This story originally appeared in URBANIA, an online magazine based in Quebec focused on pop culture and society.

“You know Bain Colonial? A friend was telling me about it last night. It’s kind of a sauna/social club in the Plateau for queer intellectuals to chat and meet up with people of all ages, but it’s also more than that…”

My boss has a knack for teasing. That one line was enough to pique my interest. There was just one catch: I’m not a gay man, so I couldn’t set foot in the oldest gay bathhouse in the city. Too bad.

Fortunately, I knew someone who could get wet and undressed on my behalf—and his boyfriend would join too.

Before they could dive in, I wanted to learn more about the history of Bain Colonial and the people who frequent it. I found an article titled Partager l’entre-soi: Homosociabilité et homosexualité dans un bain turc montréalais (or Sharing Exclusivity: Homosociability and Homosexuality in a Montreal Turkish Bath). Among other things, it reveals that Bain Colonial is one of the oldest Turkish baths still operating in North America.

“Initially frequented by a Jewish clientele, this century-old establishment gradually became central to Montreal’s homosexual history, all while preserving part of its original identity. It allows for the generally peaceful coexistence of ethnic, religious, and sexual minorities within a confined space,” the article explains. The stage was set.

My friend—let’s call him Tristan—confirms this. “Once, a regular told us it felt just like family at the bath!” he says with a smile. “But really, it means you can go there for more than just sex!”

“But you shouldn’t go to Bain Colonial expecting sex, because you might end up disappointed! It’s not guaranteed. People don’t always go there to hook up, but if the opportunity arises, it’ll happen,” explains a regular we’ll call D*. Sounds simple enough.

“It’s really a space to be free, even though the atmosphere inside is somewhat regulated. There’s a spatial organization according to different activities. Well-lit areas aren’t as conducive to sex, but they’re great for chilling or chatting. It definitely has that ‘social club’ vibe, where people are naked, talking, and often meet up again later,” says D*, who used to visit once or twice a week when he lived in Montreal.

“In winter, the bath is wonderful. It feels so good to be naked and warm when it’s -15°C outside. It’s a great way to relax and catch up with friends. It can help ease the Sunday night blues, or even seasonal depression.”

But who’s bathing there?

In the well-lit areas of Bain Colonial, the crowd is largely Russophone, Orthodox Jewish, or Arab.

“There’s a certain restraint in those spaces,” confides D*, recalling a time when there were minor altercations between Russians and gay patrons.

“But the bathhouse quickly responded by putting up signs near the benches to remind everyone that the space is shared and appropriate behaviour is expected. There were some attempts to regulate practices; for example, the establishment tried to impose rules like limiting bath time to three hours and banning self-flagellation with oak branches. But no one really follows these rules, and it’s not a big deal. There’s a natural fluidity to how things work—a kind of organized coexistence.”

Bathers from all walks of life share the space, each with their own rituals. Unusual moments often occur, like when—depending on the day of the week—the bathhouse turns into an improvised canteen. “It might seem improbable for a sauna, but around 5 or 6 p.m., some regular Russian bathers have dinner there—they even keep their food in the fridge,” says D*. “They live and bathe as one!”

In the afternoon, seniors often reign at Bain Colonial. “Some are very old. For some, it might be the only place where they can freely express their homosexuality. It’s not always easy to do that in a retirement home or elsewhere at that age. The bathhouse fosters these wonderful encounters between young and old. Conversations happen naturally between people who, at first glance, have nothing in common,” says D*, adding that university professors are also a notable presence at 3963 Coloniale Avenue.

“In the sauna, social barriers fade, and nudity plays a big part in that. The bathhouse smooths out differences—a place suspended in time and space, where social dynamics are paused. And it’s a real place for connections! My partner and I made some great friends there, and that’s true for a lot of people.”

Tristan and his partner—let’s call him Iseut—didn’t have much trouble attracting attention.

“You can change here, but no sex. Okay?” said the receptionist, who they thought was a ‘slightly creepy gay guy in his thirties.’

