If you are single, reading this, and wondering if there are any decent men alive and single, I have some advice for you. Get the hell out of Nova Scotia, Canada, or North America for that matter. I am just back from a fantastic vacation which took place across The Pond. The Pond being The Atlantic Ocean. I made the trip with my brilliant (and also single friend) Colette – pictured with me in a very classy wine induced bathroom selfie. I’ve visited Europe many times before, but at this age, this stage, and with a fantastic single friend – it was especially awesome.
As a woman in 2018 I am able to achieve just about anything I put my mind to. Jobs, travel, adventures. You name it. A few years ago, I spontaneously decided to climb Mt Kilimanjaro – the highest walkable mountain in the world. I climbed that mountain. I decided to run a half marathon. I ran it. Organize a big gala that raised loads of money. No problem. Meet a man who is an equal. That is harder than running a half marathon to the base of Mt Kilimanjaro and planning the event while on top of the mountain with no connection to the world. Over and over again, I hear myself (and my gfs) saying WTF when it comes to dating.
Halifax is an amazing city to live in. Strong sense of community, beautiful landscape, no commute, friendly people, great restaurants, but what no tourist package or single woman in her 30’s living here will ever say – dating in Halifax is as good as the views. There is a plethora of young ones and lots of old ones, but not much in the middle. This phenomenon of wonderful women finding it hard to meet an equal spreads beyond the Nova Scotia border. I was discussing dating with my co-worker in Toronto who is a smart, confident and funny single gal. Big city. Lots of options. Her dating experiences have caused her to slot men into two categories:
- Completely afraid of an independent woman, who can take care of herself, speak her mind and won’t be all doe eyed for the rest of her life
- Emotionally unavailable and don’t know how to be a decent human being or reciprocate any sort of relationship behaviour.
There is a dating app called Bumble. For those non-singletons reading this: if you both swipe right you match, once you match the woman has 24 hours to write and once you write, the man has 24 hours to respond. If the woman doesn’t write the man or the man doesn’t write back the match expires in 24 hrs. Poof! Mr. Wonderful is gone. The idea being that you take it a bit more serious than say – Tinder – where people just collect matches, but don’t write each other. Bumble in Halifax is what I would describe as ‘scarcity of talent’. How far am I willing to veer off what I am actually looking for? How little am I actually willing to accept? How bored would I be? Almost every date I have gone on in the last year has been with someone who was visiting or here for work. They stand out, however, they are only here for a short period of time. I am telling you – it gets discouraging.
This is where things change folks. This is where the normally positive, can’t be beaten down, always sees possibility Emilie comes back. Last week , the afore mentioned friend and I jumped on a flight for a little Wanderlust – Paris and then Munich for Octoberfest. We flew all night, went to our Air-Bnb, had a nap, got freshened up and made our way out into the streets of Paris. We literally came out of the gate to see this masculine creature walking towards us. I looked at him. He looked at me. “Bonjour” he said. And in return Mousier. We walk a little further where we sat down to have a cappuccino at a café. Chairs face outward to the street. Over the next hour Colette and I were like roosters – we didn’t know where to point our peckers. Men. Men. Men. They were coming from every direction. It continued on, everywhere we went – doors were held open, eye contact made, compliments given, conversation. Oh la la. After a scrumptious dinner on our second night, we were still hungry for something more. We stood contemplating our next move outside of the restaurant when the seas parted and we found two handsome guys walking towards us. I ripped out my boldness (I was wearing a feather dress so I was feeling rather saucy) and said ‘Parlez vous Anglais?’ To which they replied – yes. Some funny back and forth took place in the street. We then decided to make our way to a Cuban Bar together. After a few mojitos and dancing to very Cuban Michael Jackson music – one of the gentleman had fallen in love with Colette, so we set off on an adventure. Eiffel Tower and Uber rides with blasting country music to parts unknown in search of fun. We got home at 5 am. The next day when we awoke around noon, we decided to take a look at Bumble (the afore mentioned dating app). My jaw is still sore from dropping. The men on there were amazing. One after another. Gorgeous, interesting, well travelled. Match. Match. Match. Match. The two of us were in fits of laughter – Henri, Louis, Lucien, Alexandre. We wrote a few. And they wrote back. Imagine that! At home, even guys who you aren’t really even interested in don’t write back. I had a cheeky back and forth with an Italian architect. We decided to meet for a drink later on. I found myself across from this chic gentleman. Well dressed. Well travelled. Well spoken. Very intelligent. He ASKED ME QUESTIONS! Be still my beating heart. He was curious about who I am, what my life is like and he wasn’t remotely ‘intimidated’ by it. He is the head architect for Cartier globally, not a divorced teacher from Enfield who likes Netflix. He asked me more questions. “Bella, you are real woman”, he said. Omg. He was definitely interested in my architecture, but I had to bid adieu as the 5 am night before had caught up with me. The next night Colette and I went for dinner at this Italian restaurant called Fulvio’s (same name as the architect coincidentally). This short rotund Italian man named Fulvio and his wife own the place. He came to every table with a board and described the menu with great flare and passion. His energy was fantastic. We joked. We laughed. We spoke to our neighbouring tables. We shared parmesan. Kisses and hugs were had, and we left full in the belly and in spirit. The next morning we were off to Munich to experience Octoberfest. We made our way to the train to head downtown from the airport. The doors opened and this tall, handsome, silver haired version of Liam Neeson wearing a beautiful coat stepped off. He smiled at me. I smiled at him. He smiled at Colette. She smiled at him. Colette and I have very different looks. She is tall and blonde. I am short with black hair and curves. He liked both and made it known with hungry eyes. And this just continued on. While Colette was trying to rent a bike I stood waiting for her with my bike. This guy came over and said something to me in German. I didn’t understand. He then asked me if I speak Italian. I said no. English – Canadian. Not the sexiest of dialects. Colette made her way over to us to hear me explaining we were visiting. He then said – well, what I wanted to say is that you are beautiful woman. Ciao. This was before we went to Octoberfest. With no Drindles on, wearing only Canadian charisma, we walked into a sea of beer drinking-Drindle and Lederhoson wearing – German folk song singing-people. Beeindruckend – that’s Wow in German. My lipstick was referred to by an Irish guy as ‘the most fantastic display of lip coverage he had ever seen.’ We danced on tables, we sang, we laughed, we talked, we drank beer… it was absolutely hilarious. We flew back to Canada renewed in our spirit, and our belief that there are indeed fun, intelligent, interesting, charismatic, good looking single men in this world! Well, actually, German men in Bravaria wear their wedding band on the right hand, so that did cause some confusion. Though the interactions were quick and mostly foolish: eye contact, compliments, conversation (both intelligent and not), questions… all things Canadian men, ummm, don’t do – just like Stella – it gave us our groove back.
A few years back I reluctantly went to a psychic fair with my cousin. I ended up getting my palm and energy read by this guy Brian. I remember he looked at my palm and then at me and said – oh, you are too full of passion to be living in Canada. Go to Europe. They are passionate. They will dance. They will understand you. And so other amazing single ladies, I recommend you do the same. Don’t get botox. Don’t think you need to lose weight. Wear less bold lipstick. Not be yourself. All you need to do is buy a plane ticket across the Atlantic to get your mojo back.
Xoxo.
The Emilie Chiasson report 