For William W., an English tutor and polyglot, it started in Boudhanath, a neighbourhood rich in Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Located in the outskirts of Kathmandu, it’s the home of a much-photographed stupa that punctuates the skyline, its white dome shimmering in the sun, bright prayer flags flickering in the brisk breeze.
William had stumbled upon what he initially assumed was a religious festival. Drums thumped with a steady beat, horns sounded and a procession of people marched through the narrow streets in single file. Curious, he trailed them, camera at the ready, only to find, after talking to someone in Hindi, that he had come upon an exorcism ceremony. Sure enough, there was a woman thought to be possessed, positioned at the centre of the ritual, and there was an exorcist, kneeling down to bite the possessed woman’s nose.
You never know what you will encounter while abroad. Though travelling as a queer person offers the chance to discover societies that channel LGBTQ2S+ identities in ways both familiar and foreign, it also presents challenges, particularly that of finding meaning and meaningfulness. How can one absorb cultural nuances, discover safe spaces, and foster real connections in what is usually a short amount of time? As it turns out, there’s at least one solution: learning the language. Even learning just the fundamentals of a foreign language can change your travel experience from passive observer to active participant. Take William in Kathmandu, for instance. Without being able to speak some Hindi, he would never have been able to figure out what he was seeing out in the streets, what it meant and whether he should be concerned or not.
For many queer travellers, speaking the local language isn’t simply a matter of convenience—ordering food and buying a bus ticket. It can be a lifeline. Jairo Salgado, a gay Spanish tutor based in Cuernavaca and Mexico City, Mexico, stresses how learning a few key phrases can help queer travellers connect with local communities, enrich their experiences and navigate more safely.
“Language fosters a deeper connection to the place and its people,” Salgado says. “It opens doors to spaces and opportunities that remain inaccessible to those unfamiliar with the language.” It also gives travellers the tools to find queer-friendly venues and inclusive neighbourhoods, and to steer clear of potentially dangerous spots. Whether you’re striking up a conversation in a gay bar or learning to recognize signage in the metro, a knowledge of the local language can bridge the gap between being an outsider and feeling at home.
Fluency isn’t essential to experiencing the advantages of learning a language abroad. Many tutors offer accessible ways to begin learning before your trip. Salgado, for example, suggests travellers immerse themselves in media that matches their interests, be it queer-centric TV, music or movies in the target language. In fact, by watching Drag Race Italia before his own trip to Italy, he was able to pick up gay Italian slang terms that he later used in bars. “Having a goal like travelling is a powerful motivator when learning a new language,” he says. “It not only keeps you focused before your trip but often inspires you to continue learning even after you’ve returned.”
Heider Moreno, a gay Bogotá-based Spanish tutor, says travellers can prepare for a trip (and for lessons) with free YouTube channels such as Easy Spanish or Dreaming Spanish, which pair subtitles with videos by native speakers. Moreno says that beginner learners benefit most from exposure to native speech and context-driven lessons, especially when using apps like Memrise that teach basic expressions for ordering food and getting directions. “For a person who is just starting out, they can be a good way to start building vocabulary,” he says.
For those who already have a few phrases down and want to take their language learning one step further, Mercedes von Kulessa, a queer German tutor, recommends another strategy: talking to absolutely everyone. “In the supermarket, with neighbours, with a waitress, with a barista…any person you don’t have that big of a connection with. These kinds of smaller situations are good for building confidence.” Of course, just practising conversations with a friend can help the language learning journey feel much more supportive and affirming.
Not all methods are equally effective for everyone. Moreno warns that popular apps like Duolingo and Babbel often fail to prepare language learners for real-world conversations. Instead, he recommends finding language-exchange meetups—usually at cafés or bars—where you can practise with native speakers in a low-pressure social setting.
“In Bogotá, there is a fun group called Dame tu Lengua (Give Me Your Language),” he says. “People meet and there are little tables that are specifically designed for people who want to speak English, or people who want to speak French. You meet people and practise a little bit of your target language.”
Determination is a key factor. “I love learning languages, but there are times when I have to make an effort to do certain things that I know are not fun but will help me learn the language,” Moreno says. A lack of confidence, especially in social settings, can be a major obstacle. Students who feel comfortable talking during classes might be anxious during real-life conversations. For this reason, von Kulessa stresses the need to accept mistakes as part of the learning journey. “As a teacher, I’m not afraid to make mistakes myself,” she says. “This way, my students can feel safe and say, ‘Oh, okay, she’s also making mistakes, so it’s okay if I make a mistake.’”
For temporary and beginner LGBTQ2S+ learners seeking to travel more smoothly, there’s the added pleasure of learning queer slang. For instance, gay communities in major Latin American cities like Bogotà have their own whimsical and expressive lexicons. A term like “Ojo de loca no se equivoca” (“A queer eye never misses”), which is used when a gay man “clocks” another gay man, can be fun to whip out at the right moment. Meanwhile, “lentejuela” (“sequin”) refers to someone loud and flamboyant, while “muerdealmohada” (“pillow biter”)—well, you can figure that one out. Mexican Spanish also has its own queer expressions, popularized, in part, by Mexican TV programs like La Más Draga, a popular drag reality competition. Terms like “¡Eso, mamona!” (a sassy version of “Yas, queen!”) and “draga” (drag queen) reflect how language can mould itself to local queer culture.
For von Kulessa, different languages can bring out different parts of her personality; she can make herself more or less overtly queer, depending on the situation. “I change languages depending on my mood,” she says. “With German and English, I speak both so much, and in different kinds of situations. Sometimes queer expressions are easier to say in English.”
Learning a language doesn’t just make travelling easier; it transforms the journey itself. And there are plenty of queer tutors who can, literally and metaphorically, speak your language.
“Finding a native tutor is essential, someone who understands your needs not just as a student but also as a person,” says Salgado. “That’s why I promote myself as an LGBTQ+ tutor. I aim to create a space where my students feel seen and supported, knowing I can help them with more than just grammar and technical skills.”
Whether you’re learning how to ask “Where’s the nearest gay bar?” or perfecting Bogota slang, just remember: Every word you learn is one more step toward a textured, authentic experience on the road. Language can be a passport to discovery—and maybe even provide a front-row ticket to an exorcism.
