Highballs up high

Where can you find baking sun, watery drinks, gay house music, prowling cougars and gangsters in their underwear? On the city’s finest hotel rooftops, of course! The Mirror leads the way on a fact-finding, terrasse-hopping expedition

compiled by RAF KATIGBAK
photos by RACHEL GRANOFSKY

While it’s not always a good idea to mix booze and sun, Quebecers have never been ones to do as we’re told. Every summer, Montrealers, liquor and terrasses seem to come together like some kind of intoxicated sunburnt poutine.

With a slew of upscale boutique hotels recently opening up in the Old Port, many boasting “über chic, Sex in the City-style” rooftop terrasses, the Mirror decided it was high time to check out all of the best hotel terrasses this city has to offer. Here are the results of one day in the life of a Montreal terrasse-hopper.

VERSES SKY
Hotel Nelligan, 106 St-Paul W.

5 p.m. The first stop on excursion was the trendy new Hotel Nelligan. Populated by everyone from young 20-something urban fashionistas and 30-something junior account execs to 40-something high-rolling Mafioso types, by 5:30 p.m., Verses Sky was happening.

As I chose some prime real estate to start my afternoon of people-watching, I suddenly realized that if there was any place for generic “groovin’” wallpaper house, this was it. Certainly the hippest new kid on the boutique hotel block, the terrasse boasts a number of fancy-shmancy quality eats and liquid treats at boutique hotel prices (read: ch-ching).

I went straight for the house specialty—a White Sangria made of white cranberries, sparkling wine, lychee nectar and peach schnapps—a must if you’re a girl-drink drunk like me, but sweet enough to send most into diabetic shock. At nine bucks a pop, budget conscious non-boozers would do well to order the virgin White Sangria; it will only set you back three bones, but is just as tasty.

Feeling a little post-office peckishness, the outdoor BBQ had just what I needed. While it was obvious most patrons here wouldn’t bat an eyelash at the prospect of paying $8 per grilled shrimp, I knew that at $3 a stick, the lamb lollipop was the best deal on the roof. While this upscale resto-bar boasts a great 200-degree view of the city that includes the Habitat 67 and the Notre Dame Cathedral, the most remarkable view on my visit was watching a middle-aged Mafioso in $300 loafers struggle with a huge wedgie after peeling off a huge tip from his rubber-banded roll of c-notes. The realisation that he just effectively “put the ‘tear-ass’ in terrasse” was my cue to keep on truckin’.

Do: Ask for the homemade complementary chips: they’re tasty and free.

Don’t: Stick your finger into strangers’ Sangrias to fish out the lychee…without asking them.

AIX LA TERRACE
Hotel Place d’Armes, 701 Cote de la Place d’Armes

6 p.m. Hearing about the scrumptious lunchtime table d’hôte, I was anxious to chow down at Aix La Terrace’s rooftop kitchen and grill. Alas, it was not to be, as the friendly people at reception informed me that the terrasse wouldn’t be open for another few weeks. Pity. Undaunted, I was able to sneak upstairs and use my vivid imagination—now clouded by a few too many White Sangrias—to channel the vibe and take in the view.

The highest of the new boutique hotel terrasses, Aix La Terrace is the perfect place for young professionals to look down at all the little ice-cream vendors, pasty German tourists and assorted unwashed masses scuttling around the Old Port as they sip special high-falutin’ Martinis made by the resident “mixologist.” Sandwiched between the Notre Dame Cathedral and that huge awesome Ghostbusters-looking building, the terrasse is also right next to the hotel’s rooftop gym, offering patrons not only the best panorama of the Mountain but, if you’re lucky, also the unrivalled view of a corporate couple lip-syncing all the words to the throbbing gay house pumping from their respective iPods as they try and Nordic Track their way out of suburban dystopia (by the way, girlfriend, just a friendly tip: he’s totally gay!).

Do: Come for lunch and try one of their tasty sandwiches.

Don’t: Eat your sandwich while using the adjoining gym’s Stairmaster; the ham will clog the gears.

LES REMPARTS
Auberge De Vieux-Port, 97 De La Commune E.

6:20 p.m. After the underwhelming experience atop the Place d’Armes, I was happy to find Les Ramparts open for business and busy. Located right up against the water, this cosy 15-table terrasse certainly had the best view so far. Retro buffs will probably drop a vintage fudge nugget over the breathtaking view of the old Expo 67 site as they wax nostalgic over the good old days when you could walk down the street in a space-aged bright pink polyester jump suit and matching helmet and be considered fashionable.

