Girdles and jocks

Look under our frocks: Girdles and jocks

Montreal was a last minute addition to the itinerary but I am so pleased I got to go there. I was supposed to make a stop between Chicago and Toronto but my Toronto gay had to move his slot up as he had to head to back to the UK. That left me with a few days between Toronto and Ottawa, so Montreal seemed the obvious choice. A quick shout out on Facebook got me a couple of leads on places to stay and suggestions of things to see and do while in Montreal. I soon had a place to stay all lined up.

My train left just before 7am and I dropped my host, Renaud, a quick message saying that the train would be in Montreal just after midday so I should be with him around 1pm. He replied saying he had just got in from the Saint-Jean-Baptiste celebrations and would be going to bed but would be up for my arrival.

The train journey was great. I got served breakfast shortly after we had left, had free wi fi onboard so was able to listen to some BBC radio and catch up on the news from back home. Shortly before 11am I got asked if I would like a drink. I had a gin & orange juice, justifying it on the basis that orange juice was a breakfast drink and also one of my five a day.

Having made my way via taxi to Renaud’s I was given a warm welcome by a sleepy host. Clearly the Saint-Jean-Baptiste celebration had been a big one. As I chatted to Renaud he made coffee and pancakes. In true Canadian style I had them with maple syrup, which had been bottled by Renaud’s dad. Renaud asked me if I spoke French. In an attempt at humour I replied “un petit pois”. It seemed to be lost on my host though so he talked in English for the rest of the time.

Street performers

I spent the afternoon walking through Montreal, dodging the heavy rain showers, taking in some of the performers at the jazz festival and checking out the venues along Rue St Catherine. Rue St Catherine is the heart of gay Montreal. The street is pedestrianised over the summer, giving the gays plenty of space to slowly walk up and down the street checking each other out without fear of getting knocked over. I enjoyed watching the people walking along, seeing who they checked out, the telltale backward glance over the shoulder three to five seconds after passing to see if the other person was doing the same.

Look under our frocks 

Renaud cooked dinner for us both and then we headed down to watch some fireworks before hitting the gay bars. Our first stop was Cabaret Mado, a renowned drag cabaret bar. The place was fairly full when we arrived, helped along by four different hen parties. The brides-to-be all tried to get their five minutes of fame by shouting out during the acts, hoping to get the attention of the compère. The show was entirely in French, so my understanding of what was being said was fairly limited but I got the gist of what was going on. The compère did ask in English if there were any tourists in. I knew the best option was to remain silent so as not to be picked upon.

View from Mont Royal

Drag acts tend to do the same sort of things – they pick on any straight people in the audience, they talk to the girls about the inadequacies of men and they find a young gay guy to pick on.  The unfortunate victim looked about twelve years old. He was brought up on stage & had some jokes made about his clothes, whether his mum had chosen them for him, did she still do his laundry. He stood there for about five minutes as two drag queens made fun of him. For his troubles he got a free drink and a very lipsticky kiss from one of the drag queens. He promptly wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his white jumper, leaving a large red smear down the arm. I am sure he had a fun time explaining that to his mother in the morning.

Girdles and jocks

There were several music numbers, which a trio of drag queens lip synched to. The songs ranged from hits by local Quebecois artists, a little bit of Celine (obviously) and even a Cheryl Cole number. It was a very entertaining evening despite me not knowing what was being said. After the cabaret I was taken next door to Campus to experience another Montreal tradition – the strip club. The acts are allowed to get completely naked. We sat at the bar, away from the main stage which was surrounded by small tables and a few people hoping to get a good close up look at the “dancers”.  The majority of the dancers looked straight and bored, although that didn’t seem to stop them offering private dances out back. I didn’t partake.

Old town

The following day I took myself down to the old part of town for a walk around the cobbled streets and port. There was a strong resemblance to a small French town with the occasional reminder that you are in North America. From the old port I walked up to the top of Mont Royal, a very hilly park situated to the north. The walk up nearly killed me but it was worth it for the views over Montreal from the top. After spending some time admiring the views (and recovering from the climb) I headed back to Renaud’s. We had an early evening drink on the roof terrace at Sky Bar. They serve the biggest jugs of sangria I have ever seen. We opted for the medium sized jug. After that we did a mini bar crawl along St Catherine, taking in a range of places before heading back for dinner and an early night. 

My final morning in Montreal I went for a walk through the Parc du Fontaine and headed to a local eatery, La Banquise, suggested by Renaud as one of the best places to sample poutine, a local dish of chips (in the English sense) smothered in gravy and cheese curds. I have to admit that the sound of it wasn’t immediately appealing. Chips and gravy, yes. Chips and cheese, yes. But cheese and gravy together? No. 


The waitress asked if I would like to sit inside or out in the sunny garden. I said outside. She said that they couldn't serve alcohol outside. I said inside. I ordered the classique poutine from the vast menu (nearly 30 varieties), figuring I should start at the very beginning (a very good place to start) and an ice cold local beer. I sat watching the other diners, seeing if I could work out which poutine they had gone for. When my order arrived I tentatively took my first bite but as soon as I tasted it I didn’t put the fork down until the plate was completely cleared. It really did live up to its reputation as the place to get poutine. It's also open 24 hours a day so no matter what time you find yourself in Montreal wanting poutine you can go there. The perfect end to my whistlestop tour of Montreal.


"Look under our frocks: Girdles and jocks"
Lyrics from We Are What We Are from the musical La Cage Aux Folles