There are fewer than 30 Lesbian bars in the United States. In comparison, there are around 800 gay bars in the US, and by gay, I mean primarily serving homosexual men. This September, I’m packing up my Prius and driving west, visiting each and every one of these last remaining bastions of Sapphism.

I moved to Vermont in June 2021 to pursue an apprenticeship at a gin distillery and learn more about the spirits and hospitality industry. Previously, I had been living in Los Angeles since college, pursuing acting and working the kind of shitty jobs you expect a struggling actor to have before I stumbled into social media management. Suffice to say, after two and a half years of posting on Instagram for would-be influencers who spent more money on their social media than I could afford to spend on rent, I was miserable and wanted a change. 

I began to think about what I really wanted to do with my life, as the pandemic had given me second thoughts about pursuing the life of a working actor. 

For years, I had daydreamed about opening the Lesbian bar of my dreams, particularly because I am not one for the dance party night club scene of West Hollywood gay bars. If that’s what gets you hot, I won’t yuck your yum, but I prefer a quieter scene. 

I wanted a space that would be by and for queer women, trans folks, and people who didn’t feel like they fit in with the polished and whitewashed image of Gay America. I wanted high quality cocktails, a space for cruising, a space for lust and for love, a space that harkened back to the days of the infamous Le Monocle.

And so in typical ADHD hyperfixation fashion, I promptly applied to a community college for a program in restaurant management, and on a whim, submitted an application to a gin distillery I followed on Instagram. To my surprise, not only was I accepted to Glendale Community College within two hours, but the gin distillery wanted an interview. 

To make a long story short, six weeks after I had decided to start thinking about pursuing a new career path, I packed up my bags and drove from Los Angeles, California to Montpelier, Vermont. 

Having grown up going on road trips across the American West, I made the trip in only five days. I stopped here and there to go to National Parks or roadside attractions, but mostly I drove. I knew from the start that when I eventually headed back to LA, I wanted to take my time and really see the country.

Now that time has come, and The Long Road to Lesbos has arrived.

What better way to not only see parts of this country I would never travel to otherwise, but to do hands-on research for this great Lesbian bar in the sky I’ve been reaching for? What better way to talk to Dykes of all stripes, in every corner of America, about what they want, what they crave, and what they love?

I am by no means a professional journalist, I am just a Dyke with a dream and a fuel efficient car. The stories I will share with you over the coming months are not a definitive magnum opus on Lesbian bars in America, though perhaps one day they will evolve into something to fill that space. At its core, The Long Road to Lesbos is just my own story, my own journey, both literal and figurative, as I cross the country in search of my next adventure. 

And what is a Queer Story in the first place? Is it the medical books with the first references to homosexuality? Is it whispered confessions in a bathroom stall? Is it hanky code? Is it the silent fear that lives in all of our hearts that all this may be taken away at a moment's notice? Our stories are many and varied, and I do not claim to speak for all of us. I speak for myself and myself alone, my own experiences as a Dyke in America in 2022. 

So pack your bags, queue up your favorite road trip playlist, and join me in my search for Sappho in America.