Janik, the Frisian Bodybuilder at the Horseman's Club

Amsterdam, June 2003

Just after getting my Ph.D., when I was living in Florida (2001-2005), I tried to go to Europe every year at Christmas or spring break: a weekend in Amsterdam, a night in Brussels,two or  three days in Paris, and then home. I always liked to be in Amsterdam on Sunday nights, when the Horsemen met at the Argos Bar on Warmoesstraat.   It was a social club -- no sex allowed -- but members all had to be nude. Their guests had the option of nudity or underwear.

The membership fee varied depending on your size (yes, they took measurements).  "A" got in free.

So the majority of men drinking beer, playing pool, and cruising had the endowments of porn stars.

It was quite a nice place for sightseeing, and sometimes guys would invite you back to their house.

In the spring of 2003, I met Janik, smooth, muscular, balding, in his early 40s, in the A category and then some, as big as my Cousin Joe, or bigger  (#9 on my Sausage List).

He was pleasant to talk to -- even after I admitted to being American (usually I claimed to be Canadian to avoid being asked why Americans were such idiots).  And at the end of the evening, he invited me back to his place -- in Heerenveen.

Heerenveen, Netherlands, Summer 2003

90 miles north of Amsterdam, 2 hours by train, in Friesland (where most people speak Frisian, not Dutch).  Janik had a tiny apartment on the same block as the "Dirty Duck Coffeeshop" and a heterosexual dance club called "Party Cafe Salsa," which made it quite noisy at night.

Still, we had a very nice evening, and in the morning Janik said, "Stay here with me.  We can be lovers. I can get you a work visa."

Living in Europe with a muscle god in the A+++ category vs. teaching sociology in Florida?  It sounded like a good deal.

So I cancelled my day in Brussels.

On Monday morning Janik went to work, leaving me to go sightseeing in Heerenveen.  Unfortunately, there was not much to do except walk around and look at the houses and canals.  I ended up buying a Frisian phrase book and a depressing French novel about Tintin's sexual problems.  Janik came home, and we went to the gym, then got Japanese take out and watched soccer on tv.

I hate sports and Japanese food.

But we had a very nice evening later, so I cancelled my train to Paris.

On Tuesday, while he was at work, I took the train into Groningen and saw the Martinitoren (St. Martin's Tower) and the Netherlands Stripmuseum (a museum of cartoon and comic strip art).  But the train was so crowded with rush hour traffic that I didn't get home until 7:30 pm.  We got Indonesian take out and watched The Simpsons dubbed in Dutch.

I would have to learn both Dutch and Frisian to live here.  I like languages, but I'd really rather learn something that would be useful outside of Friesland.

On Wednesday, I signed up for a Frisian class and then went out looking for jobs on my own.  The manager of the only gay bar in Heerenveen, Le Clochard, said he could use a waiter who spoke English and German.  That night Janik and I went to the gym, then got Japanese take out and watched soccer on tv.

I still hate sports and Japanese food.

Waiting tables and watching sports with a muscle god in the A+++ category, or teaching sociology in Florida?

On Thursday I took the train to Amsterdam and got on my 5:00 pm flight back home.

See also: The Surprise in the Dutch Afro-Caribbean Horseman's Bedroom