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After all, things were getting a little weird already, and there was no way we were getting more beers here. “So soon?” his face was sad and he tried to encourage us to buy more drinks. “Actually, we are getting ready to head out,” he said, trying to change the topic. We all broke into friendly laughter and tried to brush off the question. “Can I have your number? You are very handsome.” He placed his hand on his thigh. Our 40 something-year-old Japanese man then slipped in beside my other gay friend. This was the best service I had gotten at any bar, gay or straight. Our bartender soon brought over our beers, and still stayed with us, pouring our drinks, and promptly topping us up as our glasses emptied. We figured between the 5 of us we would all drop ten dollars each and get the hell out of this mess. We decided to get three of the $15 dollar Asahi beers. “Well, we have to buy something! What is the cheapest drink on the menu?” That is until my friend pointed to the table of empty boxes and half-eaten Japanese snacks. “What should we do?” we whispered to one another. I passed the menu around to my friends to see if I was reading something wrong. $40 cocktails, $35 shots, and $45 dollar glasses of wine. After all, this place wasn’t exactly hopping.īut as we opened the menu our typical selection of beverages was nowhere to be found. At this point, we wanted nothing more than a few cheap $4 Japanese beers and then get out to explore the city. Were we famous here? Had a foreigner never come to the one and only gay bar on the whole island?Īfter about 10 minutes the other bartender brought over a drink menu and placed it on the table.
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“OHH! You speak Japanese? You are so good! WoSomething in me said that this guy must really like foreigners as he continued to bring over more free snacks and stayed with us, making rounds chat up all members of the table. “Arigatou” I said in Japanese as I reached for a snack. His friendliness was surprising, seeing as Okinawa’s American military base had all but ruined the image for foreign guests. “Please, eat!” he said as he nudged the bowls of snacks in our direction. The other bar staff quickly trailed behind bringing plates of peanuts, Pokey, and other Japanese snacks, laying them gracefully across the table. Our friendly Japanese bartender sat down at the head of the table, his elbows resting on the surface and his chin on top of his interlocked fingers. “Sit Sit!” he insisted and we all nestled into a corner booth. “You look very handsome!” He said to me and my other friend, gently brushing our shoulders. He escorted us to a small sitting area with leather lounge chairs and an assortment of aroma candles. “Please please, over here.” He gestured to a booth in the corner.
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“Welcome!” he exhaled in a bouncy voice, his smile wide and sparkling.
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Why was a gay bar full of housewives wearing neon colored clothing and makeup that had been put up a little too thick? Being gay in South KoreaĪs we stepped in, the bar went silent and all heads shifted their gaze in our direction.īehind the bar were two Japanese men, one man casually cleaning some shot glasses and the other looking onto us with a beaming smile. My first thought was that we were in the wrong place. “This must be it” I said to my group of anxious friends who could tell this was probably a bad idea before we even went inside.Īs we opened the front door a wave of cackling resonated into the hallway, as a group of middle-aged Japanese women had just heard the punchline to a long, drawn out joke. When we finally arrived at the front door I tried to peak through the poster covered windows. To start, Okinawa’s one gay bar was extremely hard to find, hidden away on the third floor as if hoping no one would ever notice it – its sign barely visible from the street.Īs we ascended the stairs you could smell the years of cigarette smoke wafting off of the yellowed wallpaper, the dimly lit stairway barely wide enough for two people to pass one another. If this place was great, then we could enjoy the night together, and if it was terrible we could just move on to somewhere else – or so we thought. Can’t you get much gayer than that right?ĭespite the lack of options, we decided to go. Well, that is if you consider one gay bar “options”. After a quick Google search, I soon realized my options were slim. Here I was in Okinawa, a small island isolated Japanese island with not much in the name of “gay nightlife”, but I had just arrived with a group of college friends and we were ready for a night out.