I must say I was choked to find out that the best tables are reserved for diners only. The dilemma quickly became whether a $10 order of marinated octopus in coriander and ginger was worth the view. Since it was at least 30 minutes since my last drink, and the added fact that eating marinated octopus right next to the St. Lawrence river ranks pretty high on the list of culinary bad ideas, I figured I would sacrifice the waterside scenery and order a Cosmopolitan instead. Which, as it turns out, was plenty watery enough for me.

From pseudo-hipsters discussing which Black Eyed Pea was the “funkiest” to hip-replaced seniors leafing through the Lonely Planet wondering what treasures they’ll discover in our mysterious “Underground City” (uhhh, maybe a Radio Shack?), the crowd was a strange but entertaining mix. Of course, as I always say, what good is an upbeat atmosphere if you’re going to totally fucking kill it by playing Mix 96 on a shitty bookshelf stereo system propped haphazardly on the bar? Well, if your idea of classy dining and urban chic is listening to some obnoxious baritone-d Anglo guffaw about your chance to win tickets to the next Simple Plan show, then this place is for you. For me it was time to move and uncover a legend of Montreal terrasse-hopping.

Do: Marvel at the surrealist experience of people eating a $30 caramelized porc balachon with wild mushrooms and rosemary as they listen to a zany “Top 6 at 6” ad for Kojax souvlaki house.

Don’t: Make a huge fuss about sitting “wherever the hell you want, when you want,” throwing around terms like “second-class citizen” and “gastronomic segregation”—they’ll just throw you out too.

LA TERRASSE MAGNETIC
Hotel De La Montagne, 1430 De La Montagne

7 p.m. Since I’d never been here before, this was the perfect chance to confirm or deny the multitude of wild legends and rumours swirling around the trashy but charming poolside terrasse high atop the Hotel De La Montagne.

Rumour 1: “The lobby is a magical wonderland guarded by elephants and golden alligators.”

True: A mish-mash between the Art Deco movement and a British Amazon-explorer’s malaria-induced fever dream, the décor at the entrance to the hotel is a mind-bending sensory explosion enhanced by a piano bar where Davit Margaryan plays bossa nova hits at such a blinding speed that it makes your best friend’s twitchy crystal meth-smoking dealer ex-boyfriend seem like a really down to earth guy.

Rumour 2: “Some of the voluptuous women by the pool are “working girls,” if you know what I mean…”

False: While the ladies certainly were friendly, none that I met were “of ill repute” (apparently ladies of the night restrict their visits to a specific weeknight). That said, there were enough ogling bald men high-fiving each other over Hawaiian-punch-flavoured Sangria to give it that magical middle-management sausage party strip-club vibe.

Rumour 3: The view from the terrasse is second to none.

True: Sure, most hotel terrasses give you choice angles of Montreal’s unique retro-modern architecture and picturesque natural landscapes, but how many can boast perfect views of not one but two of the city’s highest Port-o-Potties? Take that, Nelligan!

Do: Bring your bathing suit, towel and sunscreen when the pool opens.

Don’t: Worry about drowning—the silicone-enhanced regulars have been known to act as nature’s life vests.

LE BAR SOLEIL
Hilton Bonaventure, 900 de la Gauchetière W.

7:45 p.m. This hotel’s poolside oasis was the perfect place to end my travels. Surrounded by the walls of the hotel proper, what it lacked in view it more than made up for in coziness and atmosphere. This is hands-down the best place to really get away and unwind after a tough day at the office—or in my case, a tough day drinking cheap sangria mix and watching gangsters indiscreetly pick at their underwear.

The fact that there’s no real view of the city actually enhanced the feeling of being miles away. The music—a mix of lounge and Afro-Cuban rhythms—was a welcome change from the generic house and commercial radio schlock. A popular wedding reception and international conference hall, people watchers will thrill at the Hilton’s international selection of inebriated guests and middle-aged conference cougars prowling the pool to see if the groom who was just thrown in fully-clothed needs “some help drying off.”

With a meat ’n’ potatoes backyard BBQ feel, Le Bar Soleil is a great place to shake off the Old Port boutique pretension—don’t expect to find any unpronounceable imported beers with tons of umlauts, Belle Guelle is as exotic as it gets. Woozy from the two-pronged alcohol/sun attack, I sneaked across the hotel looking for solace and found it in their beautiful botanical garden. As I walked down the slate stone path, flanked by lush trees and brightly coloured plant life, my thoughts washed over with a single observation: getting crunked in the sun in Montreal totally fuckin’ rules!

Do: Call and make group reservations for their $18 all-you-can-drink 5-à-7 specials.

Don’t: Feed the cute little ducks in the botanical garden (they can’t seem to digest cigarette butts very well).