Berlin, April 2022
Berlin is lit, y’all — for realz!
Berlin wasn’t on my bucket list, but when I found out I had an opportunity to go, my trans girl spider senses started tingling and I had to say yes. It was a scary prospect too, of course. It may have been my fear of going that sealed the deal. I refuse to be ruled by fear. With war ensuing, and despite alarming pandemic numbers in Germany, I put on my Sally Bowles heels and proceeded to the Stretch Festival, a three-Day gathering of gay, queer and trans folks on the spectrum from male to non-binary, offered three times a year by The Village Berlin, a community center serving the queer community.
Literal stretching of yoga and other movement practices joined participatory sessions on informed consent, defining gender, and ways to non-violently and sensually interact. I attended a very thoughtful workshop on kissing where dental dams were offered. A cuddle-puddle near the lunchroom was consistently occupied with bodies knitted to one another like adult nap time.
The festival party, which happened after day two, was a second-story flat. A huge kitchen served dance floor and cocktails by an outdoor terrace. I wore a silver halter jumpsuit, fed champagne in a coffee mug. I trolled the room for weed and marriage proposals. Only one of those requests was met. When the police raided (noise complaint), I was on a mattress, spooned before and behind by a dozen bodies, playing unicorn to a couple from Frankfurt. I’d locked myself from my rental and been offered a place to sleep. The raid cleared all but me and a sleeping Parisian.
The following day, with still no access to my Airbnb, I donned a black t-shirt borrowed from my host and an Indonesian scarf tied around my waist and headed unshoweted to Tanzfabrik for the final day of the festival and to give my workshop. I presented on gender/body oppression to a group of eighty lgbtqia+ folks, primarily trans, a third of whom identifying as non-cis. The same facilitators for whom I’d been swooning over two days taking their sessions, were also there, as they’d spent the previous days warning me they would. Everyone was generous. The session flew by. Goddess got a standing ovation. I’ll probably get asked back.
The implications of this big trans girl in the birthplace of the Nazi party (Germany, not Berlin…Berlin was even lit back then) were too much for one post. I’ll include more musings from Berlin next time.
—Notorious Pink
