Art of Public Romance Seldom Crosses the Border

As usual with most lovers in the city, they were troubled by the lack of that essential need of love--a meeting place.

--Thomas Wolfe

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Who says Americans aren’t romantic? This graceful quote from our 20th century Southern novelist is pregnant with tantalizing hints of insight into intimacy.

Don’t ask where the line comes from, though. I found it on the opening page of a paperback guidebook, “The Best Places to Kiss in Southern California.”

My search for the popular title was strictly professional, trust me. I plan to claim a reimbursement for the book on my expense report, and my conscience is clean. My editor, married with child, pre-approved my topic for this week leading to Valentine’s Day with one caveat: He warned me not to claim flowers and candy as a legitimate cost of doing research into cultural differences in the practice of romance.

Unintentionally, the kissing guide provided evidence to make my case. It promises to lead us to magical places “where you can share closeness and private moments.” Then it rates, on a four-lip scale, the best spots for privacy, location and ambience--silky white beaches, state-of-the-art wineries, lush country hikes, enticing restaurants and stunning bed and breakfasts. (The gushing adjectives come with the book.)

That’s what’s wrong with romance in America. We think people need to find a special place to exhibit their affections. If it’s exclusive and a tad expensive, it might rate extra lips on the kissing scale.

That’s not true in Latin America. There, the art of romance is practiced unabashedly--any place and at low cost. A park bench on a Sunday afternoon. A seat on a crowded commuter bus. A colorful colonial doorway. An out-of-the-way corner of a crazy subway station.

In Mexico City, for example, couples always find convenient spots for romantic rendezvous--wherever they happen to be standing, sitting, reposing or strolling. They create their own private spaces amid the hubbub of the metropolis. You see them locked in whispered conversations, holding hands and stealing gentle kisses. They linger for hours in picturesque plazas, oblivious to the surrounding rush of people who are oblivious to them.

“It’s very romantic,” said Mari Womack, who teaches cultural anthropology at UCLA Extension. “They’re not groping each other. They’re just totally engaged. They turn into each other and it’s like they exclude the rest of the world.”

During a research trip to the Mexican capital in the summer of ‘81, Womack was taken by the sight of cooing couples and their “incredible embracing in public.” In their openness about public displays of affection, she found, Mexicans resemble the legendary lovers observed in certain European countries--Spain, Italy, France (they don’t call them Romance languages for nothing, you know).

By contrast, she says, Americans can thank the British for the more reserved and frigid attitude toward romance. She finds evidence of the differences when she asks her classes this question: What is a woman supposed to get before she has sex?

Dinner and a movie, her students say.

But “a guy in Mexico can take a woman to dinner and a movie 150 times and he still won’t get sex,” says Womack. “What he gets is a public statement about a relationship. . . . The only way a guy can have her is to marry her, and make a commitment to her and her whole family.”

Ironically, a society’s restrictions against sex in private allow exuberant shows of love in public. Latinas feel safe to kiss and cuddle in the open because nobody will assume they’re later having sex with their suitors. Here, it’s just the opposite, says Womack. If a woman allows public intimacy with a partner, irritated passersby might wish the two would just get a room.

Still, why don’t we see more public smooching in Southern California with so many Latino immigrants? Do people check their romantic habits at the border?

Yes, says my buddy Jamie Gonzalez, who lived in Mexico City through his teenage courting years before moving to Orange County in 1991.

“Now that I think about it, I’m not as romantic as I used to be” says Jamie. “The thing is, society dictates what you’re allowed and what you’re not allowed to do. And [as immigrants] we’re trying to fit in.”

That’s a high price: Sacrificing kisses to satisfy convention. Done properly, tasteful outbursts of romance would add much-needed sparkle to our public intercourse, now so joyless and inhibited. As French poet Alfred de Musset says in another section of the kissing guide: “With a kiss, let us set out for an unknown world.”

Agustin Gurza’s column appears Tuesday and Saturday. Readers can reach Gurza at (714) 966-7712 or agustin.gurza@latimes.com