Montreal, Part One

Sat in a corner of a colourful little lunch cafe in the heart of the Plateau district of Montreal, I attempt to put my finger on the unique atmosphere that envelopes this city. The obvious answer to reach for first is the French aspect. The architecture is frencher, the food is frencher, the people even somehow dress a bit frencher than the rest of (English-speaking) Canada. You hear a lot more French than English on the streets, and have the opportunity to dig back into the recesses of your memory, find that file labelled “Middle School French lessons”, dust it off and try to order your cafe au lait - mais pas au lait, avec soya, s'il vous plait - en francais.

And if your pronunciation blocks your communication, you can easily switch to English. Its still widely used here, thankfully. Equally gratefully, these aren't the only two cultures evidenced in the city; multiculturalism is as tangible as a strong bass thumping through the streets.

But there's more to the beat of Montreal than that.

Tourists love to walk through the city, exclaiming that its “just like Europe!”. Um. Well. Ok. Sort of. Except that its not. It is a very, thoroughly, Canadian city.

There's the usual mess of cars, bikes, and pedestrians on the streets; variety of shopping options; bars and restaurants and cafes offering everything for any taste. A chinatown that offers cheap and filling bowls of noodle soup, and the vieux Montreal to browse through quaint shops, cheesy souvenir stands, and sip a glass of wine on a terrase. There are the homeless, begging on busy shopping streets with their dogs and old, mangled coffee cups; young students bursting with fashion and loud opinions and heavy backpacks laden with books; noisy streets at all hours of the day, waking you up with a drunken shriek or a battered muffler in the wee hours of the morning.

The smells of the streets - fresh bread, smoked meat, and sewers - mingle with the sights and sounds, a cacaphony of humanity living in close proximity.

The streets are slightly more pockmarked than other Canadian cities; older, with deep potholes badly in need of repair. Dirtier. Brick and stone buildings lining streets, crammed up together with colourful doors and stairways to mark their individuality from one another. An older city, more lived in and comfortable like your favourite pair of jeans. Well worn, well washed, fit for all occasions.

Everywhere exudes culture: art, theatre, film, exhibitions, music. Its the hub for much of what is currently cool in Canada. And historically cool as well; when I was informed that I had just walked passed Leonard Cohen's house, I admit that I very briefly entertained a fantasy that perhaps I'd catch a glimpse of him sitting at a table in the window, having his morning tea.

Happening. Easy. Friendly, of course. Et bien sur, with an Edge.