In almost every European city emerges an Erasmus-bubble, in which every student lives his second, temporary life. Another world full of new friends and affairs. It`s not only an exchange of knowledge or  phone numbers, but also... bodily fluids. What happens when these national paths cross? Sex might be the same, but every nation has its own way of getting there. Lisa Schnell experienced it on the best international place we could find - an Erasmus party!

I cover the last lash with mascara. While I look in the mirror into my ready-to-go face my thoughts drift away: Ivan, DJ, mysterious eyes, promising lips... I met him last night. Anne flies into the bathroom with her short skirt and notices my dreamy eyes. "No Slovak guy, tonight, Lisa. It's an Erasmus-party!" The frame for my new second life is Prague. That's why the Slovak DJ can be considered a local and that's why Anne is right.

The first Erasmus rule: In Erasmusland you will get to know every nationality Europe has to offer but the nation you actually stay in. Anne, the blond German girl with the face of a princess and a tongue like Eminem turned into my new best friend in just two weeks. Another Erasmus phenomenon: Your new life will be formed in an amazingly short time. It's like life in fast-forward. Just follow the instructions on the package: First night: fill your basket with a lot of half strangers, first week: evaluate the quality and get rid of the bad ones, second week: relax and enjoy your basket of new good friends.

By calling my DJ a Slovak guy and not Ivan Anne followed the third principle called "No future included!". A hundred percent true for the first phase of Erasmus when everybody still floats on the wave of easiness and non-commitment. Why bother with serious feelings? Didn't that human mistake cause all the troubles in our past lives anyway?  For now we don't want to get to know the guys for real so we don't need a lot of information. That's why they usually get named first by their nationality, secondly by some ridiculous funny nickname and maybe, if necessary, their actual name tagged on the end. So for us there is no Peter, Ernest or Paul, but the English, the French and the German guy. When it comes to girls they all have the same goal. Tonight we can explore their different ways of getting there: Erasmus party is on the schedule. Most of the time these are located in the most commercial club the town has to offer.  Normally these are filled with tourist masses dancing to the Best from the 60´s to the 90´s. Today the stage is free for European sexualities to clash. So we pull up one of the turquoise stools, order our drinks, oversee and analyse the scene:

There's the French guy - fashionably dressed as it's appropriate for a Parisienne, a little short, but with amazing green eyes - talking to a German girl. The distance between him and his flirting target decreases every moment. A few minutes later we can observe the first international kiss of the evening. Anne and I look at each other and role our eyes. We know what started out so easily can get complicated very fast.

We've witnessed quite a few clashes between the German and the French view on sexuality: French guys complain quite often, that German girls always have to have that "what-are-we" talk. "Does every relationship between men and women need a label? Why do I have to sign some kind of invisible relationship contract?", the French side asks, confused.  "It's clear anyway that the girl I kiss more than once is my girlfriend now." "It's not!"  German girls usually reply indignantly. "There are several different ways men and women can be connected: fuck buddies, affairs, one night stands and the big R-word, the relationship. Depending on how the couple labels itself there are different rights and duties. German girls wanna know where they stand, what they have to give and what they can expect.

"Ciao bellas", Marco interrupts our imaginary dialogue between the French and the German. The Italian can't help it. The moment he opens his mouth, a compliment slips out. This time he points out what beautiful eyes I have though I roll them the next moment as a reaction to such a cheesy line. Certainly doesn't hold him back to explain to Anne how he loves her skirt. We are both not used to such old-fashioned and aggressive courtship.

But then Anders, our Swedish friend, comes up. He knocks back the last zip of his beer, throws the empty glass on the bar and spits out contemptuously: "Catholics!" It's not the first time he´s complained about the defensive attitude of Italian girls. We figure that in Italy you have to be a knight in a shining armour, tireless in pursuing the hard-to-please Italian maids - but we are not used to the courtship of Italian knights like Marco. Our friend Anders finds himself in the biggest flirt-confusion when an Italian maid plays hard to get. He was taught that a girl's "no" means "no" and only assholes ignore it, and keep on going. But on the other hand: Why does she always encourage him to move on after she had just pushed him away? Obviously "no" and "yes don´t mean the same in Italy and Sweden.

Like every market, the love market has its different currencies and the exchange rate of an Italian "yes" compared to a Swedish one is at least 50 to 1. For one love-Lira you can buy maybe a kiss on the cheek while with a swedish kiss-crown in your pocket you can almost start making the bed. While our Scandinavian friend is still not quite sure how much he will get for a love-lira, our Italian friend Marco is quite happy now. It took a while ‘til he figured out that he was preaching to the choir - from the moment he stopped trying so hard he found himself in a paradise populated with sexually open minded European Eves, ready to try the apple.

One of these free minded women is me, still sitting at the bar, sipping my third drink and waiting for my adventure to begin. So what's out there for me to pick from? I notice a cute guy just a few meters away. Anne ensures me that I look gorgeous - the first condition for success. It's a well-known fact that for men the physical attraction is the first filter. Butt really comes before brain. "Bullshit" Conradin, our German friend almost screams and waves his forefinger in front of our faces like a teacher. He lectures us that German women still spend way too much time on their appearance and hide their intellect behind nail polish and lipstick. He has developed a strategy to encourage them to show their true personalities:" I just don't react to all the butt waving and fluttering of eyelashes. I simply concentrate on the thoughts the ladies have and hide my sexual attraction." But watch out - with that behaviour Conradin always ended up being the good but asexual friend one can talk to about everything but would never kiss. It seems that a man that doesn't drool when he sees a big cleavage is not that much of a man to German women. Anne explains to our desperate Conradin how German women tick: "Even an emancipated woman is not only spirit, but also body. Though I want my partner to love my beautiful mind, sex is still the essential difference between a relationship and just a friend. You can't just cut the sex out of it."

Talking about sex. It seems that I have passed through the filter of my flirting target - Calvin-Klein-type, white t-shirt and jeans with curious blue eyes and a snub nose surrounded by blond curly hair. As I get closer and closer my eyes still like what they see, but when he comes in earshot: American accent!

"What's wrong with Mr. Calvin?" Anne asks. "American." I say and shrug a little bit disappointed. I just know that I can't deal with the typical American way of dating. It's like they have a class in high school called "the basics of dating". The syllabus would be: First lesson: Dinner and a movie, long walk, first kiss on the cheek; Second lesson: same procedure but kiss on the mouth; Third lesson and hopefully the third base: a special restaurant, french at best, so romantic and voila! You passed the class "least original dating ever: two robots on a rendezvous". Anne laughs at my emotional outburst and I just am reminded how much my encounter with the Slovak DJ differed from two robots dating.

"Your ass is ringing", Anne says and points to my cell phone in my hip pocket. The first Erasmus rule just got broken: a local made it into the Erasmus bubble, the Slovak. "Who is it?" Anne asks and without realizing it I break the next Erasmus rule: "It's Ivan.", I say and for once I stop analyzing which national strategy this person is following, and just wanna know what a man has to say to a woman.