Montreal: Week One

[...],and then there was Montreal.

Within six hours of departing from the bus terminal, I had traded the fierce soggy winds of Toronto with the snow lined streets of Montreal. I feel at a loss to thoroughly describe Montreal and the people who occupy the island. 

I've heard it described as the love child of New York and Paris, and of course my imagination leads me to describe what their one night stand may have looked like. I like to think that it happened on a late summer night, when the 'City of Lights' and the 'City that Never Sleeps' met. It wasn't quite love at first sight because New York was drunk and pissing in an alleyway, and Paris was stumbling out bar with a broken heel and a skanky dress.

New York bummed a cigarette, and they got to chatting. And after a long night of just perverse happenings, Paris took the walk of shame, and nine months later Montreal arrived.

Okay, so maybe it didn't happen that way. But the moral of the story is that a predominantly French province in an English commonwealth is going to be angsty, rebellious, and just plain fun.

Necessary Accessory #1: Snow Boots. Not the sexy stiletto boots you got from the tranny swap meet, but actually something that will keep your feet warm, dry, and keep your body in an upright and locked position. Also don't make the mistake I did, make sure they actually fit!

So far I've done a fairly good job experiencing what Montreal has to offer in terms of food. St. Viateur bagels, poutine, and booze. That's all they eat here, right?! I don't want to sound like a broken record of anyone who has ever blogged about Montreal, but poutine is either something that Jesus makes for all his angels in heaven or a special treat that the devil eats off the back us one of his many sex slaves. Either way, the shit is damn good! 

 Thanks to my Montreal companion and romantic interest, Hannah B., I have also experienced the magical word of second hand and anarchist bookstores, Eva B's, and Grande Bibliotheque.

Another must-see for the queer East Canadian traveler is Le Drugstore. Now, I'm a gay of modest means when the three stories of R 'Place' are what I call swank. Le Drugstore is audacious in it's size, and I don't think I've ever seen so many lesbians in my two plus decades of life. And as if it couldn't get any better, we arrived just in time for a gang of drag queens to perform a repertoire of songs.

Travel Warning: If you're American, and specifically if you consider yourself a modest or even intermediate drinker, be f**Kin careful. My 24hr hangover was proof enough that 'my shit is weak'.

My first week in Montreal ended with an exhilarating slide down an iced over hill on a plastic saucer. Yes, Canadians call this Tobogganing, and it is awesome. I screamed like a little girl even on the fourth or fifth run down the hill. Well, I think that might even be an insult to little girls because the kids going down the hill were very zen like in their excitement. Crazy kids!