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

All by myself

I’m all alone, all by myself

I'm all alone

After my amazing Niagara experience I decided to take myself out on the town in Toronto, David being otherwise engaged at a work function. It was the first time on my travels that I had headed to a gay bar on my own so I didn’t have the safety blanket of a companion to chat to. I have never been good at starting conversations with complete strangers in bars, I get a bit nervous, unsure of how to approach them, what to say.

I headed to Woody’s, the bar that all the guides had recommended as the stalwart of the Toronto gay scene. It had a vague familiarity to it as I walked up (it had been used in filming the US version of Queer as Folk). I decided to set myself the challenge of speaking to someone in the bar and set a two drink timescale in which to do it. I ordered a pint of lager and then found myself a seat at a table in one of the corners so I could have a good vantage point.  A small group of guys came and sat down at the table next to me not long after I had settled in. They looked at me, some of them smiled and I smiled back. I sat for a while nursing my pint trying to make eye contact with them, hoping that they might strike up conversation. 

With me nearing the end of my pint, one of them, a cute dark haired guy, finally took pity on me and came over to introduce himself. We exchanged a few pleasantries and did the introductions. He picked up on my accent & asked where I was from. I said “London”. I then felt the need to add “England, not Ontario” as though it wasn’t obvious. We chatted for a while, I found out that he was out for a few drinks with his touch football (rugby) team and that they had won their match that evening. I explained my trip and why I was here in Toronto.

He introduced me to a few of his friends from the sports team. They all seemed very friendly and I chatted to quite a few different people. My first experience of the Toronto gay scene was great. By comparison to London, where I could have stood in a bar all night on my own and not had anyone talk to me, Toronto was very welcoming. The London scene is very cliquey. The majority of people don’t often make the effort to talk to people who are on their own. I’m guilty of it myself when I am out with my friends for drinks. It can be a very insular place. Perhaps this trip and constantly being the single person out drinking will make me more hospitable when I am back in London? Anyway, I made the most of the warm Canadian welcome and rolled home around 1am.

All by myself

The next morning I got up and headed to the St Lawrence food market as the guide books recommended the peameal bacon sandwich, which as a cure for the morning after the night before was the perfect start to the day. The weather was a little overcast but I decided that a trip to the Toronto Islands would be a good way to spend my last day. The ferries over to the Islands are frequent, taking you to one of three harbours on different islands. I arrived and took the 1st ferry which happened to be going to Hanlan’s point, the island furthest to the west. During the short crossing the heavens opened and I wondered whether I should just turn round and go back to find something indoors to do. However, as the ferry docked the clouds cleared and the sun came out. 

Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands

The Islands provided a great view back over the city and given they are virtually car free, a peaceful place to spend the day. I walked along the clothing optional beach (I remained fully dressed). There was a solitary sunbather on the beach who had opted for no clothes. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. I spent several hours walking round many of the islands and must have covered about 10 miles. I needed the exercise. I got the ferry back from the easternmost point, Ward’s Island.  The name of the ferry happened to be the name of one of the partners I used to work for. I took a photo for the girls back in the office, telling them I rode it all the way back to Toronto. It made them giggle and made me realise I miss the conversations and interaction we used to have in the office.

Final view of Toronto

Having got back home & showered and changed I headed out for dinner with my host, David. Over Mexican and margaritas we chatted about my travels, old work colleagues and men. I’ve known David for a few years as we used to work for the same company. At the time I was Head of Gays and had spotted David around the office. I figured he should be on the list of gays but stopped short of saying this to him. He duly signed up to the network a little while later and we became good friends. We had very similar childhoods so there is a bond between us. After a nightcap at a very English pub (the Queen & Beaver) I thanked David for putting me up for a few days and head to bed for an early night ahead of my early morning train to Montreal.