“From the outside, it’s old-fashioned—neither ugly nor beautiful. But inside, it’s like stepping into another era. It’s austere, a bit gloomy, with a late ‘80s vibe. There’s almost a Soviet feel to it, especially with the old carpet,” they laugh. “But it’s not dirty!”

“As soon as we arrived, guys were checking us out, like they were surprised… Honestly, I think we were just too good-looking!” Tristan says with a laugh. “In all modesty, we were the best-looking ones there!”

Tristan admits that immersing himself in this world was a new experience. “Some guys got a bit excited and started following us, but we just locked ourselves in our room. Really, they probably just wanted to see if something would happen, but they were respectful, not pushy.”

“As we wandered through the different areas, there were slightly open doors with people waiting inside. Further along, there was a gym that seemed to serve no real purpose. Maybe it’s just for showing off? I’m not sure,” Tristan says, sounding like a spy on a secret mission.

“When we got upstairs, we passed rooms with chairs arranged in a U-shape, with an old screen playing porn in the background—it was almost tempting. Near the showers, there’s a ‘meat locker’ of sorts with benches, where about 20 people were chatting in French, English, or Russian, including two guys, completely naked, lounging on the table. They seemed pretty relaxed!”

“Everyone was sitting there watching us shower. We felt a bit awkward, but it was okay! Since we were the best-looking ones, I didn’t feel too uncomfortable,” he laughs.

Another standout feature of the place is the dry sauna, which has “benches made of wooden planks resting on concrete blocks,” Iseult recalls. “In the corner, there’s a giant oven door—like the mouth of hell—with a wooden handle and a heavy, creaking door. It radiates intense heat, like something straight out of a movie or beyond the grave… Unforgettable.”

The couple got to know some of the regulars better during their visit. “Little by little, three or four guys came in. They didn’t say a word, but they were definitely watching us,” Tristan and Iseult recount. They quickly realized they were making an impression on one regular in particular—but what happens in the bathhouse stays in the bathhouse.

The worst place at the Bain Colonial? The jacuzzi. “We didn’t even dip a toe in—it wasn’t inviting at all. Plus, there was an elderly regular who had been soaking there for a while. We didn’t want to disturb him…” Tristan recalls, without regret, as he fondly remembers his first visit.

“Sometimes we joke that we’re inhaling more asbestos than steam in the sauna!”

“Honestly, it’s the kind of place where you can unwind, meet people, and maybe more if there’s chemistry—nothing’s off-limits. I get why people keep coming back! The only downside for me is that the vibe can be a bit gloomy, and some people are there just to hook up because they don’t have many other options—it feels like a last resort,” Tristan explains. He still plans to return on a Tuesday. “Apparently, that’s when a group of young queers show up… Word’s gotten out, so I’m curious to see what it’s like.”

A bathhouse steeped in a century of history

D* echoes Tristan’s thoughts on the somewhat grim vibe of the place and doesn’t hold back. “It’s super ugly inside—hideous, even. Some things haven’t changed in 100 years. Sometimes we joke that we’re inhaling more asbestos than steam in the sauna! The carpet has these psychedelic green patterns that must be from the 1970s. It’s definitely in its original state,” D* says, admitting there’s still a certain charm to the place.

“When you go to a place like this, it’s not for the bath—it’s for the socializing and relaxation,” summarizes Tristan.

The only real mystery about Bain Colonial is its owners. No one really knows them. “We’ll sometimes catch a glimpse of them, but it’s brief. They’re very discreet. But we do know the same Jewish family has been running the place for 100 years,” says D*, who worries about the bathhouse’s future.

“A lot of Montreal institutions are disappearing,” he adds. “It’s sad, and it worries the regulars at Bain Colonial. They know the place is worth a small fortune, especially if the owners—who aren’t young anymore—decide to sell. If that happens, a cornerstone of Montreal’s gay community could vanish.”

So, it’s now or never: Take a dip.

…or more, if the mood strikes.

Follow URBANIA for more independently produced and intelligent entertainment out of Quebec.

But who’s bathing there?

A bathhouse steeped in a century of history

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Daisy Le Corre @ URBANIA

Diving into the Montreal Bathhouse Bain Colonial