“Estamos comprmetidos” is s a phrase I learned yesterday. Since we got engaged on Thursday, I’ve been telling everyone, “Estamos juntos…por vida!”
Give it up for the man, I was completely, utterly surprised.
Not “we’ve never discussed marriage, how could you even think I want to get married, stop acting a fool and dust off your knee” surprised, just not remotely expecting a proposal five days into our round the world trip.
It was simple, understated, and perfect.
We hoped that this adventure would culminate in some serious life decisions, but I expected this biggie much further down the road—my spider senses said next Christmas in India. If you know Cliff (and let’s be real, as you’re reading this blog there’s a one in two chance that you do), you’ll follow my hypothesis. I had a hunch that bit of bling would pay us a visit in Goa. There would be elephants, a couple of Bengal tigers, and snake charmers—although Cliff would have negotiated that they swap snakes for monitor lizards.
So you can dig my surprise to find him on his knee in the Pacific with props as simple as the sunset and a bottle of our house vinho verde.
We’d been in Sámara four days and were beginning to feel like very bad bloggers for barely posting an Instagram photo between us. After another day at the beach, we showered down (mama, apologies for my wet hair in the pictures–I didn’t know!), geared up, and committed to a magic hour photo walk. We hitched a ride to the far end of the playa with our hosts. I suggested we walk and capture some beach town shots, but Cliff insisted on catching sunset.
We jumped out of the ATV and ambled to the water where Cliff said he had a surprise. He got out the wine and some NOLA-style go cups, I said something equally classy like, “should I check the bottom of my glass?”
He laughed. Actually, probably not.
As we waded among the fishers—men returning in boats, pelicans descending from the air—we talked about this first sunset in our new home (a cliff had blocked our view of the big show every night until now) and everything we hope the trip will be. I was concentrating hard on seeing the green flash when my partner vanished from my peripheral vision and reappeared at my feet.
After I said yes—which according to my fiancé was after I responded with, “for real?” about a billion times—we walked back to Sámara along the beach. Our first stop was our favourite beach bar, La Vela Latina. We attempted to order Champaign, which they obviously didn’t have. But upon registering the occasion, favors were called, strings pulled, and about 20 minutes later, Sámara’s sole bottle of Moët & Chandon appeared table side. 20 minutes after that, it was chilled enough to drink.
We took our celebration on the road to Gusto Beach, the splashiest of Sámara’s beachside bar–restos. Having blown our colones on our French import at La Vela, Cliff slipped out to get cash for the tab (like many of its peers, Gusto doesn’t take credit cards). There are two ATMs in Sámara. One was broken, the other “closed” at 10pm. We promised to return with cash in the morning. We didn’t have a passport copy to leave as collateral, so the manager took our credit card information. He assessed the card and carefully wrote out a tab for Charles Schwab. We’ll have to talk to Chuck about picking up our wedding tab, too.
And now to all you lovelies with tentative plans to meet up, come see my ring…I mean us. Because, engagements are like Valentine’s Day flowers. If he proposes and there isn’t a gaggle of females around to bear witness, did it really happen?