“I’m all alone, all by myself” 
Lyrics from I’m All Alone from the musical Spamalot

Where I've been

Sometimes I wonder where I've been, who I am, do I fit in

An 8:30am pick up for an organised coach trip to see the Niagara Falls was the next thing on my travel itinerary.  It was the first organised trip of my travels so I was finally on someone else’s timetable. The structure made a nice change to the (organised) randomness of my sightseeing to date where I had been in charge.  The small coach was already fairly full of couples or small groups by the time it picked me up. I think I was the only person there on my own and a few people gave me quizzical looks as I boarded. I normally would have felt self-conscious but I am getting used to being in my own company out in public.

Our driver gave us a little running commentary as we drove through downtown Toronto. He gave us a brief history lesson, pointed out various buildings and attractions as we went by them and gave us our itinerary for the day. Our tour would take in a local winery, a stop in Niagara on the Lake, and then finally the Niagara Falls for a trip on the Maid of the Mist and a couple of hours free time before the journey back to Toronto. I felt a little disappointed that the Falls would be the last thing on the itinerary as I had been looking forward to seeing them since before I even started my trip.

Niagara on the Lake

We arrived at the local winery just before 11am and were ushered into a large room where we got to sample the local red and white wines. Now, I’m not a big drinker so having to force down free alcohol that early in the day was a bit of a struggle. I managed it though. A few people on the tour bought some of the wine, and apparently spent enough for our driver to be given a free bottle for with his dinner that evening. We duly filed back into the coach, bottles clinking and made our way to Niagara on the Lake, a very quaint little town, where we had some time to wander round, see the lake, do some shopping. I got a few nice photos down by the lake and then found a great smelling bakery where I stopped off for a sausage roll and a scone. I think I must have been thinking of home. I ate the sausage roll while walking back to the coach and put the scone in my bag for later.

Once everyone was back on board (our tour were all very punctual and I don’t even think any of them were German) we set off for the Falls, stopping to see a giant whirlpool caused by the river bending at a 90 degree angle. We got the first glimpses of the Falls as we arrived into Niagara and parked up. Our driver took us all down to the Maid of the Mist ticket desk and handed us our tickets, telling us that we now had a couple of hours free time until the bus left at 4pm. I headed down to the boat, collecting a rather large blue pac-a-mac which I duly put on. It was a little warm in the sun and the pac-a-mac was nearly floor length so it was like walking around in my own little sauna. I prayed the queue would move quickly so that I could be out of the sun and into the cooling mist from the Falls.

American Falls & Bridal Veil

The boat headed out into the water and we saw the American Falls, the smaller Bridal Veil Falls and then on to the Horseshoe Falls (or as the Canadian person giving us the tour continually called them, the Canadian Falls). I managed to get a few good photos before the spray from the Falls became overwhelming.  I now know why the pac-a-mac was floor length. I had it hitched up a little so I could get some air circulating to cool myself down. Within seconds my legs were soaked. The sheer power of the Falls was just incredible. I have never seen anything so impressive and it left me speechless (not that I had anyone to speak to). After the trip on the boat and I had dried off, I walked around for a little while taking in the Falls from different viewpoints. The views are amazing and I would totally recommend it as a place to go for a day. You do only need a day there though. After you spend an hour or so looking at the amazing scenery and waterfall you then begin to spot the rest of Niagara – a mix of tacky tourist shops, fast food outlets and hotel casinos.

Horseshoe (Canadian) Falls

I spent some of the free time I had in Niagara sitting watching the waterfall, thinking about my childhood, reflecting. I think I had my first big realisation of the trip – that I am extremely lucky to be in a position to take a year off work to travel the world, and that I should make the most of every moment. I guess I already knew that but it really hit home at Niagara. I got to thinking about this as it occurred to me that when I was younger I used to go sometimes with mother to her work, at a police sports and social club called Niagara. I’m not sure how old I was but I used to kneel up on a stool to wash the dishes in a sink that was big enough for me to bath in. I never imagined back then that I would one day get to go and see the Niagara Falls, which I assume are where the club got its name. 

