Spanish vs. Russian Men

Before I left for Spain, friends joked that I’d fall in love with a matador and never return. While I was there, people constantly asked about the Spanish boys, working on the assumption that the country was populated by Antonio Banderas lookalikes whom I was beating off with a ham hock. In reality, I’m convinced Spanish men have received an undeserved reputation as ladies men solely based on Americans’ inability to distinguish them from other Spanish-speaking nationalities. While Latin American men come on strong, I got about as much romantic attention in Spain as I would have gotten in a convent. And it wasn’t just because I was a foreigner—even my Spanish roommate noted how introverted the guys were, complaining about the difficulty of meeting guys in San Sebastián. I know I will convince none of you otherwise, but the hombres in Central and South America definitely didn’t get their game from the conquistadores.  You’re thinking of the measles.

When I announced I was moving to Russia, no one lit up with excitement over my potential Slavic conquests. No one predicted I would run off with a Russian gymnast or oligarch. No one seemed particularly concerned I would fall in love and throw down roots in the tundra. The most optimistic prediction came from my friend Marti: “Maybe you’ll find a love interest in Russia?  They seem weird honestly.” Even their own kind wasn’t particularly generous. My friend Sasha, who was born in Moscow and lived here until she was eleven, said, “Why you’d choose Russian men over Spanish men is beyond me.”

Maybe I should just move back to America?

For whatever reason, I actually am attracted to Russians, even if they are even weirder than anyone could have ever imagined. For example, I’m pretty sure that only in Russia would a first date result in a guy wanting you to move in with him. I know the men here have a life expectancy of 63, but that still seemed a little fast. I politely declined, but I think it’s safe to say that my friends and family underestimated the Russkis. I may have one Spanish and one American surname at the moment, but I may be sporting an even less pronounceable last name come June. You’ve all been warned.