I felt lost and depressed – then a Queer Utopia saved me

It felt like my closeted inner teen was being healed (Picture: Sophie Perry)

‘I’m gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club!’

I was singing with all my might, eyes closed, clutching the hand of my fiance, while a fire raged in front of me.

This was back in May this year, and it felt like my closeted inner teen was being healed. 

I was sat with a group of strangers and in many ways, it was the quintessential – if not stereotypical – image of a campfire singalong: glowing embers from the fire danced towards the darkened sky, the sweet smell of roasting marshmallows filled the air and thick blankets hung around people’s shoulders to starve off the late spring chill. 

It was the sort of scene I grew up seeing countless times in American media, where clean-cut teens in matching camp shirts would hang around the campfire and have significant life moments – before, maybe, being eaten by the local lake monster.

However, what I experienced in May was something different – Pride flags fluttered in the breeze while farm cats lazed contently in laps as we sang acoustic versions of sapphic hits, from Chappell Roan to Tracy Chapman.

I was singing with all my might, eyes closed, clutching the hand of my fiance (Picture: Sophie Perry)

It felt cozy, safe and – most importantly – unashamedly queer: it was Dyketopia. 

Dyketopia bills itself as offering ‘utopian queer residentials in nature for queer women, non-binary, and trans folks’ around different parts of the country, and I was lucky enough to win a free ticket to it after seeing a competition on social media.  

I came across it totally by chance, likely pushed onto my feed because of the content I engage with as an out and proud lesbian.  

And, it couldn’t have come at a better time.

A couple of weeks before I saw the competition, I, along with the rest of my team, had been made redundant from my full-time job as a journalist. 

As a Type A, high-achiever who puts so much emphasis on the importance of my career and the value of the work I do, it was devastating. 

I couldn’t stop wondering what the strangers at this event were going to be like (Picture: Sophie Perry)

When the adrenaline of the initial stress and shock subsided, my days became a monochromatic hamster wheel of scouring job boards, sending freelance pitches and writing and re-writing my CV.

I felt completely adrift and depressed but then, like a comet from the planet Venus, I saw an Instagram post offering a free ticket to a residential event that promised the ‘joy, community, silliness, communal cooking, workshops, hikes, games and queer people’ that I so desperately needed.

Then, when I got a message out of the blue saying I had won, I was actually so taken aback by the good news that I couldn’t believe it. 

Excitement made way for nerves – although I was going with my fiancée there were those familiar first-day-of-school worries that never really go away, even as an adult. 

I couldn’t stop wondering what the strangers at this event were going to be like. And if any were axe-wielding murders. Or worse – edgy twentysomethings who are just so very cool that they will ignore me altogether.  

I need not have worried though, everyone was exceptionally lovely and also there to have a good time.

The residential took place from May 1st to 4th, just outside Oswestry in Shropshire on the English-Welsh border. 

Driving through the weaving country roads on the way there, I was struck by just how rural the area was(Picture: Sophie Perry)

It was a dreamy farmhouse surrounded by adorable glamping huts and yurts, with a host of animals living on the property including a mother-and-daughter pair of donkeys, a deaf pig who loves a scratch and some some very fussy cats, who had no shame sneaking into people’s sleeping bags for a cuddle. 

Driving through the weaving country roads on the way there, I was struck by just how rural the area was. Beautiful, green rolling hills of farmland and woodland stretched as far as I could see – which certainly made a change from east London.

In a way, the isolation made Dyketopeia feel even more like a utopia – from the escapism they gave us with the venue they chose to the grassroots community they created. 

Arriving at the camping site on that first evening I felt the nerves melt away at the sight of lesbian flags, fairy lights and smiling, welcoming faces; immediately felt like a safe space.

These included arts and crafts, yoga, wild swimming and a hike, alongside the campfire singalong and even a gay prom on the Saturday night (Picture: Sophie Perry)

The evening kicked off with dinner, drinks and getting-to-know chats – in a community where it seems everyone knows everyone (and their ex), it was nice to meet a completely new crowd of people and hear all about their local queer scenes.

During the whole weekend the experience was collaborative; everyone who attended was expected to pitch in and do a chore, be it cooking a meal, cleaning up rubbish or helping to run an activity. 

These included arts and crafts, yoga, wild swimming and a hike, alongside the campfire singalong and even a gay prom on the Saturday night.

My favourite parts were the gay prom and hike. The former included a segment where our old, teenage prom pics were read to filth – while the hike took us on a picturesque three hour loop from the campsite in England, across the border into Wales, through the village of Llansilin and local pub, and back across the border. 

Between that and the modern mullet haircuts, Lucy and Yak fleeces and carabiners jingling against jorts, I think it was the queerest hiking squad the Montgomeryshire-Shropshire countryside had ever seen.

It was a dreamy farmhouse surrounded by adorable glamping huts and yurts (Picture: Sophie Perry)

Being around so many different queer people, doing jobs with them, making art along them and dancing to t.A.T.u. under a disco light, I felt my unconscious guardrails fall away. 

For once, I didn’t feel like I needed to explain anything about myself. 

There were no weird – or borderline offensive – questions about mine and my partner’s relationship. I honestly can’t count the number of times I have been asked, usually by men who are complete strangers about how we have sex, or if they can join in. There was none of that nonsense here.

And jokes about The L Word and U-hauling didn’t fall flat. Everyone just got it. 

It is the kind of experience I wish I had been able to have when I was a young queer – but having it at 29 was no less meaningful. 

It might go without saying that I am planning to go again in the future.

In a world that often feels so dystopian, why wouldn’t I crave something utopian – Dyketopian, if you will. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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