I got to thinking about my current travels compared to the family holidays we used to take. I know it is not really a fair comparison. As a child you never really appreciate the concept of money, whether you are rich or poor. I had a good childhood by comparison to many. We weren’t rich by any stretch of the imagination but we had a roof over our heads, food on the table and a foreign holiday once a year. We never truly wanted for anything. I think growing up my family probably sacrificed quite a lot to give us the things we used to have but I have no idea. It is not something we have ever talked about. I know though that my family have always been really supportive of me in everything that I do. I must remember to thank them when I get home.

"Sometimes I wonder where I've been, who I am, do I fit in"

Lyrics from Out Here on my Own from the musical Fame

Look below

When you're way up high, and you look below, at the world you left, and the things you know

When you're way up high

After my somewhat late arrival into Toronto I was up early and saw David before he went to work. I apologised again for my late arrival. David asked me if I have booked my travel for getting to Montreal yet, a comment he assured me was not linked to me knocking him up in the early hours. He told me to check out the VIA rail website as the train is a nice way to travel between the places I plan to visit in Canada.  As luck would have it there is a 50% sale on business class tickets, so I book myself a ticket to Montreal and one from there to Ottawa.

After a strong coffee I went for a walk to get my bearings. I’ve noticed that this is becoming a habit for my first morning in a new place. I find it helps to walk around the area I am staying to get an idea of where exactly I am and what is close by. It’s also important to do it while sober so that if on the off chance I have a few drinks I can remember how to get home.

I walked through the financial district, lots of tall office buildings but not much of note and make my way towards Church Street and the gay village. I’d decided that it was time to brave getting my 1st haircut of the trip, something I have a mild trepidation about having had the same hairdresser for the last ten years.  A friend had recommended Ho’s Place and I duly headed there. It was fairly quiet and I sat in an empty chair. My palms started to sweat. I could also feel beads of sweat forming along my brow. I explain to Can, the barber, that it is my first time with someone new in a decade. He understands, then proceeds to pretty much shave my entire head. It takes me a while to get used to the length (or lack of) but I guess it means I won’t have to worry about getting it done again for a while.

I take myself out to lunch. I am also getting used to dining out alone and don’t really feel the need anymore to have a book to read or some other distraction. I grab a table outside the Village Rainbow café and enjoy a rather large club sandwich and a local beer while watching the people walking up and down Church Street.  The village has a nice feel to it and lunch passes quickly. I make my way back home & take advantage of the sunny afternoon and the pool on the roof of the place I am staying to relax a little.

And you look below 

The evening looked like it would be a sunny one so I headed to the CN Tower, only two blocks away, got a ticket and took the very fast elevator to the observation deck, over 1,100 feet up.  The views of Toronto from the top are stunning. You get to see the whole area, the built up downtown, the harbour, the islands and across the lake. The observation deck includes an outdoor deck that I duly checked out. The wind was so strong I could only walk round in one direction and I got myself back indoors at the earliest opportunity. Had I been in Toronto a month later I would have had the opportunity to take in the newest attraction, the EdgeWalk “the world’s highest full circle hands-free walk on a 5ft wide ledge encircling the top of the CN Tower’s main pod 1,168ft above the ground”. I think not!

The observation deck also includes a section of glass flooring allowing you to stand on it & look straight down at the ground 1,122 feet below. The sensation is extremely strange and made me feel quite dizzy. I would have gone for a strong G&T (for purely medicinal purposes of course) but the bar was closed for a private event. After that I headed up to the SkyPod a few hundred feet even higher to watch the sun set.

The ROM

The next day I was up early and looked out of the window to see that the mist and clouds had rolled in. I couldn’t see the observation deck of the CN Tower. The weather looked like an indoor attractions day was in order so I took myself to the Royal Ontario Museum. I’d been told that the new part of the building had caused a lot of controversy with the locals but wasn’t quite expecting the jutting crystal shaped building attached to the old brick building. The contrast was striking and maybe overshadowed the collections inside which I spent a good couple of hours looking round.

