06.02.2012
AIRMAIL
The world’s... Most bizarre courtship rituals When it comes to dating, while Barbie and Ken across the pond enthusiastically embrace the ‘pizza and a movie’ combo night, us Brits have a more awkward approach to dating, usually fuelled by over-indulgence of alcohol and the subsequent loss of inhibition. With Valentine’s fast approaching, it’s time to set things right. Experiment with these international courtship rituals and you’ll be at the top of the food chain in no time. Firstly, how to catch your date - quite literally. With our fast-paced lifestyles, why beat around the bush? The gypsy ritual of ‘grabbing’ could suit the more assertive alpha males among us, and those who enjoy the thrill of an actual chase. As gypsy girls are not allowed to date, they are literally hunted and manhandled for up to three days, and on successful ‘grabbing’, the man keeps his prize. Kidnapping and sexual harassment - seems legit. Next thing to worry about is the Valentine’s Day gift. Ladies, we all know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but ditch the chocolates and offer apples à la sweat instead. In rural Austria, it was customary at dances for young girls to boogie with apple slices lodged under their armpits. At the end
Photo of the fortnight
‘First date’ Millie Stott: Madrid (Retiro Park), Spain
This photo was taken in Retiro Park, the ‘green lung’ of Madrid, and the most popular weekend hangout for madrileños. It is always heaving with couples, from young teens to the old and happily married. This day in January had seen particularly beautiful weather, with clear blue skies. As the sun set, the park quietened, allowing me to take this shot. At first glance you can see the pair in the foreground chatting and watching the sunset, but at closer look you see more couples ‘canoodling’ in the boats behind. Latino romance at its best.
of the night, the lass would offer the soaking apple to a suitor and, in a show of affection, he would have to wolf it down. As for the gents, chuck the roses and offer your blade instead. In Finland, if a lady caught a man’s eye, he would place his knife in her empty sheath. Returning the knife would show disinterest, but keeping it meant probable marriage. No points for subtle euphemism there.
‘He would place his knife in her empty sheath. No points for subtle euphemism there.’ Location, location, location. This year forget the candlelit dinner and accordionist swanning round your table. While many Western cultures are fearful of obesity on the rise, Mauritians abide by the rule, ‘Big is Beautiful’, as a husky woman reflects a man’s ability to provide for his wife. To ensure they’re marriage material, girls are groomed from a young age in ‘Fat
Farms’ and force fed bucket-loads until the spare tyres and stretch marks start to blossom. There is clearly something to be said for showing respect for your lady’s roots and rolling her, perhaps literally, down to Cosmo’s.
“ It’s a romance overload that’s enough to make you miss the most sentimentally repressed of English folk.”
You wouldn’t buy a car without taking it for a test drive first. With this in mind, girls in the Cambodian Kreung tribe certainly seem to agree. Parents generously build a separate hut in their back yard for their teenage daughter, and each night she is allowed to entertain a different guest in her love shack until she finds The One. This ritual may seem a little promiscuous, but dating is about trial and error after all. Now that you’ve found your better half, you’ll probably want to test your strength as a couple before tying the knot. In Borneo’s Tidong community, the pair is starved, given little water and prevented from using the bathroom for 72 hours prior to the wedding. The theory is that if you can survive such hardship, the marriage will be a piece of cake. Ah, love really is in the air. Ainhoa Barcelona
Within mere days, the smell of urine in my Paris hallway stopped provoking my gag reflex and started to become the gentle aroma of home. Admittedly, it took me a few more weeks to come to terms with the fact that one drives on the right-hand side of the road; however, apart from a few minor setbacks and near-fatal incidents, I felt I made the transition from Bristol student to flaneuse of Paris pretty neatly. That is not to say, however, that there aren’t things that I miss about home; basic hygiene, for instance. France has come a long way in the 10 years since my brother emerged from a roadside public toilet, white-faced, saying he couldn’t go because someone had written their name in excrement on the floor. But apparently it is still acceptable - in city-centre restaurants, no less - for the loo to be no more than a hole in the ground. I kid you not. Furthermore, I know we Brits are frequently mocked for our tendency to be over polite. However, in my five months, there have been a few moments where I could have benefitted from a vague semblance of tact. For example, on one particular day just a few weeks after arriving when I was still patting myself on the back for successfully making French friends due to – what else? – my winning smile and outgoing personality, only for my boss to inform me that she’d “worked me out”, and that I “didn’t like other people” – a blow from which my ego is still recovering. Or when I made a birthday cake for a French friend (which, make no mistake, in a 3m2 kitchen is no mean feat). His first words on seeing it were: “Well, it’s not pretty,” followed shortly afterwards by, “It’s too sweet”. Ouch. These French kids don’t beat around the bush, that’s for sure. After drunkenly kissing one in a “what’s the worst that could happen” frame of mind, a friend of mine soon found out the hard way. The worst that can happen is the textual barrage the following day. Highlights include, “I wish I’d woken up in your arms”, “Come over tonight…I’m alone…”, and my personal favourite, “I had a great night, even if I didn’t taste enough of your soft lips…” (suggestive ellipses included). It’s a romance overload that’s enough to make you miss even the most sentimentally repressed of English folk. I see my year abroad as a bit like a relationship. After all, no relationship is perfect. There are always niggling details about the other person that you wish you could change. But then again, if they were to disappear, you’d probably miss them just a little. So come February when I’ve left behind the over honesty, the pitiful lavatorial facilities and the awkward advances, I may find myself wanting to send Paris a drunk text saying how much I miss it - surely the proof of a successful year abroad.
Alicia Queria Foreign Correspondent - France