Gay Bars in Italy

You’d think that in the most Catholic country in the world, finding a gay bar would be a challenge - and you’d be right.  Add on that age-old question that has perplexed scholars throughout the ages, “Is he gay or European?”  I must confess that my gaydar was as confused as our phone coverage while we made our journey.  But yes, eventually we did manage to succeed in our quest.

 

Having done the research ahead of time, Kerri (our trip coordinator and official “stewardess”) figured that we needed to go to a particular gay bar in Florence – the “YAG” bar.  (Made no sense until Paul pointed out that I should spell it backwards.  Duh!)  Among other things, the Yag bar boasted being in a deconsecrated 12^th century church.  But wait… it gets better – the deconsecrated church of San GIUSEPPE!  This was not just a fun time – this was now a pilgrimage!

 

Nestled in a little alley behind the huge church of Santa Croce, our night out started as just the three of us.  After all, it was still early – 10:00pm.  But as the hours passed, the bar filled, giving us subjects upon which to base many a snark.  By around 1:00am, we had had enough of expensive domestic beer (5 Euro for a bottle?  ICK!), and decided to make for the walk back to our apartment.  As we rounded the corner to the piazza of Santa Croce, we were stunned to see that what had been an empty piazza was now PACKED!  WTF?  Why were there so many people there?  “Holy #*$$!” said our petite precious flower, Kerri.  “They’re drinking beer on the church steps!  Where are they getting beer?!”  As if the trip gods had heard our naïve question, just then the beer bike went riding by.  We shouldn’t have… we really shouldn’t have… but we just HAD to.  We flagged down the beer bike.  Sure enough, this guy had taken a regular bike and rigged it so that anywhere he could, he was able to store beer.  And not JUST beer – tallboy German beer (2.50 Euro for a tallboy.  Excellent!). 

 

BWAAA HA HA!  Much to Paul’s consternation, Kerri and I just HAD to have our badboy moment.  Despite the look of disapproval, we just HAD to flag down the beer bike, get our tallboys, and then run back to the church steps (all the while giggling like schoolgirls), before swilling back our brewskies.  It was truly hysterical!

 

The next night, Paul and I set out on our pursuit of the only other gay bar that we had found in our research.  Alas, it was not open, but at least we did find it.  The reason I bring it up – it was located on none other than Via San Egilio – Italian for “Saint GILES!” 

 

Do-DO-Do-dooo Do-DO-Do-dooo Do-DO-Do-dooo