Photgraphic Exhibition in an Amsterdam Gay Gym

It's a Prickly Pear!
In this time of sales and special offers, I was sent a tempting invitation from a down market spa, that was offering reduced massages, using non-essential oils, I suspect.

For some bizarre reason, it made me recall the day we went to a gay gym in Amsterdam to view an arty photo exhibition by a photographic friend of ours.

Unfortunately we were unable to attend the opening /gala night on the Friday but we did get along on the Sunday. We had been instructed that the exhibition space was within a sports hall and had envisaged it being held in an anti-room; a leisure /relaxation room, the lounge or the reception area but, as with many things here, we were to be surprised.

The entrance to the gym was somewhat secluded and quiet. The door had a secure entry system that required a key pass, or an embarassing chit chat with the receptionista. I was was going to proffer the Passphrase 'Prick up your ears!' but I was disuaded from doing so. I choo choo chose the second option.

I am told there are a number of gay gyms in Amsterdam that have bizarre initiation ceremonies for their new 'members'. It's one of those 'things' that you ask about, with real curiousity and then wish you hadn't, with real regrets and sometimes nausea.

One gym is said to offer an additional discount if you can turn the door handle using only the grasping capacity of your buttocks. Before you try this, it is best to check that no-one has put chillie sauce or superglue on the handle.

It is also a good idea to ensure that there is no one on the other side of the door wanting out, because a quick and snappy turn of the handle can result in some unwanted friction between both of you, allegedly.

Inside the gym the receptionista looked almost as puzzled that we had arrived at this place, as we did. So we said we had come to see the photo exhibition. She said the manager was not in and that he was just a little excitable, not really a true exhibitionist!

After a short time spent in useless explanations, we asked if we could look at the artistic photo pictures on the walls. She shrugged politely and said she had never noticed them before and had no knowledge of them, but we were welcome to wander freely through the mainy rooms that made up the gay gym.

It was filled with gymnastic instruments of torture, and as long as we didn't mind the sweaty men working out, (prior to making out) we had the run of the place. No guards to spy on us but no informative placques either.

It was a bizarre scene as we walked slowly and comtemplatively around the rooms, as you would in any gallery. Pausing at the odd picture and nodding sympathetically at the sweaty bodies sprawled about it. It was a very well appointed gym with some less appointed men hanging around there but, as a measure of friendliness, I have been invited back again, on my own.

We paused next to a number of pictures to take a snapshot or two, simply to record for our friend, that we had been to see her exhibition. At one point there stood a large fan blowing sweaty air around the gallery, which gave the whole scene the look, feel and smell of 'performance' art.

One picture we took was beside the door to the Ladies toilet, the least used room in the gym and I am sure it was only there to fulfil some local government fire and safety regulations, or some such thing. It was beautifully decorated room with sparkling ceramics, fresh flowers and flowery perfumes. In fact it had the look of a Buddhist shrine about it or a temple to the goddess Lesbos, perhaps.

Point of order! I hear you say, surely the Ladies Toilet was there for the use of the Receptionista? Unfortunately, Amsterdam is more complicated than that and the dimensions are distorted, mostly along the lines of gender.

The Receptionista, man, woman or wannabe, also used the Men's Toilet. I did not! As the old song goes; 'Sometimes you need to know when to hold them and when to fold them!' and I was holding my own.

Needless to say we parted friends with all the boys and managed a gleeful middle-of-the-road grunt from the receptionista. It's their way of thanking you for not making any demands on them, not asking them to justify their ways or change how they are. Isn't that what we all want.

We headed for the nearest street cafe to refresh and sun ourselves and also to contemplate what we had seen and had been party to. I checked out the snapshots. If a picture paints a thousand words then mine were being silent and discrete, showing only what we saw and no sign of what we imagined.

I did conclude that if you are going to have an artistic exhibition, that it should be easily accesable to the general public and that you should inform the 'gallery' staff but this is Amsterdam and it's more laid back about these things.

All this was not so important as we sat under the watchful eye of the cafe cat. Time spent drinking some real coffee, talking to each other and sharing the Amsterdam sun as it warmed up the street life. Gezellig!