At the world you left 

Casa Loma 

Having had my fill of screaming schoolchildren and art I headed up to Casa Loma, a huge castle like house build on a hill overlooking Toronto. It took three years to build & was completed in 1914. The cost at the time was estimated to be $3.5million. The guy who built it went bankrupt a decade later, was forced to sell the house & all its contents and he died shortly after, penniless. The house and the gardens were a great way to spend the afternoon. The gardens include a metal sculpture called the Dragon Tree, which if the local legend is to be believed will see the dragons come to life and fly off should someone pure of heart ring the bells on the tree. I rang the bells. Nothing.

The evening I do something that I haven’t done for about a month and actually cook a meal for David so we can spend some time together catching up. He is a vegetarian so I use the one non-meat recipe in my limited range & rustle up a nice mushroom risotto and some salad. Chatting with David and cooking dinner gives me a reminder of being back home and it feels nicely comforting. I have an early night ahead of an early start in the morning, a day trip out to the Niagara Falls.

“When you're way up high, and you look below, at the world you left, and the things you know”

Lyrics from Giants in the Sky from the musical Into the Woods

Always sorry

You’re always sorry, you’re always grateful

After the relative ease and delay-free nature of my journeys so far, I guess I was due some travel problems and duly got them in bucket loads on my trip from Chicago to Toronto.  It should have been straightforward – a 6pm flight that should have taken 90 minutes, getting me in at 8:30pm Toronto time. From there it would simply be a short taxi ride to the centre and to David’s apartment. Things started off ok, I arrived at the airport in plenty of time and went to check in. I had booked my flight using the BA miles I had racked up over years of travelling for both work and pleasure. American Airlines charges $25 to check in a bag but the check-in machine asked if I wanted to upgrade to business for $45, which then gave me free checked baggage and free drinks on board. I figured at $7 a drink I could get through $20 of gin on the flight even though it was only 90 minutes long.

Sat waiting for the plane the departure time kept creeping slowly upwards. I counted at least half a dozen revised times. I texted David on the number he had given me to give him an update of my new arrival time, which was rapidly descending from a respectable mid evening time to late night. I knew David had a very busy work week and the last thing he would want was to have to be waiting up to let me in once I finally arrived.  We finally started boarding the plane around 9:30pm, catapulting AA to the top of my delays list, a new tab I had added to my spreadsheet while I was waiting for the flight. I gave David a quick call to let him know that we were boarding, give him an updated arrival time and apologise. He didn’t answer the phone and it went though to voicemail so I left a message. For good measure I dropped him a message on Facebook too.

I settled into my seat and was offered a drink while everyone else boarded. I asked for a large gin and tonic, which the steward was only too happy to get me. He asked if I had been on one of his flights last week, which I hadn’t. During the short flight I got through another 2 gin and tonics (gins and tonic? Gins and tonics?) and came out $1 up. We landed at around 11:30pm Toronto time. I was first off the plane, switching my phone on & calling David to let him know that I had arrived. Again there was no answer and it went to voicemail. I started to worry slightly that he hadn’t answered either call.

I headed to immigration and got asked a few questions by the man at the booth. He wrote some sort of number code on my landing card and sent me on my way. As I headed out another guard was collecting the landing cards. He asked for mine & I handed it to him. He looked at the code on it, gave it back to me and pointed to a large room at the side. Everyone else handed in their cards and sailed straight through to the baggage reclaim area. I went in the room and waited for an immigration officer to be free. There were two on duty, both involved in long conversations with other travellers. I could feel my heart rate pick up as I stood waiting to talk to an immigration officer, conscious of the 3 gins I had consumed on the plane. I can only assume that they didn’t like the fact that I am coming from the US to Canada but have a UK passport. The man asked me where I had come from and I started to explain my year of travels. I stopped short of explaining the full 80 Gays concept as he didn’t look like he would be very interested in that. He asked a few more questions which I answered and then he let me go. I grabbed my case & headed out of the baggage reclaim area. I now only had to find a cash machine and then get a taxi. The first two cash machines I came across were both out of service, not a great start. I considered getting in a taxi and asking him to stop at a cash machine on the way but think that might not go down so well. I spotted a member of staff from the airport and asked if there is another cash machine anywhere. They directed me to one, which was thankfully working. I got some cash and made my way to the taxi point, aware that it was now gone midnight.

