Down Under and Out – Sydney, Australia

Before Australia-trained actor Hugo Weaving put on a pair of shades as Agent Smith in The Matrix and pointy latex ears as Elrond in Lord of the Rings, he put on a wig, make-up, and dress as Mitzi Del Bra, a performing drag queen in 1994’s The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. This critically-acclaimed Australian film follows Mitzi, Felicia Jollygoodfellow (played by Guy Pearce of Memento fame) and Bernadette Bassenger (played by Terence “General Zod” Stamp of Superman II), as they journey from hedonistic Sydney to remote Alice Springs to perform a drag cabaret show – and put the “out” in “outback.”

The whole notion of drag queens spawns from the fact that Sydney, Australia’s largest city, is a world-renowned gay city, boasting the second largest gay and lesbian scene in the world, after San Francisco. In fact, the world’s largest gay and lesbian festival, Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, takes place in Sydney every February/March and brings in over half a million partying people from around the globe. According to a Sydney tour guide, a substantial amount of Australia’s tourism depends on gay tourist dollars, which of course, are rainbow colored bills where George Washington and Abe Lincoln are dressed in drag.

Although I live in metro New York, I am heterosexual and have not set foot in a gay bar or club, despite having gay co-workers and friends. Realizing that as a travel writer looking for a story idea about Australia that Bill Bryson has not covered, I decided to take a look into this world-famous gay scene; travel is all about exploring new cultures anyway. If you are already into the gay scene, this piece may not seem much of an “exotic” travel story, but then again, an article about Aboriginal tribal customs ain’t exactly National Geographic material to an Anangu bushman.

My travels in Sydney didn’t coincide with Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, but that didn’t mean the gay vibe wasn’t alive and kicking on a regular Saturday night in Sydney’s Taylor Square district. I joined my “guide” Sam, a traveling gay friend of mine from San Francisco, for cocktails at a gay club before heading off to a not-so-gay party later that night.

As we wandered Oxford Street, the sidewalks were bustling with young men, all apparently gay with the night – and by “gay” I mean “happy,” like in the closing lyrics to The Flintstones theme. Sam searched for the perfect club for my first gay club experience and I didn’t really know what to expect. My only mental image of gay clubs came from TV and movies: a huge rave where hundreds of shirtless guys with perfect abs and construction hats danced all over, from catwalks to on top of the bar, all to the musical stylings of C&C Music Factory or Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”

As we walked into “The Midnite Club,” there were no catwalks, no sights of bare male nipples. It was just like any trendy bar/lounge I’d been to in New York, only with a lot more guys. “Hey, this is just like a regular bar,” I said.

“Um, yeah,” Sam said defensively. “Why would it be weird?”

Feeling like a close-minded jerk, I decided to buy the first round of Vodka Red Bulls to start the evening off with a kick. After I paid the bartender, I turned around to toast Sam in apology, but noticed that all the guys in the lounge had disappeared. Where did everyone go? Was my slip of the tongue really that bad?

We walked over to a sofa and noticed there was a doorway hidden in the shadows that lead into a much bigger room where everyone had gone. And there it was: the catwalks, the loud techno dance music and the shirtless guys with perfect abs.

Now this was a gay club.

Everyone was dancing the night away, but then started scrambling towards some sort of stage, and I looked over and realized there was a whole runway set up, like in a fashion show. Handsome young men began strutting their stuff down the runway and the crowd was cheering them the whole way down.

“Looks like it’s a boy show,” my tour guide Sam informed me in his regular ambiguously-straight voice.

“They have these all the time?”

“No, I’ve only heard of them, but never seen one in person. And I’ve been to a lot of gay clubs in San Francisco too.”

Fashion swim and beachwear was the clothing being showcased and it was just like any old fashion show I might have stumbled upon on VH-1 or E! Occasionally, they even threw in a couple of girls to show off the latest styles in bikinis and for a moment I felt like we might be coming into familiar Sports Illustrated material – until I remembered, dude, that’s a dude!

The fashion show eventually turned into a drag cabaret show, complete with dance routines and little skits, just like Hugo and the gang did in Priscilla. After the show, the music starting pumping again, with a laser light show as impressive as the one I remembered from Captain EO at EPCOT Center as a kid. I sat at the back of the bar as a passive observer with another Vodka Red Bull in hand and watched everyone dance his shirt off. It was actually quite a sight to see in person, and not on an episode of Showtime’s Queer As Folk.

Eventually the Vodka Red Bulls caught up with my bladder and before I left for the other not-so-gay party, I searched for the little boy’s room. I went looking for the “man” symbol on a door to signify the way, until I realized, duh, gay club, there’s no little girl’s room.

I entered the room and waited in line for one of three stalls. There was a portly guy in line next to me, wearing a plaid button down shirt and looking like quite the straight, Animal House-like fraternity brother. Cool, I thought, I may not be the only straight guy in here. But then he spoke:

“Would you like me to sing you a song while you’re waiting on queue?”

“Um, sure.”

And Gay Frat Boy started singing the chorus to Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.” That’s great, I thought; my first time in a gay club and I’m already being serenaded. And not only that, but apparently according to this guy, I am beautiful, no matter what they say!

One of the stalls opened and two guys came out (pun intended). One of them was just putting his shirt back on, which was weird because I thought taking off shirts was the thing to do. I went inside the stall and closed the door to do my thing. I couldn’t ignore thinking about what may have happened in there just a minute ago, and I took my leak real quick – so fast in fact that I think I got a couple of trickle stains on my pants when I shook. I left the stall and washed my hands at the sink as Gay Frat Boy told me in song that “words can’t bring me down…”

Back on the dance floor, the place really began to fill up and the shirts were coming off left and right. With my gut, I knew that my shirt wasn’t coming off any time soon, so I decided to leave the sausage party and bid farewell to Sam. I went off to the other not-so-gay party to hit on chicks.

As I looked for a taxi, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself for where I had been in the name of travel journalism. In fact, as I walked down Oxford, I felt a little gay – and by “gay” I mean it like in The Flintstones theme again.

So, if you’re in Sydney, whether you are straight, gay, or just Bill Bryson, check out the club scene in Taylor Square. If you keep an open mind, you’ll have a good time, you’ll have a good time, you’ll have a gay old time…

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our Pacific Insiders page.

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