Eider and I were on our first trip abroad. We weren’t “official” yet, but I wanted to change that this weekend. Marrakesh seemed like the perfect place to ask someone out.
Eider is from the Basque country in the north of Spain. I don’t know how getting a girlfriend works in Spain. In Ireland, you go on dates together to check if the other person is your kind of crazy. After a few months, you ask the other person out. You hope they say yes. But asking someone out seems too formal for Spain, a country that sleeps most of the afternoon.
Eider speaks English, but isn’t native. I’m a native speaker but my English isn’t good because of my Irish accent. We’d been dating for months. But it was hard to tell because of our cultural and language differences.
Was Eider as serious about us as I was? Movies have taught me that Spanish people have multiple lovers. Was she dating other people? Was I just an English teacher to her? I pushed those dark thoughts to the side.
I didn’t ask her out on the first day because we fell for every scam. On the plus side, we had to get “married” in our taxi because the Moroccans are old school. The women hide their ankles and the men only speak to the men. We pretended to be married so they wouldn’t stone us to death for sleeping in the same bed.
The next day we said “no thank you” to every shopkeeper trying to sell us knock off clothes or alternative medicine. Exhausted, we needed some Irish medicine. We found a bar. Walking up the stairs, it was like a 1920s speakeasy. The only light coming from the candles on each table. Happy hour, every hour, wine was flowing. The server dressed in all black set us in the corner. French, German, and English voices filled the room. We sat an arm’s length away from a French couple. Eider started rolling a cigarette. Preparing to smoke inside for the first time in her life.
Was this a good place to ask her out?
Best-case scenario: Eider would leap across the table into my arms. The different nationalities in the room would clap and sing their national anthems. The French couple would soak us with champagne.
Worst-case scenario: I would ask Eider out and the room would go quiet. No music or foreign accents. Looking like she just drunk some out-of-date milk, she’d explain that we were just friends. She’d throw the happy hour of wine over me. She’d grab one of the German tourists to walk her home. They would fall in love just in time to use our bed. Leaving me with the bill covered in tears and sad wine.
Eider finished rolling her cigarette.
This wasn’t the place. I didn’t want to risk it. We kept drinking our wine. It was one of those perfect nights I’d remember while the dementia was kicking in.
Walking back with my hand over her shoulder, I felt like I had missed an opportunity. But I had two more days.
The next night I found a romantic dinner place, “Nomad”, a French restaurant. We went through a maze of streets to find it. We arrived early. The first time Eider had been early in her life. They squished us with the other tourists like children in the backseat.
It was a romantic dinner for me. For all I knew, Eider couldn’t figure out why her strange blonde friend kept suggesting romantic restaurants.
Eider was midway through a story about her friends. Not listening, I decided it was time to ask her out. My heart pumped like a techno speaker. I had to ask her before the dark side of my brain booted up. How do you ask someone out? I looked down at my beef tagine. A typical Moroccan dish of meat and potatoes. This tagine also had some dates. The dried fruit things. Now I had an important decision. Was I going to look her in the eye and say, “Will you go out with me?”. Or was I going to use this dried date as a pun. I paused, still ignoring her story… I had to go with the pun.
While she talked, I balanced the date on my fork, lifting it up and with a wine filled Irish accent I said “do you want to date?” She scowled, wondering what the hell I had said this time. After a few seconds she said, “like boyfriend/girlfriend?”
Abort, abort, abort. “No, like a date,” I said, pointing at the dried piece of fruit. OH MY GOD, what have I done? She said “No, I’m fine thanks, I don’t want that”.
Did she not want to date me or not want the dried piece of fruit? I pointed at the food and said “date”. She looked at me with a blank expression. I realised she didn’t know what the English word was for a ‘date’. She went back to talking about her friends. Her tone didn’t change at all. I wondered if I jumped from the terrace would I kill myself.
I forgot about asking her out. We enjoyed the rest of our evening. My weird ‘date’ moment was just a glitch that was never mentioned again. We still held hands, flirted and kissed during and after dinner. Maybe she just wanted something casual? As the night went on, I put it down to a miscommunication. I hoped I could still ask her out.