There was a very long queue for the taxis but luckily David has told me that the limo service from the airport is only $5 more than the taxi (there is a flat fee in place) and a much nicer ride. I bypassed the queue and grabbed a limo. It is not like a limo back in London that you see driving through central London, normally with some drunken Essex girls hanging out of the roof and windows on a hen night. It is just a large car. The drive into the centre of town was mercifully quick. I phoned David again to let him know I am in a car on my way. I got the answerphone again.  The driver dropped me off at the address David had given me, which turns out to be a very large residential tower. I pressed the entry buzzer, spoke to the porter and got buzzed in, letting myself in to the lobby, realising that David has not given me his apartment number. I tried his phone again, but it went through to voicemail once again. I waited around, deciding what the best thing to do would be as it was approaching 1am. I buzzed the porter again who told me to come up to the lobby on the 9th floor.

I made my way up & to the reception desk. I explained the situation to the porter and his colleague. They looked at me rather sceptically. I offered to show them the exchange of messages I have had with David on Facebook. They asked what phone number I have for him. I tell them. They tell me they have the same one but it is his work number. That explains why he hasn’t been answering his phone at gone midnight then. One of them asks me how well I know him and would he get annoyed with being knocked up at nearly 1am. I say that he would be fine & they take me to his apartment. I knocked on the door. Nothing. We waited for a while. The porter suggested I knock again, a bit louder. I did and am relieved to hear movement from inside. A bleary eyed, pyjama clad David answered the door. I am grateful I don’t have to spend the night sat in reception waiting. I apologised several times, David gave me a hug to welcome me, told me to be quiet as a colleague of his is asleep in the spare room and pointed me towards the sofa, on which is a pillow, a sheet and a blanket. I slept well after such an epic journey.

“You’re always sorry, you’re always grateful” 
Lyrics from Sorry-Grateful from the musical Company

Through the revolving door

New friends pour, through the revolving door

View from the boat

New friends pour

As stomach lining meals before a big night out go, a salad with hardly any carbs is probably not the best choice, but I felt like I needed to eat something green & healthy again. The day had been taken up by a great brunch at Bakin’ & Eggs (definitely not healthy but very tasty), then a spot of cruising, checking out some impressive erections.  I can thoroughly recommend the architectural river cruise if you are ever in Chicago. Our guide talked constantly for the 90 minutes we were sailing, imparting pearls of wisdom about the buildings we pass and the history of Chicago. I walked back through downtown Chicago and back to Bob’s to get ready for our night out.

After dinner (the aforementioned salad) we headed to Sidetracks, a very large bar in the middle of Boystown.  The venue played good music and was filled with a mixed, friendly crowd. We met up with some of Bob’s friends, Jorge & Wes, and spent a few hours chatting, checking out the boys walking by and drinking.  Bob and his man headed home for a fairly early night and I was duly handed over to his friends like a big gay baton.  We got another drink and then headed to a different part of the bar – it was like a labyrinth – several rooms on different levels, numerous bars and lots of boys.  I got chatting to some of Jorge’s friends who had joined us. I did the standard speech about my trip when asked if I was here on vacation (holiday) and asked the new people what they did for a living etc.  In another example of it being a small world they both work for the same company I used to work for. I explain how I used to chair the LGBT employee network in the UK (my unofficial title being Head of Gays) but also know some of the network chairs from the US and Canada from various calls we have had. They know the names I reel off.  I moved the conversation away from work.

Jorge and Wes decide to head home and I am once again passed on, baton style, to my new friends. We grab one more round in Sidetracks before heading to Minibar, a much smaller venue with a much younger crowd. I feel old. Here my new friends bump into some of their friends, out celebrating a birthday. I get introduced to the birthday boy and wish him a very happy birthday. He asks if I am English. I tell him I am. He then makes a suggestion that makes me blush. The Americans do like the English accent. I decline his offer. I finally head home at gone 2am having met some great new friends.

