There’s a New Girl in town, ladies. For the first six months since making Aliyah last March, I did not go out very much. Intensive ulpan and full-time employment made it virtually impossible. But after completing kita alef a few months ago, I’ve been making more forays into what Tel Aviv’s gay scene has to offer. Here’s a bit about what I’m finding.
First of all, remember that in Gay Years, I’m a fossil. In January I turn 40 – old enough to begin studying Kabbalah…and to become invisible to much of the community. As someone whose twenties ended with the last millennium, I’m no longer obsessed with finding The place to be seen every night of the week. Secondly, I have a penis. I’ve met some cool lesbians in this city, but you won’t find me hanging out at their meeting spots. I’m fundamentally not interested in what they’re selling. And while I love to dance, I don’t drink or “party” anymore. So, if you’re looking for notes on Tel Aviv’s meth scene, try Google. But I know what I know, if you know what I mean.
For one thing, it’s more about the roving party here than it is the venue. There are resident gay bars in Tel Aviv (ground zero being EVITA), but many straight places also have independently promoted “gay nights”. So, the scene seems to bop around from place to place, depending on the night of the week. So far, I like Lima-Lima on Monday nights and Ashmoret on Fridays. (Note: those are the names of the venues, not the parties held there on those respective nights.) I’ve also checked out the Big Boys party, which happens every other Saturday in The Theatre Club. Sorry to report that I thought the music sucked. It wasn’t the fact that it was pop music and not tribal, house or any of the other styles typically played in clubs. It was more the fact that it just sucked. But I hear that three DJs rotate spinning duties, so the jury’s still out on that one.
Then there’s the bathhouses, or as they’re known here, saunas. My best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this kid who knows this guy who knows this girl who’s going with a guy who’s been to one before. He said while it’s cool they have bars inside so you can sip cocktails (no pun intended) in nothing but your towel, the “rooms” don’t have locking doors (just a curtain hung over a rope), so – like it or not – you can have an audience very easily if your soundtrack’s any good. Also, they’re missing the fancy touch of, ahem – clean sheets. Just cold, reused, wrestling-type mattresses. How romantic. H1N1, anyone?
The last generation had Independence Park, a cruising place so stellar it was listed in the Spartacus International Gay Guide, but the bushy hiding places were uprooted last year and replaced with klieg lights. Doesn’t really matter, since every gay in Israel opens up a profile on the “dating” site Atraf as soon as he gets his first computer anyway.
We’ve got a kickass gay ghetto beach, where the “gay soup” (straight translation: gay men floating and kibbitzing in the simmering Mediterranean) is rivaled only by the parve eye candy on the shore.
In so many ways though, the scene mirrors what I knew from New York. Britney, Beyoncé and Madonna still rule the dance floor. Muscles are in and body fat’s a sin. Bottoms worldwide, get siked: all that clichéd Israeli macho aggression means there’s a helluva lotta tops here, boys. Counterpoint: more back hair. Not a lot of guesswork as to whether someone’s cut or not. C’mon it’s Israel; we’ve got that covenant with God thing. And nobody seems to call the next day.
Gays will be gays, I guess.