In A Bucket

My husband is combing through the travel section of the Montreal Gazette. Oh Good. Maybe he’ll find a cheap trip to Cuba.

I mentally pack my beach bag, wondering if I’ll have time for a pedicure.

“Listen to this. The prison in Trois-Rivieres has been converted to a museum. Tours are available every—“

A prison? In Trois-Rivieres? I glance down at my toes sadly, imaginary sand slipping away.

Two hours and change after we roll out of bed, we pull up to the imposing gray building that looks exactly like what it is: a prison that opened in 1822. Large. Rectangular. Surrounded by a tall, stone fence.

Visits to the prison are all through guided tours in English or French. You may want to call ahead and confirm that there’s an English tour available. We learned that lesson the hard way.

Some of the tour guides are former inmates – but we have a relaxed and entertaining university student. He leads us through the men’s cells, the very small eating area and the infrequently used courtyard. We walk through the women’s section where he confides that the women prisoners were even more violent than the men.

We ask about the lack of toilets.

“There were buckets”, the guide explains smirking. Hmm. This might explain the violence.

We then descend to the almost pitch black cellar also known as the dungeon. Dirt floor. Prisoners were sent down to solitary confinement here until the mid-1970s. We are shocked and frankly uncomfortable. I can see why this tour is not recommended for children under 12.

He tells us that for only $60, we can sleep over at the prison, and stay the night in actual cells. We would have to clean the floors and walls. Food? Porridge, it’s a prison. Do we have to bring our own buckets? I was afraid to ask. Although I did notice that a few bathrooms have been installed since the prison became a museum.

“Or you can be part of a jury”, the guide explains, “where you book a tour with 9 of your friends, and hear evidence from a crime that really happened in the 1920s. You get to handle historical objects actually used in the committing of the crime”. That sounds like a fun birthday party.

My husband and I take pictures in front of the prison, tip the tour guide and walk out the door.

The prison was fascinating. A slice of history so close to home.

I get behind the wheel and hand my husband a copy of the Gazette.

“Here’s the travel section. This time, let’s look at deals to Cuba. I hear they use buckets too. For the beach.”