Hook, Line & Sinker – The Canadian

I am rarely surprised or impressed by anyone. Whether it’s due to my travels, my pessimism my experiences or knowing a lot of crazy people – I tend to read people pretty well and without (much) emotion. I went to Europe with no expectations, just to have a good time. I had been trying to write this story for weeks, constantly figuring out how much is too much? It became a running joke, a romantic comedy script. An impossible scenario in a day and age where it's absolutely possible.

The first time I saw the Canadian was at a train station in London. As I was trying to figure out who the hell my tour group was, I noticed a tall guy standing next to me wearing a backpacking bag and the same bored yet confused expression on his face that I sported. He looked like he might be with the group so I just bombarded him, “Hey, are you with this tour group?” Bright blue eyes and an amused smirk met my gaze, “Yeah, shouldn’t there be a sign?” His voice was calm, but with an underlying edge of finding something amusing about the situation – I liked him immediately and decided this was going to be my trip friend. “Yeah really, no sign and bunch of people looking confused. Fuck it, do you want to grab some coffee?” I asked him in my take-charge American tourist voice. I was rewarded with a huge smile “great idea!”, so we took off to grab coffee. We seemed to have some things in common (especially poking fun at our country stereotypes and boring jobs) and did the same eye roll when our adorable but neer-do-well tour guide showed up 45 minutes late and looking like she just left a Motley Crue concert.

"You got a tour group to run baby?"

As we were cruising to grab snacks for the train ride to Paris, I had to do my allergy disclaimer, “fair warning, I’m one of those weirdos with a bunch of food allergies so if you want to judge me, go ahead”. He smirked casually, “oh, which ones?” I started my list: “eggs, dairy, gluten, wheat..” He stopped walking, staring at me like I had given him a gift, “I have those allergies too!” I grinned way too excitedly at someone’s misfortunate at only being able to eat like 9% of the world’s available food. I’d never met anyone that was a food weirdo like me, “well, that settles it – I guess we have to get married then”, I said with a laugh. “Yeah, guess so” he responded with a laugh of his own. Later on the train, the other Americans decided to do that roundabout question thing where they asked everyone their ages. I figured I was the oldest but not by that much. Everyone seemed surprised at how old I was (they kindly guessed a lot younger) but no one was more shocked than I was to discover the Canadian was almost a decade younger than me: “you’ve got to be shitting me!? Seriously?” I couldn’t hide my shock and immediately brushed any sexy thoughts away as we all laughed at my reaction.

That was the next 8 days for the Canadian and I – laughing, making fun of life, ourselves, our trip mates, drinking with our new friends, seeing Europe, getting to know each other’s views on life, dating, work, the world. Bailing on the group at the Eiffel Tower because we wanted to drink a bottle of wine and talk about travelling. Stumbling drunk with our trip friends back to train station in Milan. Wandering into the “real-life Tinder” that is the Balmers Hostel in Interlaken, Switzerland. Pushing past my mild fear of heights to go hang-gliding (fucking awesome by the way…even though it turned out later that the Canadian’s guide said that the conditions sucked and we shouldn’t have gone…oops). 

Taking the tour bus around in Rome and making fun of tourists. Continuing our running joke to get married so I could get Canadian citizenship in exchange for various, random favors. It was a great time, I didn’t realize until later that it was because I had the Canadian next to me the whole time.

I thought I had found a friend, I realized I may have found more on a Tuesday morning in Interlaken. I suggested we walk to the beach, instead we ended up lost in the border town by the freeway and laughing at our inability to read a map in three different languages. Normally, I’d be irritated – this time we just laughed and joked and used our detective work to find a bar where we sat outside and talked for hours about the things that matter, personal things. I didn’t feel like an uptight bitch when we were together, I felt funny and capable and interesting. I was being constantly surprised that someone so young had his shit together – so much more than 95% of the men my age. He wasn’t arrogant about his success, seemed bored by it in the same way I was. As we sat outside in that Interlaken café, I thought I had found someone who I didn’t think I’d ever get bored of, who I wanted to know more about, who I wanted to kiss for the rest of the afternoon. But what could I do? This man lived 3000 miles away, was a decade younger and…and...what? I stopped thinking after that.

Too soon the Canadian’s time with the group was over. We sat next to each other against the wall in the train station in Rome, not quite sure how to say goodbye and honestly not wanting to. It wasn’t romantic, it was sad. What can you say? What the hell can you do? What can you offer? I honestly don’t remember what I said while I hugged him goodbye but I do remember when I knew what I would do. So I pulled back and kissed him, so he knew he meant something to me - distance be damned. Anyone watching just saw two people kissing in a train station like in any cheesy romantic movie. Both of us looked dumbfounded - he recovered first, “why didn’t you do that in Switzerland!?!” he said with panic. I laughed, “Me? Why didn’t YOU do that in Switzerland!?!” That started a daily conversation that felt like one long date. The rest of the trip seemed dull without his sarcastic wit and humor. He sent me champagne for my birthday in France, I considered bailing to fly to Toronto every day. We talked daily, shared our lives, the adventures with our friends, our misadventures with work. I helped him with trivia, he schooled me in hockey. I was finally able to get a flight to see him – 6 weeks after we met. I didn’t feel the need to date anyone here – I was excited about the prospect of someone who seemed just as excited about me. If he was willing, I wanted to see where this went, surprising myself that I was able to break so many of my own self-imposed rules about dating. That maybe I was wrong about all of the dating advice I was giving? That maybe this could grow into something?

One Sunday, I knew in my gut something was off. Little tip guys – if you’re a frequent, verbally verbose texter who goes to single words and smaller sentences, we know something is up. Please don’t lie, it insults our intelligence. I was saddened but not entirely surprised to get the text telling me that he decided to pursue something local that he thought had fizzled out. I had to read it numerous times – this man who I thought was sincere, who was so excited for me to come visit even days before, who treated me with adoration and respect had just told me that I wasn’t worth the wait. That things “just happened”. I’m many things, strong-willed, bitchy, loud but stupid isn’t one of them. Things don’t just happen, we allow them to happen. We make choices that we think are best for us. Just as I made a choice – I chose to believe the feelings and actions of a man I considered my equal. I gambled and I lost. He seemed remorseful and I’m choosing to believe he didn’t mean to hurt me, “Do I risk something I might have here for a girl I never see?” he asked. I couldn’t answer that for him. A woman you can touch will always take precedence over one you cannot – no matter how much of a connection you think you have. I just wish I was given the chance to try.

I know what you’re saying, “what the hell? You knew this would never work! Where’s your fucking head?” I saw two people who were willing to try and that was enough of a start for me. I’m not mad at him, I can’t be. If you care about someone, why would you step in the way of their happiness? So I did something I’m not known for - I took the high road. I expressed my sadness and hope that he finds love but there’s nothing to learn when someone leaves you for doing nothing wrong.

The night before he left we spoke of love. He said he wasn’t sure if he had ever felt it, I told him that, “you’ll know if you’re in love” and he will. My failing in this was allowing myself to entertain the idea that one day I could be with this one. And even though this has a sad ending, he was still my favorite part about that trip and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. So thank you Canadian, for all things but especially for helping me get my voice back here.

Retour a la planche a dessin….