Through the revolving door 

The Hancock building

The next day I am up fairly early and surprisingly hangover free. I see the lodger in just his shorts again as he walks to the kitchen to get a drink. He heads back to his room and I can hear him chatting to someone. The other voice is female. A relaxed Sunday follows, which is not too dissimilar to the Saturday before. We head for brunch, a phenomenon I am getting used to. I’m not sure back in London that I would ever wait quite so long for a table but here it seems to be the done thing. While we wait we have a few drinks. I head to the bar to order 3 mimosas. The barman points out that for a few dollars more I can buy the bottle of bubbly which will give us plenty of mimosas while we wait for our table. That is the sort of economy that I like so I buy the bottle and return with that, 3 glasses and a jug of orange juice.  I eat a meal of poached eggs, sausage patties, hash browns, tomato, biscuits and gravy.  I am beginning to understand why there are a lot of big people in the US.  The meal lasts me for the entire day. A few early evening drinks at Sidetracks, where on a Sunday they play showtunes, rounds off the evening. I have a couple of beers and enjoy chatting to Bob and his man. 

My final morning in Chicago I plan to go downtown to see the views from the Hancock building. The locals all tell me that instead of paying to go up to the observation deck it is better to go to the bar that is one floor below and use the money I would have spent on a ticket to the observation deck to buy a drink and enjoy the views from the bar.  A massive thunderstorm and torrential rain stops me from making it downtown though, so I never do take in the Top of the Cock. At least I have an excuse for going back to Chicago again sometime.

“New friends pour, through the revolving door” 
Lyrics from Old Friends from the musical Merrily We Roll Along

Posing for a picture

There are worse things, than staring at the water, as you're posing for a picture

There are worse things

The flight to Chicago is fairly uneventful. I exchange pleasantries with the man sat next to me. He asks about my accent, asking if I am from Australia. I get mildly offended. After I tell him I am English we duly chat about the weather. The forecast is for a weekend of rain and thunderstorms, he tells me.  I arrive in Chicago at the same time as my host, “Bob” (his coffee name not his real name) is leaving for a night in Toronto.  I head downtown to collect the keys from Bob’s colleague and then head up to his apartment & get settled in.  He has sent me a rather detailed email explaining that when I get to his I will be greeted by a cat, Molly, and a lodger, Toby. He also tells me that Toby, who is extremely easy on the eye, is straight. I’m not sure what he was expecting me to do to the lodger that he felt it necessary to inform me he didn’t bat for our team.

I decide to have a quiet evening in so that I am fresh for the morning and can hit Chicago at a pace. Bob has lined up a chaperone/tour guide, Robert, for the next day so I text him and we make plans to meet in the morning for breakfast. I spend the evening relaxing listening to the radio and looking through the photos I’ve taken so far.  Toby comes in, shirtless, to ask if his music is too loud. It isn’t. He stays in the doorway to tell me that if it gets too loud then I should let him know. I thank him. Shortly after he comes in wearing just a towel, with a pair of jeans in his hand, which he explains belong to Bob. They were hanging over the shower rail & he didn’t want to get them wet when he had a shower. I text Bob to double-check the lodger is really straight, having now seen him in a state of undress twice within the space of a few minutes.

Than staring at the water

I wake the next morning, opening my eyes to find Molly asleep on my pillow right next to me, which makes me jump, which makes her jump.  After 2 weeks of travelling and sleeping in 5 different places I’m still learning I need to remember where I am when I wake up. I shower and get ready, and get a message from Robert asking me if I am dressing “American” or more “Euro”. I reply that I have a t-shirt and shorts on. I am curious as to what “Euro” would be – maybe a stripy t-shirt, a beret and a string of onions? He also suggests I wear comfortable shoes, a trait that comes naturally to lesbians. I follow their lead and put on my Birkenstocks.

