The Disappearing Scene in Frankfurt
FRANKFURT The familiar pang of loneliness hit me as I stepped off the train in Frankfurt. As a lesbian, finding your tribe in a new city is rarely a simple matter of walking into a bar. It's a quest that requires planning, networking, and a hefty dose of investigation. Unlike my gay male counterparts, who could hop off the train and find themselves in the heart of a vibrant scene, I was met with a frustrating reality: a single bar and it was only open twice a week.
So I wandered into Zum Schwejk, a renowned gay bar with a tropical beach theme. The pastel colors, diving cyclops, and oversized sunglasses were a bit much, but the most exotic thing about the place was the fact that people were still smoking inside. I ordered a drink and, hoping for a lead, asked the bartender if he knew where to find lesbians. A Mona Lisa smile stretched across his face as he launched into a conversation in German with an older man in the corner.
The older man turned to me and, with a knowing wink, explained that the lesbian scene in Frankfurt had been thriving ten years ago. Today, he said, only La Gata remained. He recommended me to become a gay man, assuring me that I'd have more fun. I knew he was joking, but his words carried a bittersweet sting. The bartender confirmed his statement, mentioning that lesbians did come to Zum Schwejk, especially on weekends, but mostly, he added, "heterosexual fag hags."
Later that evening, I met Julia and Alina, two lesbians enjoying drinks outside. Julia, a Russian translator working in a bank, had been in Germany since she was eleven. Alina, a filmmaker back in Ukraine, had recently arrived with her girlfriend due to the war. She now works as a shop assistant.
"Ten years ago," Julia said, "we had a whole scene - cafes, restaurants, bars, discos. Now it's just La Gata and a handful of queer events scattered throughout the year." Her words hung in the air, echoing the sentiment I had already felt - a sense of disbelief that the landscape had changed so drastically.
"I used to go out every day," Julia continued. "It was my social life. Now, I have to plan every weekend outing to Hannover, Hamburg, Berlin, Leipzig. I even go to heterosexual parties in Frankfurt sometimes, just to try and meet women. But it's hard. And it's expensive."
Alina, who lives with her girlfriend, seemed more content. She met Julia for drinks often at Zum Schwejk and occasionally ventured to La Gata. Julia, with a wry laugh, described La Gata as a place for older lesbians - a place that, she admitted, needed a major upgrade.
Julia, though, felt the loss of her social scene keenly. "It's all down to politics. They say they respect 'the gays,' but it's just words. I can have a child, I can get married, but I have no social life. I miss the freedom of being able to walk into a lesbian space any night of the week. It is not so free for us."
As I walked away from Zum Schwejk, I couldn't help but wonder about the future of lesbian spaces in Frankfurt. Would Julia and Alina's generation have to continue navigating a scene that feels increasingly fragmented? Or would we see a renewed commitment to building welcoming communities?
Julia and Alina are childhood friends from Ukraine. Both are living in Frankfurt.