Our last night was a trip to the desert. Eider had booked the trip through a Spanish website. The entire trip was in Spanish. Every one of the other guests spoke Spanish. I do not speak Spanish. I can order you whatever coffee you like, but I only speak in the present tense. In English, if you’re near me, I’ll talk for days. In Spanish, it’s hard to tell if I have a disability.
But life is a movie, and I wanted a romantic scene. Even if I didn’t understand the subtitles.
The romantic in me knew I had to ask her out on the holiday. While the darkside screamed, she’d choose one of the Spanish men who could speak her language.
We got on the bus and the driver played the weirdest English music from Ed Sheeran to Snoop dog. I was the only person with blue eyes.
The driver stopped in the desert at a place with one shitty tent. Some camels and a quad. This wasn’t the dream romantic location I’d thought it would be. The good news was Eider had booked the trip, so she’d have to go out with me from the guilt of dragging us here. I didn’t need to speak Spanish to know the location did not impress the others.
The driver drove off. Not explaining why we had stopped there. We didn’t need an explanation. The van ended up driving along a dune. Tilting too far to the left as it went around the corner. If this thing tipped, I didn’t like my odds of a Spanish person saving me versus one of their own.
After the extreme off-road adventure, we arrived at a desert utopia. Eider had nailed it. The tents were massive, with bathrooms, double beds, and heaters. Each couple had their own tent. I wouldn’t have to compete with the other Spanish couples in the bedroom. Our tent was the last in the row and looked out into the desert.
This was the place to ask someone out.
We got set up and were told to go to the fire. A Moroccan man wrapped in blankets and holding a guitar was there. Beside the fire was a giant neon heart. Eider choose a seat where the smoke blew in our faces. Even as we were choking on the smoke, it was hard not to feel alive. The Moroccan man started singing. His voice carried through the whole dessert. He blew everyone away. If he wanted, he could have taken Eider or any of the women in the circle. Some men as well.
Eider got a special celiac soup made for her. The hot soup battled the cold while the singer warmed our hearts. After soup, we moved inside for a candlelit dinner. The stars above us were aligning.
They held the dinner in a big tent. Everyone sat at their own table, facing each other in a circle like an arena.
While we were eating, I planned. We’d have dinner, finish our drinks and then I’d ask her out under the stars. Some old school romance. Could today be any more perfect?
But then it happened. The scariest noise known to man… Belly dancing music. Belly dancing music had nothing to do with Morocco, but this wasn’t what scared me. Out of nowhere, a blonde woman who didn’t look Moroccan appeared. She danced in a circle, moving her hips to the music, making eye contact with her prey.
There was a Muslim woman at the party sitting in her hijab eating dinner by herself. She stared at the belly dancer like an Irish grandmother who found out her granddaughter was gay. The belly dancer wiggled even harder when she looked at her.
The dancer circled over to the big Spanish group and grabbed the big Spanish guy. He jumped up. The Spanish group cheered. She signaled him to copy her without saying a word. He tried his best, but he wasn’t enough for the dancer. She set him back down. She looked for her next victim.
I turned my attention to the bread. If I just focused on the bread, I’d become the bread.
In the corner of my eye, I saw the belly dancer come towards me like a cat closing the distance with a trapped mouse. My heart started beating faster than the belly dancing music.
Please don’t ruin this for me.
On a normal day I’d have no problem getting up there and embarrassing myself. It was a tradition for me to take over a dance floor 45 minutes before anyone else. My showstopper is the Russian dance where you go into a deep squat and kick your feet out. But I wanted to hide that weirdness to after Eider agreed to go out with me.
I looked up from the bread. The belly dancer was right there. She signalled for me to get up. I was face to face with a lioness without a gun.
I looked at my bread. Pretending like I hadn’t seen her. She stayed right in front of me. Belly dancing music blasting in the background.
My heart beat so hard it hurt. “No, thanks,” I said, and tried to smile. The Spanish people booed. She stood there, not moving.
She turned her back on me and moved to the next table.
The only thing worse than bad dancing is no dancing. All Eider could say with a look of disgust was, “that was strange”.
The belly dancer pulled out two Spanish girls and started a more complicated dance. We all watched as the two girls struggled with the move. I had fucked up and needed to fix this. Eider was thinking she should have dated the Spanish person who got up to dance.
