Picture this

We're in Amsterdam in the 1950s,

stepping into a teeny tiny little bar in the red light district.

Squeeze in next to me.

There's barely enough space to navigate around the pool table in the center, and the bar has just a few seats.

If you look up, the ceiling is covered with long strips of fabric.

They're men's neckties cut off underneath the knot.

There's photographs all over the wall,

and a light shaped like an owl is above the bar.

Then someone in a trench coat walks in through the front door.

The woman behind the bar pauses what she's doing and looks over at him.

She is an imposing woman, muscular.

Her motorcycle jacket and helmet are behind the bar with her.

She squints a little at the newcomer who won't make eye contact.

Then she turns behind her and very casually turns on the owl-shaped light.

Nobody else in the bar seems to react. But the truth is, everyone has noticed, because everybody knows what

that owl-shaped light means. I'm Amanda McGowan, and this is Atlas Obscura, a celebration of the world's strange, incredible, and

wondrous places.

Today we're visiting a little cafe with a big story, one that takes us from the

Amsterdam of the 1920s to the Dutch

resistance during World War II and is today a landmark of LGBTQ-plus history in

Amsterdam.

...