Why I Prefer "Queer Travel" to "Gay Travel" — and Yes, There Is a Difference

It was somewhere on the M1 motorway, driving from Dublin, Ireland, to Belfast, that I first considered the differences between gay travel and queer travel. I was in the back of the coach, AirPods in, listening to the entire discography of my favorite Irish songwriter, CMAT, and gazing wistfully out the window. I'd mentally prepared for a scenic drive (yes, I've seen "Leap Year"), but the only bits of countryside I could make out came in odd blips — a cottage here, a hill of emerald there. Otherwise, we were penned in by a tall thicket stretching along either side, an illegible blur of bushes and branches.

When we entered Northern Ireland — so mundane an affair that I didn't even notice we'd crossed into a new country — the roadside opened up. I could see farms and charming villages. Our guide, Paul, gave us a briefing on the gay history of Belfast during the period from the 1960s to the '90s known as "The Troubles," a violent conflict between Catholic nationalists, who wanted to unite with Ireland, and Protestant unionists, who were happy to be absorbed into the United Kingdom. The first Pride parade in Belfast took place in 1991, after years of more quiet activism that was happening in the shadows of the larger conflict gripping the rest of the nation.

My small group had been invited to march in this year's Belfast Pride Parade, and I was thrilled for a mini history lesson to balance out some of the partying that lay ahead.

When I think of gay travel, I think of Speedos and six-packs; I hear the oonts-oonts of the nightclub, can practically taste the green apple tequila Jell-O shots. But queer travel? That feels like another thing entirely. Queer travel sounds like braiding each other's hair on a beach somewhere, or eating at some obscure pop-up restaurant run by lesbians who only share their location via carrier pigeon or in a day-of Instagram Story.

Turns out I'm not the only one who feels this way. As a professional queer traveler, Chase Vondran, aka @explorewithchase, thinks about these differences a lot, too. They were on the Ireland trip with me, and we chatted about this subject a bit while we were overseas and again when we got back to the US. They made the point that while gay travel has historically centered the experiences of thin, cis, white gay men, queer travel probably appeals more to people like us — who don't fit that description — because it's "broader and more inclusive." Gay travel often highlights clubs, circuit parties, and Pride festivals, making it feel a little one-dimensional, Vondran told me. "It can reinforce stereotypes that queerness is only about nightlife, drinking, or who we sleep with."

That's not to say gay travel doesn't have value. But queer travel is more likely to embrace the larger community — whether that's women, trans, nonbinary, asexual, neurodivergent, or BIPOC travelers.

"It's intersectional. It's political. It's cultural," Vondran told me. "Queer travel highlights spaces that are not just welcoming, but intentionally inclusive."

As a queer person myself, my trip highlights from the island of Ireland were, unsurprisingly, the queerest things on our itinerary (and the things we stumbled upon by chance). In Dublin, there was the LGBTQ walking tour that covered a span of history from the early 20th century to the present day, followed by the most ecstatically gritty punk show at The Workmans Club, featuring three all-trans bands. And in Northern Ireland, there was the visit to Hillsborough Castle — where the British royals stay when they come — for a queer history tour told through the hundreds of artworks on display. (The portrait of a cross-dressing Mary of Modena was my favorite.) There was the stop at the new stained-glass window at Belfast's City Hall memorializing, among other things, a local gay hero named Jeff Dudgeon. And there was the visit to the queer-owned bookstore-slash-barber-shop, Paperxclips, where I bought two pairs of handmade clay earrings for barely more than $6.

Between marching in the Pride parade and late nights at legendary Belfast drag club The Maverick, there were certainly plenty of rainbows and mesh tank tops to go around, too (and I'm not mad about it). But my overall experience on this trip felt like a beautiful mesh of another kind — one of classically gay travel styles that fed the little party demon in me, and one of a more community-driven travel style that filled my intellectual and emotional cups. The whole thing together was as soul-affirming as it was chaotically fun.

I haven't had nearly as many explicitly queer-coded travel experiences as Vondran, who's been doing this kind of work full-time for three years. But the reality is, "queer travel" isn't always labeled as such. Sometimes, queer travel is just about knowing where the gender-neutral bathrooms are, which local businesses are queer-friendly, and how safe and comfortable a visibly trans or queer couple feels while exploring. If you're a queer person and you're traveling, you're already doing it. Vondran agrees. "It's about making travel feel accessible and joyful for all of us, not just one narrow slice of the community."

When I think back, some of my most meaningful travel moments have been times when I surprised myself with the unexpected. And, in hindsight, many of those moments also happen to be pretty queer. There was the time I got tattooed at a queer-owned studio in the grungy Brunswick neighborhood of Melbourne, Australia. Or the time I sipped beers with the longtime bartender at Yadiras, an unofficial lesbian bar in Tijuana. And the time I sat in the oldest woman-owned strip club in Portland, OR, electrified by the artistry and sensuality of the red-light-bathed dancer on stage.

And now I have the memories of that punk show in Dublin, watching a bunch of raucous kids jump around, shredding and proclaiming in no uncertain terms that they were free, at least in that room, surrounded by a family of friends and strangers. It doesn't get much queerer than that.

Emma Glassman-Hughes (she/her) is the associate editor at PS Balance. In her seven years as a reporter, her beats have spanned the lifestyle spectrum; she's covered arts and culture for The Boston Globe, sex and relationships for Cosmopolitan, and food, climate, and farming for Ambrook Research.