An International Embarrassment

Henry van Dyke once said that "for those who love, time is eternity."

The only way this can possibly be the case is if it refers to the moments of unrelenting embarrassment that, in the pursuit of love, stretch out for an eternity, making you wonder if they will ever end.

Embarrament is such a basic human experience that sorting through every awkward moment, gaffe, clumsy delivery and social faux pas would be as tedious to write as it would be to read, especially for me. Whether it was accidentally setting my trousers on fire on Guy Fawkes Night and needing to strip them off in front of people; or, after a human anatomy lesson at school cheering at a family member, "RIGHT IN THE VAGINA!" as they awkwardly caught a cricket ball between their legs, I have a bountiful supply of moments that made me want to curl up and be swallowed into the earth.

But since love is the most personal aspect of human existence, it makes the concomitant embarrassment run that much deeper. To love, then, we turn.

Since the emergence of COVID-19, love doesn't have the international flair it used to. Prior to marrying my wife, Kari, one of the commitments we made as a couple was that we wouldn't get engaged until I had properly met her family. We were both living in Melbourne, Australia, at the time so this meant, among other things, a trip to Canada. Truthfully, I had no objections to this: I loved my girlfriend deeply and knew her family was important to her; plus, I really wanted to visit Canada. The Canadian landscape is one of the only ones in the world that I have travelled to that genuinely deserves the description breathtaking.

This was my moment.

This was my opportunity.

The questions her family had were understandable. Who was this strange Englishman she was dating? What is he like? Is he normal? Is he a man of integrity and character? More importantly, can he ski?

I especially wanted to impress her father, since the woman I intended on proposing to while we were in Canada was his eldest daughter.

One of the ways I hoped to impress them was by intending to make the proposal as romantic and powerful an experience as possible. What better place to do that than the mountains? My surname is Bergmann, which in Germans means mountain man. So, I felt as though destiny was on my side. My true name was calling me forward. Except, on the day I wanted to propose what we had planned was skiing in those mountains. And I had never skiied. Ever.

In.

My.

Life.

I cannot even begin to emphasise how clumsy I am as a person. I frequently lose balance crossing the living room (something my wife can attest to). Naturally, the prospect of skiing terrified me. But I was determined to have a picturesque proposal.

I hid the ring in the top pocket of my backpack. This was a bad idea because Kari and I were sharing the backpack. I realised this was a bad idea as she started opening the top pocket in search of her toque (a hat; it's just a hat). I practically launched myself at the pack in its defense.

"No! It's not in there!"

"What?" She was confused. "No, I'm pretty sure - "

"It's not there." I was adamant and this baffled her, especially since I was basically tearing the thing away from her. "Let me check for you. Yeah, hold on." I rummaged through the rest of the pack and did, indeed, find the toque. I gave it to her and shouldered the bag. She was looking at me weirdly but I did my best to ignore it and focus on the trip to the resort.

Her brother and sister were also looking at me weirdly.

We made it to the resort and eventually found our way, geared up, onto the snow. Kari and her sister were the ones who tried to teach me to ski. In their defense, they had never really taught anyone before. And, in my defense, I forgot to factor this into account.

We began on the children's slope, something I thought would be a smart idea. You know, begin easy. Break it in slow. The main problem was that Canadian children are practically born with an innate talent for skiing. They glide down those slopes with almost supernatural grace. The other problem was that it was still, despite everything, a slope.

My first attempt gliding down the hill, on the other hand, sent me careening across the slope diagonally, narrowly missing the poor children, and crashing through the big mesh fence that protected the sides. I landed on my face in the snow, skis in the air.

Kari and her sister skiied over to help me, but unfortunately they weren't the only ones approaching. As I tried to get up, spitting snow from my mouth, I saw a group of attendents come closer. They were smiling, but not mirthfully. They were one part apologetic, three parts concerned.

"Hi there!" the lady said. It was a classic Canadian greeting that attempted to break the news to me gently. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." I wasn't. I was a bit sore but my pride burned most.

"Okay, good. Listen, we're gonna need you to stay inside until you get a lesson."

"What?" Somehow I managed to turn onto my back. "No, that's okay, these guys are teaching me."

The lady was still smiling and said, "You're a danger to the children."

This was, what, fifteen minutes into our day of skiing? And it was still morning.

"When's the next lesson?" I asked.

"1pm."

After escorting me off of the children's slope, I found myself nursing a hot coffee - and my wounded ego - in the main hall, already soaked through and with Kari and her sister sympathetically sitting alongside me. Their brother was already off tearing up the black diamond slopes (the dangerous ones). I was a pathetic Englishman on Canadian turf.

I tried to sound positive. "It's okay. You go on without me. You go ski. Have fun."

Kari, as ever, was lovely. "Well, no, I don't want to leave you here."

But, I prided myself on my nobility. What kind of man would I be if I made my girlfriend sit with this wet, shivering wreck for hours instead of having fun?

After much insisting on my part, they left to ski.

Generally speaking, if you're going to propose, you should do it on a day you're feeling pretty good about yourself. So far, I wasn't.

Eventually I found myself an instructor and took to the children's slope again, this time managing to descend in a straight line, if not whispering, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," the whole way down. My instructor was very patient. I was not a natural. I was not graceful.

When I was ready, they took me to the next slope. A bigger one. By this point, I was confident enough to go down, but the main problem ended up being getting back to the top. Ski slopes have T-bar lifts going up and down so that once you're at the bottom you can hop on, skis and all, and ride your way back to the top.

Theoretically.

What you actually have to do is somehow get the T-bar between your legs while it's moving and whilst you're geared up. And (if you're me) all the while maintaining your balance.

Memory is a funny thing, but according to my wife I fell off that T-bar numerous times. I'm not the most agile guy. I'm used to my clumsiness. But with dozens of people waiting to take the chair, having me fall flat on my face and my butt several times before finally getting the hang of it put me in a mental and emotional place where I knew I wasn't going to propose today.

I only remember falling off the chair once, but maybe that was just what Henry van Dyke was talking about. Love stretches time into eternity. Somehow one moment of such unrelenting embarrassment can stretch itself out and scrub all others from my memory.

Soon it started to rain, which meant the slopes would get more dangerous, hazy clouds were obscuring the beautiful mountain tops, and we were quickly getting drenched.

Yeah, there was no way I was going to propose today.

As the afternoon closed, we piled into our van, a cold, wet trio, and drove our way back down the mountain as the bad weather set in.

I did end up enjoying the experience, thankfully. But after a rough start my English soul was grateful to return home, put on some thick, woolly socks and sit in the warmth with a hot chocolate and a book.

I proposed the following week, when the sun was warmer, the mountains were clear and we had a pair of eagles for company, hunting for food not too far above us. She said, and I quote, "Yep."

I didn't embarrass myself that day.