Picture this: You are walking along a palm-tree-lined beach in South India, curry-scented breezes drifting lazily under the sweltering 35° C sun (that’s 95° F). As sleepy afternoon turns into electric night, you head to a rooftop party, where you run into a frustratingly endearing Frenchman, classic mustache and all. Three days later, you’ve squeezed your way onto a rickety Indian train carriage, headed to an inland island in the state of Kerala. 

To absolutely no one’s surprise, you are hand-in-hand with the aforementioned Frenchman, who just so happens to have a pack of cigarettes and the most flawless jawline of all time. A three-day fling ensues, during which he utters the irrevocable words, “Je t’aime.” We must allow the French their romantic flair, of course. 

A tad ridiculous? Perhaps. Classically French? Absolutely. This brings me to today’s topic: a comparison of nationalities in terms of relationships, romance and sex.

From the Martian mountain tops of Bolivia to the pristine shores of Australia, I’ve enjoyed the company of Chileans, Estonians, Sri Lankans and Frenchmen; Russians in all their astuteness; Colombians and their sensual joie de vivre. As far as intimacy goes, Americans may not be the most notorious of nationalities, but I assure you, we can certainly fall prey to its modalities.

Back in my post-grad days of sun-bleached hair and wide-eyed wonder, I spent many months gallivanting about Latin America. My time there taught me that, if a showering of love and adoration is your type of seduction, Latin countries are the place to be. However, while, “Cómo eres guapa, qué lindos son tus ojos,” is certainly flattering, I should warn you that it is also the most unoriginal pickup line in the Spanish-speaking world. Latin men will make you feel like the most attractive woman on earth — and they’ll make tomorrow night’s gringa feel the same. 

Now, don’t let this dissuade you from joining a local in a little salsa number on a bartop. It is ridiculously good fun, and there are few places as thrilling as the hot and heavy ambience of Medellin’s reggaeton clubs. I will warn you though, if you are more of a “relationship type,” maybe think twice before taking one of your many dance partners home.

Let’s return to Mr. Perfect Jawline from the beginning of this analysis. My first experience with French men was in Paris on a last-minute spring break trip. I was in a hazy, smoke-filled underground club a few steps away from the Arc de Triomphe with a friend from Cologne. I remember being in the smoking room. Two lanky French boys came up to me, insisting on sharing a cigarette. I reminded them I was American and that we didn’t really ruin our lungs like that in my country — perhaps our one selling point. 

Escaping the stuffy lounge, I ended up on the dance floor decorated with hypnotic indigo strobe lights. Twenty seconds into a dance with one ridiculously handsome but awfully presumptuous Frenchie, hands went much too far and I immediately raced to find my girlfriend in the bathroom. Unfortunately, I have found boundary-crossing and immensely sexualizing behavior to be common themes in my interactions with the French. Don’t get me wrong, they can be ridiculously sensual and wonderful in bed. Just make sure that’s where you want to end up because, honestly, that’s probably where they’ll take it.

Of course, we cannot forget the Brits. Those darling, playful, mischievous flirts. I adore them, truly, and have found them the easiest to connect with, likely due to our relatively similar backgrounds. That being said, I’ve also found English boys to be well aware of their charm and to use essentially the same nearly foolproof strategy with any girl they might fancy. Embarrassingly, I must admit it usually works.

I must note one thing about the English: In my experience, “foreplay” doesn’t seem to be in their vocabulary. It took me one too many gin-and-tonic-fueled nights to realize this. On one such occasion, I remember asking my rather attractive, if deodorant-averse, companion what he liked. His response? A moment of silence, then a short string of unintelligible words that, upon reflection, sounded much more like a grunt. When it comes to Brits, take my word for it and save yourself from a handful of rather disappointing one-night stands. Apparently, their navigational skills are limited to nautical endeavors.

Of Argentinians and Italians, I have nothing but positive remarks. Perhaps I associate them with each other due to their historical ties, but they do seem to be similarly playful and genuine. When it comes to lovers of cornetti and facturas, they have my stamp of approval.

Finally, this would not be a respectable analysis of international affairs if I left out the Dutch. Oh, how I love the Dutch. Consistently sociable, well-spoken and some of the most stunning people you will rest your eyes upon. Don’t get me wrong; they certainly have their flaws, the most common of which is cockiness. But if you can find the good ones, of which there are many, they are just nice. Predictable. Nothing wrong with that — in fact, it can be rather refreshing sometimes.

I will close with some words of advice before you diversify your own research in international affairs. Of my many one-night stands, two-week flings, even six-month situationships formed across vast oceans and towering mountain ranges, I have developed a few recommendations for romantic endeavors abroad. If superb quality of life and a happy marriage are what you seek, I recommend the Dutch. If you’d like your partner’s hairline to last the length of the relationship, perhaps it is best to avoid the English. If you want to be swept off your feet, head to Costa Rica or Colombia — just don’t expect to be the only one your partner is charming. 

With that, I send you off into the world. May your endeavors be fruitful — figuratively — and remember, most hostels have cameras. 

Until next time,

Blake ♥

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.