I’ve never been one to coin a phrase, but there’s a first for everything: “Take a Dane out of Denmark and you take Denmark out of the Dane.”

No more so was this the case than on a recent date with a Dane ‘Down Under’. I approached this date with a goal in mind: to determine if dating a Dane is different when they’re out of their beloved country. It seems so!

As my Dane in question had been living in Australia for a year, expectedly, some of the typical Aussie traits had rubbed off on him to create a very interesting crossbreed: what I like to call a ‘Daneoz’. The typical Aussie traits of easygoing banter, sarcastic humour, and the chivalrous act of opening a door had obviously been injected into his bloodstream, while he still retained the gently-reserved, charming and flirtatious nature of his Viking counterparts.

Forget the mines in Western Australia, this man was pure gold.

The first sign this kangaroo-loving country had rubbed off on him was clear when we approached the table to sit down. He did something that I was not prepared for. He pulled out my chair. I was more than shocked, I was suspicious. A Dane has never ever done this for me before – it was like meeting a mythical creature that only exists in fairy tales.

But it got me thinking: in this ‘macho’ inflated country where the word metrosexual doesn’t exist, the Daneoz can set the ‘male’ part of himself free. Releasing the beast within, I call it. He can open doors, pull out our chairs, carry shopping bags, and help girls walk downstairs in high heels without being told in a most condescending way “I can do it myself”, as most Danish women abruptly tell the poor men trying to do them a service.

But, as we continued chatting, it was obvious he had retained that sparkle in his eye and that ever so irresistible reserve that comes with being Danish. He was open, but still held some things back – he wasn’t in your face, over-the-top or arrogant like so many men Down Under. He wanted to know my opinions on issues, like how I felt about Sydney, and treated me like his equal instead of just a ‘sheila’ he was using to inflate his ego.

Now as I’ve said many times before, the Danes really are ‘the masters of the flirt’. This Dane did his country proud in that respect. He was the master of eye contact: that extended gaze that gives off a subtle yet powerful message, similar to the mysterious reservedness that always leaves a girl wanting more.

The date did leave me wondering though: am I really ‘dating a Dane’ if he’s out of his natural habitat? I concluded that I don’t really care if I’m not – I think I’ve found the pot of gold they’ve been searching for in Western Australia.

While I love Danish men, and I really do, inject them with a few Down Under traits and you’ve got yourself that elusive creature women the world over have been searching for: the Down Under Dane (the dud). Except in this case he was definitely the right way up.