you rich?” I asked. “Yes. The airport pays me well. I’m a very rich man. Do you think I’m handsome? How about it?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a big decision.” I say, zipping up my bag and picking up my ticket for Denver, Colorado. “How about I think about it overnight and tell you tomorrow. Will you still be here?” I smile. “Of course, Mi Vida. I’ll be waiting. Have a nice trip.”
In Jaisalmer, India, Rene made a good friend in a man who owned a little store inside the fort. They shared the Times of India- hard to get way out there near the border of Pakistan. They had a deal that the man would read the newspaper first and sell it half price to Rene, when she remembered to bring money. Often she got the paper for free.
We had fun reading the matrimonial section. “Read this one! Walks with a limp but has a big heart! Or this one- one glass eye, hardly noticeable! This one is looking for a God fearing spinster under the age of twenty-five!” We took turns trying to find the funniest ones and we cut and pasted them into our scrap books.
Sometimes I think if I ever become desperate to settle down, I should put my own ad in the Times of India. I’m sure “One-Glass-Eye-Hardly-Noticeable” has found love by now. This is what my ad would most likely look like:
“Alliance invited for unemployed Shanghai-based spinster. Holds two useless university degrees but cute and marginally funny. Age 33 Ht: 5Ft 1 wght: 52 Kgs. Caste: once when I fell off a fire escape. Cut it off with a steak knife when it got too itchy. No debts but relationship-challenged. Looking for rich man to fund solo travels and yoga passes. No need to shower me with photos- just love and attention.”
Of course I could never put an ad in for myself, so I asked my parents to write one for amusement. My Dad wrote this one:
Wanted: a man, any man, to provide grandchildren for rich parents in Canada. Daughter is short, stubborn, and hard to please. Ran off to China and left aging parents to fend for themselves, Can't even convince a bicycle to hang around more than a month. But we love her. Possibly with a population the size of China's someone else will too.