Thursday, 3 October 2013

From Russia With Love

So here in the land of Lederhosen, it’s reunification day.

No one here massively cares about the history of the day, they’re mostly just happy that it means they get the day off work.

Including me.


It does also mean however that everything that’s even mildly interesting shuts down for the day. So while I declined my host-family’s polite invitation to go on a hike, I decided to continue my search for a half decent English cup of tea in the city, while also nursing a hangover.

Last night I went out with a girl from my German language course who nervously asked me out after a lesson.

She’s bloody adorable.

She’s from Russia and so openly doing gay things still scare her a bit.

My Russian friend has been living in Germany for over a year now, but only started to come out 2 months ago. So she’s all new to the lovely land of lesbians and makes me feel all nostalgic about my own shuffle out of the closet.

But her shuffling is proving a lot harder than mine. It’s quite deeply ingrained in her mind that being gay is a disorder, a disease, disgusting and treatable if she would only go get help. Her entire family and all of her Russian friends are horrendously homophobic and she doesn’t really have many links to the gay community here, so feels like she’s all out there on her lonesome.

So anyway, she spotted my thumb ring, the global symbol of lesbianism, and caught me after class, nervously suggesting a gay pub round the corner.

After far, far too much wine, she was telling me about an illicit rendezvous she once had with a girl in Russia. This other girl wrote a gay blog, which is iffy ground in Russia, but she contacted her and they ended up meeting. It was the stuff of movies.

Some of her friends joined us after a while, one of whom was a very, very straight psychologist.

So, Psychologist lady decided to ramble on and on and on about how being gay is a choice from when you’re very young and how parents are to blame which ended with me shouting “bollocks” very loudly.

And so the evening progressed, with psychologist lady eventually leaving , but not before her comments turned from homophobic to transphobic and made Russia quieter and quieter until she looked like she wanted to hide under the table.

So after much more wine and my joy at finally finding a pub that served cider, Russia was looking happier (read: drunker), and asking all the questions I remember asking when I was first coming out.

Like I said, she’s adorable.

And it feels very odd to appear to be a wealth of Sapphic knowledge to this little baby femme. Aside from promising her the entire series of The L Word on a memory stick and having her tell me I look like Kitty from Tipping the Velvet, the rest of the evening is pretty much a blur.

All I clearly remember of the end of the evening, is being back home and shuffling my drunken little feet into the kitchen where I decided I wanted a Bretzel. Proceeded to sloppily cut the Bretzel with an oversized knife and when said Bretzel then fell apart, finding it hilarious and thinking that I must of course take a picture.

I do of course promise to write about something at least vaguely interesting soon. That is of course assuming something vaguely interesting happens to me… rather than plying you all with pictures of broken bretzels.


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