Due to the hide and seek of the male race gay spells are foreseen
The subject had to come up and I suppose if you haven't thought of it and discussed it after a few biertjes with a few other outlanders, you haven't faced the Neverlands as it is. It is in the breeze, mixed with yet another puff of ganja, in the bars, in the cobbled streets of Utrecht, in university halls, in fact it is so inextricable from anything to do with the Neverlands and most of all with the people of this fascinating country that it is devilishly tempting to start a blog unnatural carnal knowledge. But then I think it might be much better if it was anonymous (ah, the joys of unrestrained expression!), yet with this being a small town the anonymity probably wouldn't last long, hence I'm sticking to the current title.
Anyway, it's been almost a month since I arrived to the Neverlands and I still can't believe how GAY it is here. And how gay they and they are here. In fact the gayness of the Neverlands and Neverlanders is so immense one genuinely starts questioning am I gay or maybe I should be? Actually, if things go as they do now, with fraternity boys and their look-alikes dominating night life horizon and the less visible rest falling somewhere in between the categories Narcissus and Cute but Shy things can evolve God knows where. Yet this (so I heard) being one of the most secular countries in the world and with the possibility of the Almighty having little interest in our businesses here being high, He mightn't know.
I must say the boys are very shy here. A Swedish girl told me she found them very cute, better than the Swedish. Besides, they have manners, she said. Yet oftentimes I find the boys in the Neverlands a bit like paintings: nice to look at, but that's as far as it goes. You can't hug a painting. And even if you manage to, a painting can't hug you. They're in their Ivory Towers. Inaccessable. Gesloten.
Now in my modest opinion part of the problem lies in the fact that women in the Neverlands are very strong. Strong in all senses. As I was told, they have to be - they're always on the bike and they have two children whom they must carry on that bike. And they like to have the control in their hands. Shopping for groceries in Dublin. You swing through the aisles of Tesco or Super Value, fill the basket, wait in the line, if you have forgotten to weight the courgettes you apologise, get them weighted by the shop assistant or weight them yourself, pay and go. Shopping for groceries in the Neverlands. You swing through the aisles of Albert Heijne or Aldi or Plus, fill the basket, after realising that the line is gesloten the mevrouw standing next to you bosses you into another queue, before you place the courgettes on the counter another mevrouw points out that you have forgotten to weight them, you go back, weigh them, go back wondering if there's something else you have overlooked of which another mevrouw might remind, but this time you are fine, you pay and go. It is quite clear who's wearing the pants in this country and in this respect the inhibitions of the local boys could be understood.
Now besides being strong I must say many of the women here seem to be hot. Maybe it's the kind of rain that showers the Low Lands, yet even if before one seemed to be quite indifferent to them or possibly mildly interested in a curious way, but only after a few (a good few, a very good few) drinks, one can quite easily fall for one here. Or two for that matter. True, some of them are waving the banners of gayness high. They are a bit like sirens. Danger. Enter at your own risk. They have discovered their identity (which is fantastic). And they want to make sure everybody around is aware of that. But there is this other category - and that's where it gets menacingly interesting. They examine you with their blue or green Neverlandish eyes. As if quietly lurking. There's something in their posture. They might be a bit tomboyish, but not necessarily. Their sexuality doesn't have to be squeezed in the jeans, they might even wear a skirt. But it's that look! I hear the gaydar ticking. Tick tick tick. The ones spending another evening in their Ivory Towers remain there silently, the heavily gelled guys seem to have disappeared from the horizon and I find myself looking for Ariadne to get me out of this maze as discussed before, but she seems to be running late and I find myself lost in the Neverlands. Which way?
Anyway, it's been almost a month since I arrived to the Neverlands and I still can't believe how GAY it is here. And how gay they and they are here. In fact the gayness of the Neverlands and Neverlanders is so immense one genuinely starts questioning am I gay or maybe I should be? Actually, if things go as they do now, with fraternity boys and their look-alikes dominating night life horizon and the less visible rest falling somewhere in between the categories Narcissus and Cute but Shy things can evolve God knows where. Yet this (so I heard) being one of the most secular countries in the world and with the possibility of the Almighty having little interest in our businesses here being high, He mightn't know.
I must say the boys are very shy here. A Swedish girl told me she found them very cute, better than the Swedish. Besides, they have manners, she said. Yet oftentimes I find the boys in the Neverlands a bit like paintings: nice to look at, but that's as far as it goes. You can't hug a painting. And even if you manage to, a painting can't hug you. They're in their Ivory Towers. Inaccessable. Gesloten.
Now in my modest opinion part of the problem lies in the fact that women in the Neverlands are very strong. Strong in all senses. As I was told, they have to be - they're always on the bike and they have two children whom they must carry on that bike. And they like to have the control in their hands. Shopping for groceries in Dublin. You swing through the aisles of Tesco or Super Value, fill the basket, wait in the line, if you have forgotten to weight the courgettes you apologise, get them weighted by the shop assistant or weight them yourself, pay and go. Shopping for groceries in the Neverlands. You swing through the aisles of Albert Heijne or Aldi or Plus, fill the basket, after realising that the line is gesloten the mevrouw standing next to you bosses you into another queue, before you place the courgettes on the counter another mevrouw points out that you have forgotten to weight them, you go back, weigh them, go back wondering if there's something else you have overlooked of which another mevrouw might remind, but this time you are fine, you pay and go. It is quite clear who's wearing the pants in this country and in this respect the inhibitions of the local boys could be understood.
Now besides being strong I must say many of the women here seem to be hot. Maybe it's the kind of rain that showers the Low Lands, yet even if before one seemed to be quite indifferent to them or possibly mildly interested in a curious way, but only after a few (a good few, a very good few) drinks, one can quite easily fall for one here. Or two for that matter. True, some of them are waving the banners of gayness high. They are a bit like sirens. Danger. Enter at your own risk. They have discovered their identity (which is fantastic). And they want to make sure everybody around is aware of that. But there is this other category - and that's where it gets menacingly interesting. They examine you with their blue or green Neverlandish eyes. As if quietly lurking. There's something in their posture. They might be a bit tomboyish, but not necessarily. Their sexuality doesn't have to be squeezed in the jeans, they might even wear a skirt. But it's that look! I hear the gaydar ticking. Tick tick tick. The ones spending another evening in their Ivory Towers remain there silently, the heavily gelled guys seem to have disappeared from the horizon and I find myself looking for Ariadne to get me out of this maze as discussed before, but she seems to be running late and I find myself lost in the Neverlands. Which way?
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