by RAF KATIGBAK

With the FrancoFolies over, my apartment— conveniently located behind the main stage—sits in awkward silence. The visiting chansonniers have warbled tenderly back to their native land, the vendors have packed up their made-in-Quebec amorphous experimental jewellery and the new age stilt walkers have returned to, well, wherever they find new age stilt walkers. (Rumours that these artists are actually part of a provincial program to keep anglos from moving back to Quebec are wholly unfounded.) On site, as a lonely volunteer sweeps up the last smuggled king can of Black Label, the final refrain of “Voulez-vous couchez avec moi” (blues version) rings quietly in my head, only to return next year, in funk version format.

The road to the Stanley Cup—which was littered with more speed bumps than a haemorrhoid epidemic at the Pride Parade—lead ultimately to a dead end, and with the Fringe Fest also over and out, Montreal can finally look forward to some peace, quiet, and—BRRRRREEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!! Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! What was that!? It sounded like Fran Drescher getting caught in one of the printers at La Presse! Or a banshee sucked into a turbine of a DC-10 crashing into the Old Port! Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s Grand Prix.

Grand Pricks, as it’s sometimes called, is that magical time of year when young and old, rich and poor, tacky and, um, tackier, come together, and conspicuously consume in honour of multi-million-dollar aerodynamic machines that go really, really fast.

But Montreal, with all its unique sights, smells and discount bulk-buy sex shops, can be a scary and confusing place for Euro-trash and white trash alike. So for the benefit of out-of-towners trying to navigate the cultural poutine that is Montreal, here is a brief FAQ.

Q: What is poutine?

A: Basically it’s the gut-kicking, post-drunk culinary gangbang of cheese curds, gravy and fries. Without the cheese, in New York, they’re known as “disco fries.” Everywhere else calls it “a disgusting pile of slop not fit for consumption.” Like most amazing things in Quebec, poutine started as an accident. Try it and love it!

Q: I heard Montreal is a stylish city—what’s with all the jester hats?

A: It’s true that Montrealers’ love for medievalism should be as widely known as our love for “le blues.” Perhaps it’s because Montreal is so stylistically ahead of the curve that, since 1980’s retro is sooooo five minutes ago, we’re getting on some 1480’s shit. Or maybe, since we don’t have a theme restaurant on the scale of Medieval Times, we have to create one every Sunday on Mount Royal. Except there’s no chicken dinner special and everyone actually believes they’re barbarians fighting in the Middle Ages.

Q: I was almost killed by this speedy scooter-like thing on the sidewalk today. What was that thing?

A: Old people in Montreal are so casual and laid back, they can’t be bothered to walk. Instead, they whiz around on these motorized La-Z-Boys. Sometimes they travel in packs, like a mini post-apocalyptic convoy of octogenarians taking back the streets, daring young people to get in their way. Thanks Medicare!

Q: Why are Quebecois always saying “fuck”?

A: While we’ve been known to have mouths like drunken sailors, what most non-francos hear as the word “fuck” is actually “fait-que,” a linguistic disfluency that is sort of like saying “so” or “umm.” Quebecois swearing is literally a religious habit, grown out of the post-WWII falling-out with the collusion between the Catholic Church and state. Words like “tabarnac,” “chrisse” and “calisse” have roots in Catholic terminology.

Q: Is prostitution legal?

A: No, prostitution is not legal, per se. But that doesn’t stop the over 3,000 hard-working escorts from making their ends meet (literally). If you’re looking for a good time, you might want to flip to the back of this newspaper. A good rule of thumb is that you get what you pay for. So don’t be surprised if, after going the budget route, you’re greeted at your hotel room door by a barely legal Sri Lankan runaway with a hunchback and busted grill, which is totally cool if that’s your thing. And yes, tipping is mandatory (15–20 per cent).

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca

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