COLUMNISTS

Deidre Dare

The other night I found myself sitting alone in a cab for a while after my expat date had paid the driver and exited. After a few moments, I shook myself and looked out the window to see my date half-way up the block. He was coming back towards me as I got out of the car.

"What happened?" he asked in astonishment. "Are you OK?"

"Yes," I assured him. "I'm just used to dating Russians so I was waiting for you to open my door and help me out!"

I forgot: expat men don't do that.

If you're going to date both Russians and Westerners, you need to remember at all times which one you're with because the two groups of men are completely different in their dating rituals.

Russian men are gallant and romantic. Not only will they come around and open the car door for you, but they will bring you flowers, write you poems and pay for everything. They open doors and hold up coats. They stand up when you go to the restroom and they make the dinner reservations. They compliment you and call you the next day. They pick you up at 8:00 and pay for your gypsy cab home. They are profuse with words of love and admiration. There was even one I dated who carried me over a snowy field so my shoes wouldn't get wet.

Expat men, on the other hand, don't do any of those things.

Practicality seems to be the order of the day for these gentlemen. For example: if you can get yourself out of a car, you should get yourself out of a car. If you can pay half the bill, you should pay half the bill. If there's somewhere you want to eat, make the reservation yourself. And if your shoes are going to get ruined walking through the snow, you should remember that next time you get dressed. And so on.

Despite that, it's easier in a way to be with the expat guys than the Russian ones. There's no cultural divide, of course, but more importantly, it doesn't piss people off.

I've dated Russians who looked like Icons they were so obviously Russian. And no matter how hard I try with furs and Prada, I continue to be obviously American. Dating these Icon-guys, we generally found that the average-Joe Russian hated the very sight of us.

"They hate us," one would growl at me constantly, as cars slowed down to look at us.

"They hate us," another would snarl at me constantly in the metro, as people stopped and glared at us.

"They hate us," yet another grumbled at me constantly in bars, as people ceased speaking as we entered.

This kind of censure isn't easy for anyone to deal with. We've all got enough to deal with in matters of love without having to deal with overt hostility from the general community.

There are some Russian guys who don't look or behave overtly Russian, such as the Truck Driver (who has spent a long, long time in the USA), and then you're sitting pretty. You get all the romantic gestures without any of the macro-sociological condemnation and the resentful growling resulting therefrom.

And then there are the expat guys who try to act Russian. Trust me, this is a recipe for disaster.

The other night after a few gin and tonics, one swept me off my feet to carry me to bed in a very Rhett Butler-esque move that every Russian guy in Moscow can pull off.

But sadly, he tripped and dropped me on my iron coffee table. After hitting my head and passing out, I ended up in the Emergency Room at the European Medical Centre.

Diagnosis: multiple fractures of the ribs, a mild concussion, serious hematomas and scratches up my leg that the Devil himself might have given me.The attending physician wanted to call the police, assuming I'd been hurt on purpose.

"No, No," I assured him. "It was an expat guy. He was just trying to be romantic! You know, like a Russian!"

The doctor, a Russian, nodded his head sagely and said, "I understand."

I was discharged without a visit from the police and am now writing to you from bed, where I am stuck for a little while until I recover.

But there's one good thing that came out of the whole fiasco: painkillers!

xxoo

DD

Deidre Dare's novel "Expat" and "Moscow Moments" video reports are at: www.deidredare.com