Around the World in 80 Dates by Jennifer Cox Page A

for another winter of introspective darkness.
    But maybe the city does its thinking in the dark, because over the last forty years, Gothenburg has been at the forefront of pioneering research into sexology, the science of human sexuality and how it affects us chemically, socially, and physically. And I had an appointment at the university to meet one of the world’s leading sexologists; I had come to date the Love Professor.
Date #4: Professor Lars-Görsta Dahlöf—Gothenburg, Sweden
    I’d come across Professor Lars-Görsta Dahlöf in an online article, reporting on a conference he’d held called “The Science of Love and Passion.” At the time it was casual curiosity: I thought it would be fascinating to learn more about his theories and ideas. But now that I was here, I realized my questions were less theoretical and more personal. I was slightly unsettled by how my journey was turning out and hoped he’d have some theories that would help me establish whether I stood any chance of success, or could, at the very least, emerge with a shred of dignity. The memory of Willem’s blatant disapproval still stung.
    The plan was that we’d meet at the reception area of my downtown hotel and then drive out to the Japanese Gardens past the university for a walk and a chat. Now it was 11:30 a.m. and I had literally just checked into my room when reception rang to say the Love Professor was downstairs waiting for me. Damn, he was forty minutes early. I’d hoped to have a quick shower and a moment to gather my thoughts before I met him.
    I flipped my bag onto the bed. I’d packed my waterproof jacket and sweater on top—even without his early arrival, I’d known it would be a tight turnaround. As I pulled the jacket out I noticed a puddle of sticky white fluid on the sleeve. I stopped dead and looked at it, mystified. Gingerly I checked my bag; nothing was broken. I really didn’t want to smell it, but—and I had no good feelings about this—what the hell was it?
    I was tired and feared I was going crazy, but…was it possible a baggage handler had opened my bag and…?
    NO, it was too much to even think about. Why would they do that? Holding my breath and grimacing, I plucked the coat carefully out of my bag and took it into the bathroom to sponge the fluid off, all the while painfully aware that the Love Professor was downstairs waiting to meet me. At arm’s length, I dropped the sleeve into the sink and, stepping back, turned the tap on full. As soon as the water hit the sticky mess, it started frothing and foaming. Foam? I hadn’t expected foam. I looked at the sleeve in confusion, turned the water off, put the wet coat down on the edge of the sink, and walked back into the bedroom. Minus my coat, there was now more room in my case to investigate. I gingerly lifted out the rolled clothes and peered cautiously underneath them.
    A bottle of shampoo I had missed earlier was lodged in the corner of the case, its lid unscrewed and white soap oozing out of the unsecured top.
    I closed my eyes and groaned in exasperation. Apparently, it wasn’t just the lid that was coming unscrewed. Was the fact that I was meeting the Love Professor making me see sex everywhere, or was I doing this to myself by undertaking this journey? Just think what kind of interpretation he would put on this: “Ahh, so, Jennifer, you imagine your traveling persona to be the focus of unsolicited sexual attention, and yet it is a journey you have chosen to make. Is it not possible that you are filled with a desire to have your ‘baggage handled’ by strangers and you are seeking to make this fantasy a reality?”
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    The Love Professor was looking out of the window into the Nordstan shopping center outside when I finally made it down to reception. He was a kind-looking man, about 50, with a Woody Allen Does Academic appearance, a lived-in tweed jacket, and sparse