Gay okupljališta u splitu
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Em što se moraš pretvarati pred drugima, em što je gej scena žalibožna. Dante Address: City center. Maybe that explains West Hollywood as well. I then notice a mousy looking 50 year old standing close to us nervously sipping his own beer. Interested in all opinions and links to concrete examples if possible as just starting to research the topic. Forget about gay PDA though.
I happen upon an alleyway jam-packed with people. Maybe this is it? I walk by every bar checking the names and finally I make it to the top. The Americans I met in Dubrovnik were right. So I head to the bar. Its my last day in Croatia so I only have roughly four American dollars in the local currency. What can I get for 28 kuna? So I take my drink and survey the crowd again. I see maybe a few lesbians and finally I see a few gay people. Most of them are flocked by women but a couple of them are hanging in packs. Forget about gay PDA though. No one is kissing, grinding together, holding hands, or even touching each other. This is what a gay bar must look like in a closeted country. I spot a group of attractive, cliquey men who make me nostalgic for my West Hollywood home. Just like the Weho men, these guys are well-seasoned gays in their late twenties, early thirties. Most likely they met up early to drink cocktails and are exhausted from a day of working out and shopping at Armani. They always stand a couple inches taller than everyone. But seeing them here makes me think that maybe I could talk to them. I mean what the hell. So I go up to talk to them and I start with a tall lanky one with an earring in his ear. Do you come here a lot? I clearly learned nothing from my nude beach experience. This one is tanner with perfectly constructed eyebrows and dark eyes. So I introduce myself. I told you I would be here. Great, now I look like a stalker. I completely forgot about our conversation so I quickly open Grindr and flip through the guys so I can remember exactly what he said. The Manicured Man turns to talk to my new friend and my beer convinces me to clarify his name. What did he say? Your name is Igor! He turns and tries to burn holes in my eyes with his glare so that I may never look at him again. We talk about his job and life in Croatia. The scene is straight out of Weho and makes me nostalgic for home. I then notice a mousy looking 50 year old standing close to us nervously sipping his own beer. He says something to James in Croatian. This music is awful. The music was some kind of weird Russian yodeling and people were actually enjoying it and doing the same kind of obscure dance moves. Once I became aware of the music, it became unbearable. Do you want to hang with my other friends by the port? I let America down by failing to remember Nikola Tesla, celebrity Croatian and inventor of AC electricity. Imagine displacing a West Hollywood soul in the Croatian community. If there was some explanation for my experience tonight, that would be it: guys trying to act hotter than they are to cope with the fact that society otherwise ignores them. Maybe that explains West Hollywood as well. The similarities were certainly uncanny. Except for their music. The music was awful.
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