In most small towns, it’s hard to find a decent gay bar. In Northampton, Massachusetts, good luck finding a straight one.

Northampton might not have the same queer cachet as San Francisco, Provincetown, or the Florida Keys, but as a destination for dykes it’s hard to beat. If women (or, more correctly ‘womyn’) with functional haircuts and biodiesel trucks are your idea of heaven, point your frequent flyer miles directly to this Sapphic centre.

Dubbed ‘Lesbianville” by august journal The National Enquirer, Northampton is a college town a little over three hours north of New York City. Home to the all-girl Smith College, the burg boasts a history (or, more correctly, ‘herstory’) of female mega-wattage. Sylvia Plath honed her miserable poetry here. Aviatrix Amelia Earhart dreamed about joysticks. And second wave feminist Betty Friedan did time at Smith before changing the world.

Perhaps it’s something in the water.

Or, perhaps, it’s a municipal government at ease with its lesborific reputation. Each year in May the town plays host to Noho Pride. 10,000 rustic queers congregate to celebrate diversity and, one imagines, getting in on the real estate market while the going was still good. Male and female escapees from Manhattan make a spring party that, unfortunately, I missed by mere minutes.

Nonetheless, at all times of the year, they’re here, they’re queer and the townies are not only used to it but, seemingly, grateful. Main Street is impossibly cute and boasts a Fitzroy-esque array of bookstores, cafes and boutiques. It’s so charming you almost want to slap it. It’s about as artsy and liberal as America can be without actually turning into a set for The Gilmore Girls.

Well-meaning vegetarian and wholefood provedores rub shoulders with alternative venues that have put the town on the music map. Manhattan refugees Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth made the town their home.

To keep apace with the aging hipsters, visit Sid Vintage for retro clothes, Pride & Joy for rainbow festooned gifts and Acme Surplus for sensible chic.

But, back to the bars.

Diva’s is the place for gals and their pals. A delightfully shoddy sound system belts out Rhianna remixes as Smith honeys gyrate next to barely-out small-town boys. If the Bronski Beat misery gets too much, you can always plunge into $1 beers and air hockey. Things are sedate when Partner and I arrive at 10pm on a Friday. But by 11, the boys are disrobing and the girls are making internet porn on the dance floor. At which point, our über-hetero local pal quit his whining about The Gays and Their Bars.

A little down the road, Hugo’s is a more retiring small town bar with generous pours and mien befitting conversation. Conversation which, at this point, was chiefly concerned with the relative merits of pectorals, Sonic Youth and Barack Obama’s suits. Our pal continued his appreciation of dyke exhibitionism.

Next door, Ye Olde Watering Hole is a beer can museum. Here, it’s obligatory to down a Schlitz before moving on to one’s preferred tipple. Even here in a townie bar peopled with old blokes, old beers and old values, Northampton seemed queer friendly.

In Noho, all comers are welcome. All, that is, but Republicans. This leftie, artsy place is enough to distract your deepest Daylesford dreaming. 

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