Photo by Artem Labunsky on Unsplash
A long time ago I spent some time in Europe. I was there on an adventure with other like-minded college students. It was my first visit outside of the United States by myself.
When I first arrived, I didn’t have any friends there. A whole bunch of us college-aged strangers decided to go on this trip together to learn more about the culture and practice our language skills. Since it was organized through our school, we were welcomed by a local university there with volunteers who took care of us.
Shortly after arriving, I met a volunteer named Daniel and we became fast friends. One night while we were hanging out and listening to music in his flat, he asked me if I had ever visited a red-light district before. I was immediately intrigued. I didn’t know much about red-light districts, but I had heard of them and the idea of them was exotic to me. I told him no. He then asked if I wanted to visit one.
Five minutes later I donned a dark hoodie and we walked towards the one in town. I asked him if it was really going to be red. He laughed and said yes, the ladies that worked there would be in windows bathed in red light. This was how they advertised themselves to potential customers.
He then proceeded to give me several warnings. We were going to walk through quickly and not stop. I should do my best to hide my face, as men were the predominant customers, and women who visited the area were not welcome. I should not attempt to talk to anyone there, customers or prostitutes.
I suddenly felt nervous as we got closer. I raised my hoodie to cover my hair and face, and Daniel and I laced arms. The red-light district seemed to be in a hidden part on the outskirts of town. We walked to an area shrouded in tall hedges. We entered through a nearly invisible opening in the hedges and stepped into a large alleyway.
It was only a block long. Along the far wall, there were a handful of windows sitting about 2–3 feet above the ground. And, as Daniel mentioned, each was cast in red light. Some of them had women in them, sitting on stools and looking at the gathering of men in the main road. They looked kind of bored. They were all dressed in bras and panties, a couple with a sheer covering over their undergarments.
Each window had its own door that opened to the alley, with a small staircase leading up to it. This is where the men would enter when a woman was hired and go back to her private room. One of the ladies was hanging out on her staircase and flirting with men. She had a drink in her hand and she was a bit louder than the hum of men talking in the alley.
About three or four groups of young men milled about, smoking, smiling, laughing, and talking about the women in the windows. Their eyes were drawn to the women, each other, and nothing else. They looked like they were our age, most likely college men from the local university. A few older, solo men were also walking around and staring at the women. None of the guys there seemed to notice us.
It was a lot to take in. I absorbed it all in the moment and didn’t think about what was happening. Seeing so many men there at this random time on this random night took me off guard and my anxiety increased. We moved to the furthest wall away from the windows.
I was nervous. It would take us less than 2 minutes to walk the entire area, but every step seemed to happen in slow motion. Daniel whispered that the empty windows were most likely due to women who were hired and busy performing services at the moment. Although that made total sense and didn’t deserve any kind of reaction, I couldn’t comprehend it at the moment. A nervous laugh escaped me.
A second later, I heard a female shout and felt something hit my head. The sound of broken glass hitting the ground below me followed. A large splash of liquid hit my face and hoodie.
We pulled closer to each other and walked faster and out the exit, which was on the opposite side of where we entered.
When we were at least a block away, Daniel stopped and looked me over in the amber cast of the street lamps.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I thought a moment. “What was that?” I asked.
He frowned. “Probably a drink the lady threw at you. She wasn’t happy you were there. She cursed at you.”
“How did she know?”
He smirked and looked me up and down. “You’re clearly a woman.” We kept walking until we got back to my flat.
Now, many years later, I think about that night and those women. I don’t judge them for having a career in prostitution. I believe women should be empowered to choose how they make money. But I empathize with what that part of their lives must’ve been like.
In Europe at that time, red-light districts were not out of the ordinary. Paying money for sex was not as taboo there as it was (and still is) in the United States. It was a more common career choice for women than one from America would think. I remember watching a documentary over a decade ago about the prostitutes that worked in the red-light districts in Europe. One woman interviewed was an American who traveled to Europe specifically to work in the red-light districts there. Although there were grave risks with this line of work, she was making good money and felt protected by the European systems. She felt she couldn’t make the kind of money she was raking in, in any other career anywhere else.
There used to be a van parked in the countryside close to the European town I was staying in. It looked like one of those Volkswagen buses from the 70s. I remember it was mustard and white and sat parked in one area every day. I never saw anyone go in or out of it. One of my European friends told me that a prostitute sat in that van every day, waiting for customers. The van was her location of business and she had a bed in there. Everyone in town knew about it and many college students had visited her.
Regardless of how you feel about prostitution, the truth is that it’s the oldest female profession in the world. As long as men are willing to pay for sex and companionship, women will be around to sell services to them. If you research the women who become prostitutes, many feel trapped — that it’s the only career choice they’re qualified for. Theoretically, there’s no barrier to entry for this line of work — no formal education is required.
I think about how difficult it must be to bare your entire body to strange men each night, hoping one of them will find you sexy enough to purchase your services. And I wonder how challenging it must be to perform those types of services and potentially be subjected to violence, rape, and disease.
I’m quite certain the woman who rewarded me with her cocktail bomb thought I was mocking her. And I don’t blame her for thinking that, nor do I blame her for what she did. I was young and unprepared for the very adult thing that was being shown to me.
Red-light districts still exist today in major cities across Europe, Asia, and North America. Some of the most prolific have become tourist destinations.