Some years ago, I started to write a few short pieces. They sat on my computer for a long time until recently when I re-discovered them. I decided to post a few of the better ones on the Blog – I hope you like them. This one is based on a real experience in 2006.I get my bearings and walk into the Jordaan. Beautiful, small Amsterdam still has streets I don’t know. As I pass the small, independent art and food shops, I begin to think of a drink. I look up and see a Peace flag, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I am conscious of the recent London bombings, and feel happy that somebody shows solidarity. I see the place below the flag is a bar, and wander in.
Even as I approach the door, I begin to suspect this is a Lesbian bar, and the Peace flag is rather a rainbow – the signal of gay pride. As I sit down at the bar, I am still not 100% sure – after all, there are no signs saying “get lost, blokes”, but there are a few hints.
Firstly, out of a dozen people here, I am the only guy. A Postcard behind the bar is from a film called “I prefer girls”, with an image of a strong woman in red standing above a weaker woman, holding her hand up for help. Another postcard shows a wartime propaganda style image of a butch woman in workclothes, flexing her biceps, with the caption “We can do it!”
The barmaid is very butch. The couple that walks in after me are female. The pool players are girls. A woman comes and asks for 3 beers.
Do I feel uncomfortable?
8 years ago, I would have walked out. Why? Prejudice, fear of the unknown, and fear of ridicule – that stupid thinking that takes you from “lesbian bar” to “what if somebody sees me come out of this place and thinks I am gay?” Now I realise one value of journey that has been living and being in Amsterdam for 8 years. I just don’t care about this. I have the feeling they are more bothered by my presence than I am by theirs, but I sit there quietly, writing, not bothering anyone, hopefully.
The woman behind the bar made me feel welcome from when I arrived, asking me “shall I make a tab for you?”, which indicated it’s ok to stay for more than one drink. I get talking to her, and before I know it, she has assumed I am gay. I don’t confirm or deny it, as I have no concerns one way or the other. We get talking (her name is Inssaf) and she tells me a bit about the bar.
It is called Saarein 2 – the original Saarein started in the 60’s and was one of the first all-women bars in Amsterdam. It must have been a great, ground-breaking time, and I tried to imagine the atmosphere of territorial possession that would have welcomed me and any other men that strayed in 20 years ago. But at the end of the 90’s it was renovated, and men were allowed (though it seems they didn’t feel very encouraged, as I was the only man there in the 3 hours I stayed, and their website pictures show only a couple of men…).
At one stage Inssaf tells me about tourists who wander into the place by mistake.
“You should see it”, she said with a mischievous smile. “A bunch of guys, normally English, come in looking for a beer, and of course I serve them. It’s funny to see how long it takes for them to realise. The A-haaa… effect when they realise is great! They are very quick to drink up from that moment…”
She also told me what brought some of them in. “Many of them think the Rainbow flag is a Peace symbol, and come in because of this.” I roll my eyes in mock amusement, tutting about how daft some straight people are…
Inssaf is Maroccan and she told me how tough it was ‘coming out’ at home. She is used to prejudice, being a darker skin than the average Dutch person, and now she experiences the double stigma of Lesbian and seemingly Muslim. None of this seems to bother her much. being a cheerful, sociable and intelligent person, finishing off her journalism degree between long stints behind the bar.
I come out of the bar, a bit smashed. Inssaf had introduced me to a “mini-black Russian”, a small shot of Vodka and Kahlua – yes, a lethal but enjoyable combination. I enjoyed my time there, felt comfortable and accepted, and was reminded of the meaning of community. My hero, Tom Robinson, once said “Community is a word mistreated and misused deliberately by politicians. They suggest that it means we should all be the same, in order to be a strong community. But the real meaning of community is not being the same – it’s about respecting and accepting the difference.” I am not sure how much acceptance Inssaf get's in her daily life, but certainly she and her friends in the bar showed it to me.
