On Being Liberal in Canada

It was a lovely, still morning. The sea was almost flat, the occasional wave breaking gently just off shore. The beach was quiet and unusually cleaned of litter that day.

My partner and I had taken our two camas and a sombrilla, as is our custom. While I was reading my book, he had taken a stroll along the beach in search of shells or sea-stroked coloured glass. I had not joined him because my back was feeling precarious after a day of strolling the cobbled alleyways of old Havana. Besides, the book was engrossing and I was enjoying the tranquillity of the moment.

Slowly, the sense of a presence came over me. I looked up. Standing at the foot of my cama was a tall, slender young man looking down at me. He was smiling. He could not have been much more than 17 or 18 years old. But then as one's own age advances, it becomes harder to pinpoint the age of youth.

I can't remember exactly how the conversation began. However, he asked me if I was alone, although the towell on the empty cama beside me ought to have indicated otherwise. No doubt it was simply a convenient and well-practised opener, such as "Do you have the time?" or "Do you have a light?".

I replied that no, my friend was walking on the beach. Then out of the blue, in very broken English he said "You are very beeeutiful". Just like that. I wanted to laugh. I thought, now I have heard everything. It took me a little off guard.

I mean, I am gay, but I did not think, lying there on this public beach reading a book and minding my own business, that it was that obvious to the uniformed. There I was sitting among the Cuban families and the old male tourists with their far too young women in tow. So the context was not right for digesting this unsolicited declaration.

In the moments that followed, I had let him know that I was Canadian and happily married to my male partner of 37 years. He could not digest this information, even though I thought my Spanish was impeccable.

I was, to say the least, bemused. He soon invited over his sister who must have been lingering nearby, and they promptly seated themselves on either side of my legs. His sister, if she was indeed a sibling, was a lovely young woman, older than he. She declared herself a lesbian. She hoped I could find her a Canadian lover.

They were both interested in Canada and its acceptance of gay relationships. She far more than he. He was interested, I believe, in only one thing.

After carefully picking my words in explaining to them the law in Canada and its relatively recent acceptance of same sex marriage, he asked me in broken English if I was Liberal. I eagerly said yes just as my partner arrived back to this gathering amused at the scene before him. I quickly explained to him what was going on. I went on to explain that in fact Canadians were for the most part quite liberal.

The young man smiled and became more interested. But it had already dawned on my partner what the young man had meant by this question. He said wait a minute and told me that "liberal" to them meant that we had an open relationship. We don't.

We laughed and I quickly backtracked, explaining that I had only meant "liberal" in the ideological sense of the word. The young man's smile faded and his interest in our new friendship clearly waned. 

They soon left our side. We laughed heartily at my faux-pas.