For some reason I had always been against traveling in Europe. “I’ll go there when I’m older, when I have more money and I don’t want to travel on dirty overnight busses and go days without a shower.” Well, I guess I’m there. Except for the more money, dirty busses, and days without shower. Yes, Europe is more expensive than Asia and Africa, but how to do it cheaply is another post. This post, my friends, is about my first nights in Spain.
After 30-some hours of transit, I met my sister in the Barcelona airport and we ventured out onto the Barcelona public transit system. A few seconds after we boarded our first train, a white man with an almost shaved head, multiple eyebrow, lip, and ear piercings, dark black mascara, torn up black jeans, and a patched up vest began slamming on his guitar and singing in Spanish while his buddy sat and banged on a wooden box.
We took the train to Market Nou where my two friends, a married lesbian couple in their mid-30s, met us outside the local “Cafe Bar.” We walked a few short minutes to their apartment, complete with a gorgeous view and a spoiled cat. After putting our stuff down and having some water, we headed out to explore the neighborhood. Marta and Marina brought us to the local pub where we stood outside in the sun, drank beer, and watched children run around in the streets while their parents did the same as us. We drank a few beers and decided to walk around the city for a while.
We walked for hours, checking out the mall that used to be a bull fighting ring, eating local paella (5 euro for a giant plate of fish paella, ~15 fresh oranges, and a cup of homemade red wine), and taking pictures. Around 7:30 Marta and Marina told us that their friends knew of a dance party happening at a local dance club- and there was no cover. After very little convincing by me, we went on over to see if it was any fun. We decided we would stay for 25 minutes or so since dancing isn’t Lauren’s favorite thing.
Oh. My. God.
Not only were beers 2 euro, but the place was hopping….with queers!! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Everywhere I turned, queers were there! I was not the only androgonous person with a mullet! There were femmes, dykes, punks, non-binary folks, bears, twinks, straights- the list goes on and on. Not only was there a HUGE diverse crowd, I was never ever once hit on in an uncomfortable way. A few people made some eyes, but I wasn’t looking for a dance partner and that was completely and totally respected. Nobody grabbed me from behind, nobody tried to rub their junk on me, and everyone was psyched to be there.
A few days later we were in Granada. If you follow our instagram or facebook you will know- I am in love with this city. Again, our first night was incredible. We got to our airbnb an hour after we planned, due to a 200km accidential detour and later, difficulty finding the door that turned out to be right in front of our faces. We were met by our lovely host, Gemma, who gave us a map of the area and told us some neat places to go.
After an hour of trying to find a place to park the car we found a cute corner bar with some live music and tapas just around the corner of our place. It was maybe 20′ by 5′ and packed with up to 20 people. Since I’m allergic to dairy, seeing the ‘vegan tapas’ on the chalkboard got me excited. When I started talking to the bartender/waiter he immediately went back to get the chef. The chef was amazing! He was the owner as well as chef and offered to make me some Spanish sausage that was completely dairy free.
As the night continued and the crowd thinned I started talking to a woman doing some incredible work. She was an anthropologist working with social scientists and historians to rehab an abandonded several-hundreds-year old building/site to become a place for ‘vulnerable’ groups, specifically mentally disabled people. We went outside for a cigarette and as we were talking were approached by a nearly incapacitated drunk guy bumbling about his jacket. He opend up with “I’m gay,” and finally, we realized that he had left his jacket inside the other place and they wouldn’t let him back in because he was too drunk. I offered to get his jacket for him and he walked me over to the black steel door on the side of a wall. Even though there was music coming from the other side, I was skeptical. I knocked one time, unsure that this was the right place, and a femme person wearing heavy costume makeup and a tutu opened the door. “NO!” she shouted as she pushed him away and pulled me inside.
My mind was blown.
I had just entered a secret underground queer dance party.
I didn’t find his jacket, but I did fall in love with Spain that night. Trust me when I say:
This will not be my only time to Granada. This will not be my only time to Spain. I will return to Europe to explore the rest of this mysterious paradise.
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