I don’t know how I imagined my first proposal.
Well actually, ha, that’s a lie.
Because although I grew up with progressive parents, I still watched Disney and I still read fairytales, and so I still grew up at least thinking of marriage and proposals, even if I wasn’t actively planning my colour scheme and flowers.
But this proposal I certainly didn’t plan, let alone think of. Nope.
Because I didn’t imagine my first proposal to be from a 65+ year old English gentleman in a near empty side-street in Pai, Thailand, at his bar/living-room/garage as we drank cheap beer with another traveller I had met at my hostel and watched Have I Got News for You.
I use the term ‘gentleman’ loosely, inasmuch that he wasn’t a drunk but enjoyed a drink, had a Canadian friend with a very vocal fetish for coloured women, and stated that he moved to the hippy town of Pai initially for the ‘ease’ of life as well as the drugs. But he was entertaining and thoughtful, had a sweet dog that loved cuddling up for belly rubs, and as it was my last night in Pai and I’d had the most fantastic mango sticky rice, I thought, ‘what’s the harm’ in staying and chatting with people I never normally would have at home.
At some point in the evening, after I told him of my (now failed) plans to move to Colombia, he gave me his email address, asked for my hand in marriage, and stated that I should call my Dad to tell him his daughter was now taken by a man at least 15 years older than himself!
And that is exactly what I love about travelling: the people I meet.