Book Excerpt Part 4: 'Around the World in 80 Dates'
April 5, 2005 — -- Author and travel and travel journalist Jennifer Cox appeared on "Good Morning America" to discuss her new book, "Around the World in 80 Dates." In it, Cox recounts her effort to find Mr. Right by globetrotting from country to country and date to date.
Here's part two of an excerpt from Chapter 3:
The water in question was part of the Scandinavian southern archipelago, where the North Sea forms Kattegat, a wide channel between Sweden and Denmark. Even while I was concentrating on my soothing mantra of "don't be sick, don't be sick," I could appreciate it was intensely beautiful. We knifed through the clear water; the sharp-edged waves from our boat had turned to gentle ripples by the time they reached the shores of the tiny islands we passed. I could hear the local children chatter and laugh as they milled around in rock pools and dived off rafts into the cool water. Behind them, pine trees crowded down to the boulder-studded shoreline, like kids around an ice cream van. The occasional tiny red stave house peeped shyly from between branches, pristine white roof bright against the deep green of the needles. We flew across the clear blue water; the air felt clean and fresh. I was both nervous and excited: I felt sure this was the final leg of the journey before Anders and I would meet.
Some of the tension must have shown on my face. Martin, sweetly misunderstanding, took one hand from deftly skimming the boat from tip to tip of the bouncing waves. "Don't worry," he shouted over the noise of the engine and crash of the water, touching my arm reassuringly and frowning with concern. "We have all been told you get very, very sick on boats and I am to watch and see if you will vomit."
I smiled weakly and wiped some of the salty spray from my face to hide my embarrassment, as we plowed ever onward into the surf.
Half an hour later, I was watching a cluster of tacking boats filled with orange-life-jacketed children learning to sail. I reflected on how wonderful it would be to grow up having sailed dinghies, ridden horses, or hiked and biked mountains virtually from the age you could walk. In England, it seems everyone has watched TV or idled in traffic from the age we could sit. I snapped out of my ruminating: The roar of the engine had become a gentle purr. Martin had slowed the boat and was standing at the wheel, scanning the horizon.
"Are we lost?" I asked, suddenly really nervous about meeting mysterious Anders. Maybe going back to the hotel, having a big bath, and catching up on sleep wouldn't be such a bad thing.
"No," Martin replied politely, but preoccupied as he eased the boat through a rocky channel, all the time scanning the horizon. "They are here somewhere."
Where the hell am I being taken? I suddenly thought crossly. Why didn't Martin know where they (THEY?) were? What was next? To get into a submarine? Who was the goddamn date with -- Captain Nemo?
I was starting to get impatient. Enough was enough. Let's get on with the date or take me back to the hotel so I can watch cable and be as one with the minibar.
But at that very moment, Martin pushed the throttle down on the boat and we sped forward: He had spotted them.
I was about to meet Anders.
We were sailing toward a floating pontoon moored to a rocky outcrop in the middle of the sea. It was a big pontoon, about eighteen feet by thirty, a large cabin in the middle with a deck front and back. I could make out two men standing on the front deck, one pale, fiddling with ropes, one tall and dark, looking straight at me. He waved.
Oh, my God, it was Anders. Finally.
Except, all of a sudden, "finally" felt like it had arrived far too soon. I didn't feel ready. Clutching my bag protectively to my chest, I felt completely overwhelmed with nerves and I suddenly wished my date had been with lovely, sweet Martin after all.
I waved back to Anders with a confidence I didn't feel.
The sun was bright on my face. My hair had been whipped insensible and my eyes were stinging and weeping after an hour being buffeted by the salty wind and surf. As Martin sailed closer to the pontoon, Anders steadily came into focus. I groaned to myself wretchedly: He was absolutely gorgeous. Completely and ridiculously handsome. I was utterly out of my depth.
As Martin navigated the boat alongside the pontoon, Anders, who had been leaning against the railing watching our approach, stepped forward to help me aboard. My legs wobbling, my nose running, I pleaded with myself not to fall in or do or say anything stupid, as he reached down, took my hand in his, and pulled me up toward him.
Now both on deck, we stood six inches apart and gave each other a long, appraising look.
Anders was about six feet three and in his early forties. His skin was tanned golden, his thick brown hair wavy and swept back from his face, which was lined in a manner that suggested he knew his own mind and was used to getting his own way. He was deeply handsome, his green eyes offset by a strong jaw and full mouth. He was obviously very fit, dressed casually in a white T-shirt with a khaki shirt loosely buttoned over it, strands of hair curling up from his chest.
He looked a lot like Mel Gibson.
What the hell was Ann-Charlotte doing with a friend like this? How was this possible? She was like me: We didn't know people like this. We knew normal people, people who played table football and smacked into the full-length mirrors in the Met Bar, thinking it was another room. We knew people who looked like the boy next door, because in all probability they lived next door. This man was in another league altogether.
"So, I shall go now, Jennifer. It was a pleasure meeting you." I stopped staring at Anders and spun around. Martin was climbing back into the speedboat with pale, rope-fiddling guy, and they were getting ready to head back to the shore.
Related Stories
ABC News Live