We head to a lovely little café for breakfast, walking via Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago somethings baseball team. They are playing the New York somebodies that day and he asks if I fancy watching the game. I’m not a big sports person so I pass, opting for a schedule of more cultural tourism. I was always one of the last to be picked for sports teams at school and don’t really enjoy anything where there might be balls flying towards my face…

Crystal Palace

Over breakfast we chat about what I want to do and see while I am in Chicago and I go through the list that Craig gave me. On my list is a trip up the Hancock building, one of the taller buildings in the city which has an observation deck at the top.  Robert (and his colleagues) found it amusing that I called it “The Top of the Cock”.  I had been led to believe that this was what everyone referred to it as. We chat about where we are both from & now live, work and my travel plans. After breakfast we get the metro downtown and go to get tickets for the architectural river cruise.  They have all sold out for the day. I book myself a lunchtime cruise for the following day as half the cruises for tomorrow are also sold out.  We then head to the Art Institute of Chicago, where there are a couple of specific pieces that I really want to see, as well as just have a look round.  Robert takes me to the Thorne Miniatures Room first, a hidden gem tucked away on the lower ground floor. Inside are dozens of recreations of rooms done in various styles from England, France and the US. The scale is one inch to one foot and the detail in them is incredible.  After that we head upstairs to see some of the paintings. There is a little confusion caused by my attempted map reading and my failure to realise that what I call the ground floor is called the first floor over here, making what I call the first floor the second floor. Such fun!

As you're posing for a picture

We find the galleries that I want to explore and I’m about to point out a picture that reminds me of Crystal Palace. I’d tried explaining what the Crystal Palace was as this is the area I live in back in London.  The painting turns out to be a Pisarro and is of Crystal Palace!  During the course of our time in the Institute we see the Suerat painting A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, the inspiration behind Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park with George, the morning version of the Houses of Parliament picture that mirrors the evening one I saw in DC, American Gothic by Grant Wood (the Desperate Housewives picture) & the Marc Chagall America Windows. We head out of the Institute over the bridge to Millennium Park where we stop to enjoy a beer. I try the local brew, opting for 312.  I’m asked if I want a small or large. I order large, thinking it will be pint. It is 32oz, which is over a pint and a half. It’s a nice refreshing brew on a warm day.  We head to see the bean, a giant polished metal sculpture which is crowded with tourists doing wacky things & taking photos of their reflections. From there we head to the lakeside and walk up along the shore of the lake (stopping for a beer) before heading through Lincoln Park (stopping for a beer) before finally returning to Bob’s. I thank Robert for his chaperoning and company, another new friend made. It has been great to spend the day with a local who has been able to point out lots of things I would otherwise have missed.

Dean at the bean

I bump into Bob, and his man, leaving for dinner as I am getting back. While they go grab a bite to eat I shower & change, grabbing a snack before they return to take me out for a few drinks.  We head to a rather interesting place called Big Joe’s which apparently is known for its Friday night entertainment of turtle racing.  When you buy a drink from the bar you are given a numbered ticket.  Once the turtle races begin the host draws six numbers out & the lucky people are effectively the “jockeys” for the turtle race. Each one picks a numbered ball & is allocated a turtle, which are all waiting in the centre of a large board with a circle painted on it.  The first turtle to leave the circle once the race starts is the winner.  There is a t-shirt for the winner and a free drink for the person who comes in last.  As we quickly discover after two heats, the free drink invariably goes to the person who drew Yolanda. When her name is called out the host, and the turtle racing regulars all shout in unison that she is “the slowest f***ing turtle in the world”.  We don’t get drawn as jockeys for the first two races so we head off, missing the action of the last four heats & the final race, which the winners of the heats compete in for a place in a prize draw for a holiday to Vegas. It certainly made for an interesting experience! We head to a bar called Big Chicks, which despite the name, is not a bar for the gay ladies. A nightcap there and then back home to bed rounds off my first day in Chicago. 

“There are worse things, than staring at the water, as you're posing for a picture” 

Lyrics from Sunday in the Park with George from the musical Sunday in the Park with George