How the Dutch do it

April 14th, 2008

“You know this area of the park is a meeting place for gay men,” coaxed the smiling police officer, “After dark this place is a red light district for men… Are you gay?”

“I… don’t think so,” I responded. Then, thought to myself… was he joking, trying to get me to leave the park.

“Then you better turn around and join your FRIENDS under the bridge.”

“Sure thing officer!”

Join my friends? I had an idea what friends he was referring to; large groups of tourists who flock into the park to shroom. He probably was referencing, a lame diving maneuver into the bushes to avoid his spotlight. As for the gay men? He must have been joking because I slept in the park the previous night, without “incident”. Although, I did fall into a few cheap bottles of wine, passed out, and hadn’t been awakened by the late night traffic… the sounds of honking on the Hearshey highway.

But, sure as the crap in India, I rounded a corner and saw the equivalent of a broadway production. It was a well lit long stretch of drivable dirt… The left side: was a large moonlit pond lined with small grasses and shrubs, silhouetted with large weeping willows. The right side: had a dark background of deep bushes, each partnered with its own green park bench and overhead streetlight. Under each overhead lamp stood a male figure, for or five in total. The first was very ominous looking; could have been the fear of my virgin behind or the fact that this man towered a full 14 inches over me, or 15 inches while wearing his standard issue prison shoes. His dark face was twisted and wrinkled under the street lamp, looking like a bulldog eating an infant. As he span and snarled in my direction, my heart stopped but my feet kept moving swiftly. (Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t scared of his sexuality. More-so, why this man is out in a park at dark, the idea I could be raped, after all the majority of rapes are committed by men, scares me.) His lit cigarette stare burnt into my soul and I felt used as he eye humped my petite frame and lean backside.

“Sure it may look fresh,” I thought, “but it’s mutton; old, gray, and badly beaten from arduous dirt road bus rides…. Wish I stayed oogling scantly dressed women in red lit windows, along the canal of Amsterdam’s redlight district.”

(Amsterdam has the best marketing scheme I’ve seen the entire trip. The worlds oldest profession right next to the milk at the supermarket, brilliant!)

After the man had finished feasting,I passed the bush where my bag resided. I glanced over trying to determine how best to sneak back into my sleeping spot. After reaching a dark zone outside their range of view, I quickly ran up to the fringe of dark and light, hid behind a tree trunk, and gathered reconnaissance.

My bush was in between a large rose garden and the well lit strip where the men hung like gallery paintings. The only light was moving and generated by a skinny man riding a bicycle. I couldn’t just waltz up to my bush because I would have been backlit and my figure could have been viewed by others in the dark area. In order get a closer look, I crawled along the path, carefully hiding every time the bike light would shine in my direction.

There were two stationary groups and one or two singles heading away from both groups, towards each other. I wondered, “is this where the action happens or just bargaining, before heading elsewhere. (Sorry ya’ll… I wasn’t going to go over and find out.) A few others where sitting in benches just 20 feet away from my bush.

Just then the bike headed my direction on the zig-zaged path. I quickly crawled back to my tree on the fringe and waited until he turned back so the light would disappear. Too many pearling eyes in the garden. I would have to swiftly and quietly crawl for 30 feet, with only shear hope that nobody would walk around that bush. Just then another man appeared into the well lit area and sat on the bench… Yep that’s right, I had one man in a bench behind the bush and another in front, both 20 feet away. After the quick crawl, rest of the operation took 40 minutes of slow, exhausting, statue-like movements and moments of careful breathing.

Once in bed I could finally relax. JUST THEN the question was answered, (the one apologized to you earlier in the story) through a dreadful sound. The answer, sometimes the action does take place here.

“Wait! What if they use this bush!? What if I snore!?”

I knew it was going to be a long knife clutching night. Regardless of my thoughts I awoke safely to park services plucking trash from outside my bush. Hope things are quieter when I return, in order to sleep tonight.

Entry Filed under: Netherlands