The lioness danced over to our table. Not satisfied with the two Spanish girls. This time I did not touch my bread. If I was going to die, I’d die a warrior.
I looked the dancer straight in the eye. She looked me in the eye. No one in the room existed anymore. She signalled with two fingers, drawing me in.
Eider was expecting disappointment. The Spanish people were ready to boo. The room was ready to send me to the dessert. There comes a defining moment in every man’s life. This was my moment.
I grabbed the handles of my seat with my sweaty palms. Took a deep breath and pushed hard with my shaky legs. I stood up. The Spanish people cheered. I walked forward like a soldier on the front line.
The lioness pulled Eider up as well.
Now there were four of us: me, Eider and two Spanish girls shaking everything we had. Trying our best to copy the belly dancer.
I don’t know what happened… But the dancing just clicked. I was in sync with the dancer. Against the odds, the Irish guy could shake his ass better than the Spanish girls.
The belly dancer ushered the three girls to the side. Forming a line, the three girls clapped and tried to copy us.
The belly dancer upped the pace. My ass wiggled like jelly dropped on the floor. I don’t remember looking at anyone else in the room, I just remember the connection I felt with the dancer. The belly dancer spoke no words, but said more to me than any other person.
This had gone from my worst nightmare to my greatest moment. The belly dancing music in the background continued thumping. It was getting louder. The beat sounded like it was going to drop. I kept shaking everything.
I looked over at Eider and she gave me the look you’d give if your racist white uncle surprised you with fluent Chinese.
My whole life had led to this moment. I knew what I needed to do. It was time for the Russian dance. I calmed myself. Keeping eye contact with the belly dancer. I focused on the music. It had to be now. One final breath and then I dropped into a deep squat. Balancing on one foot and kicking out the other. Switching the feet to the sound of the Indian drums. More in sync than Justin Timberlake. I pounded the floor.
The crowd erupted.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot… This was living.
I stood up from my Russian dance expecting an applause from the dancer. She didn’t react. There was no clap. She broke eye contact and put us back in our seats. I’d never feel a connection like that again.
Eider no longer looked at me like a dog that she knew she’d have to put down. After that performance, Eider would ask me out.
As Eider and I left the tent for the stars, I knew it was now or never.
The fire was on its last legs. This time, there was no smoke in our faces. We wrapped up in blankets. Cupid’s neon red heart looked over us. I thought about my future career as a belly-dancer.
This was the moment.
I had one last choice to make. Would I ask in Spanish or English? My Spanish sucks. But it’s Eider’s language. Was it more romantic in her language? But how do you ask someone out in Spanish? I should have googled it. I didn’t want to mess it up and ask her to be my wife instead of my girlfriend.
It had to be English. But I had the same problem. How do you ask someone out? What do they say in the Movies?
I remembered the ‘date’ incident from the day before. Did she not want a boyfriend, or a piece of dried fruit?
We had sat in silence for too long.
In a panic I took a quick breath and said: “I have a question”. She paused.
Fuck, it sounded like I was proposing. I think she was expecting me to get on one knee. Another pause.
I need to do something… I took a sharp breath and said: “Will you go out with me?”
Eider looked confused.
Oh, my god. I’ve been dating a beautiful Basque woman and I’ve ruined it all by trying to label us.
She paused.
“Yes… but what do you think we’re doing now?” she said with a laugh.
Yes, she said yes.
“I don’t know, just wanted to be sure. Haven’t even thought about it,” I said.
Eider said we’ve been hanging out for months and we’re on holiday together. She then roasted me, calling me a teenager saying someone hasn’t asked her out like this since she was in school. She explained Spanish people don’t ask each other out. It just happens.
I fought back, saying it was romantic. I had risked it all. Stood up to the possibility of rejection. I was a soldier volunteering for a dangerous mission.
In the background of our perfect moment, someone stumbled out of their tent to throw up.
She said what does ‘going out’ even mean? I said I don’t know, while thinking it meant no more multiple lovers for her. What will change? I said ‘nothing it will be the same’, again thinking no more lovers for her.
I thought it was perfect. She thought I was a loser. But that didn’t matter. After being married to her the entire trip, it was nice to call her my girlfriend.
