It was striking to see such a vast crowd genuinely immersed in the music, a tendency that persisted throughout the entire weekend. While smartphones were present for capturing moments here and there, they seldom distracted from the collective focus on the performances themselves. This doesn’t come as a surprise—since 1968, FEQ has built a reputation as a festival where artistry takes focus over noise.

Over the course of three days, I baked in the sun (only to get baptized by a sudden mid-Pixies downpour), but more than that, Quebec’s music scene exposed layers I didn’t even know were there—a whole world I’d been oblivious to until now. I’ve boiled it down to five key lessons (and, yes, I tested the limits of poutine consumption along the way). Here’s what I walked away with.

A Little Bit of Everything

We often see festivals that commit to one vibe and one vibe only. Country, dance, metal—whatever your niche, there’s a festival built to serve it. FEQ isn’t that. It spans a whopping 11 days, and yet somehow, in just the four nights I was there, I saw Kygo, Hozier, Slayer, and Shania Twain. Yes, in that order. Yes, it somehow worked.

What sets FEQ crowds apart isn’t just an openness to all genres—it’s actual appreciation. Slayer’s pit had its share of cowboy hats, and Shania’s crowd rocked SLAYER tees like a secret handshake. There’s a shared potent interest in the air—a community forged by repeat attendees, where strangers become friends over shared Vizzy’s (not-sponsored) and shouted conversations over blaring subwoofers. It’s about connection, the warm pull of a community that’s been growing for years, waiting to welcome you in.

Not Just Festival Food

When you hear “festival food,” a four-course meal with wine pairings and moose heads eyeing you down probably isn’t what comes to mind. But just a short walk from FEQ, restaurants like Le Clan (44 Rue des Jardins) offer versatility—a cozy, rustic spot where every plate feels like a toast to the surrounding culinary scene.

Chef Stéphane Modat and his team showcase local artisans, from wild herbs and mushrooms foraged nearby to unique treats like seawater bread—a salty, unexpected bite that somehow complimented the meal remarkably. Over the night, we moved through courses that sang of nearby forests and fields, paired expertly with wines that made each flavour linger. It’s a reminder that beyond the madness of the crowds and the anarchy, there’s an extraordinarily curated food scene waiting to surprise you—irrefutable proof that FEQ isn’t just about the music.

It’s Seriously That Huge

FEQ isn’t just big—it’s absolutely massive. The Bell Stage alone packs close to 100,000 people, turning the historic Plains of Abraham into a swarm of energy that you feel even as you’re approaching the gates. Artists I talked to—Hawa B, Lauren Spencer Smith, Lindsay Ell—all nodded in disbelief at its sheer magnitude.

It’s not just about that one huge stage, though. FEQ’s impact is felt across the entire city, with five stages and hundreds of artists playing over the course of its 11-day run. It’s impossible to take it all in, but that’s part of the thrill. It’s not centralized so much as scattered, spilling into the streets, restaurants, and parks you didn’t even know were part of it. You end up visually navigating more than by map, letting whatever vibe you’re presently a part of pull you from one pocket of energy to the next. FEQ is big in the way cities are—impossible to see all at once, but always offering more if you know where to look.

Yes, There is Such Thing as Too Much Poutine

I know this because I tried to prove otherwise. Over the course of four days, I became unintentionally devoted to the cause—testing the upper limits of cheese-curd tolerance at Chez Ashton, doubling back for seconds at festival-ground food trucks, and swearing I was done just hours before ordering a late night Uber Eats from Snack Bar Saint-Jean. At FEQ, poutine isn’t just post-show fuel—it’s practically a headliner.

Even the artists were in on it. When I interviewed Lauren Spencer Smith, her eyes lit up the opportunity to talk about her self-declared favourite food. She dove into a review of the poutine she tried at Poutineville, admitting she was skeptical when served a version topped with “hot dog chunks” instead of the classic. There’s an indescribable kind of delirium that sets in when you’re eating gravy-drenched fries under strobe lights. I’d go as far as arguing that poutine becomes a new food group at FEQ.

What Now?

As the final notes of “Man! I Feel Like A Woman!” echoed and the crowds thinned, I felt that familiar ache that comes when a festival ends—the sudden emptiness in places that were packed just hours before. But with FEQ, that feeling is mixed with a bittersweet, overpowering anticipation. I’m already anticipating next year—not just to catch A-list artists on the Bell Stage again, but to experience the sprawling, city-wide energy that feels less like a typical festival and more like a celebration of Quebec City’s unique spirit.

There’s a warmth that settles over the Plains of Abraham during FEQ—the way strangers nod in recognition despite different tastes, the spontaneous detours into dive bars or five-star restaurants, and even the sudden rainstorms that somehow make the whole experience feel more complete.

So what now? You plan your next trip, with just enough time to miss it. Because the truth is, FEQ isn’t a bucket-list item to check off; it’s a place to keep coming back to, one set—and one nutritious plate of poutine—at a time.