It’s Tuesday at 6.45 p.m., I’m at my bed and breakfast and off soon to the Bell Centre for Macca’s concert at 8. Rave reviews in the Montreal papers. Can’t wait! My stomach is in upheaval. In the meantime, I wrote this yesterday.
Monday Nov. 17, 25. Montreal
This is a wonderful city, even in the snow, which was falling when I arrived and has continued on and off. It’s been really cold and windy both days so far, so I have not been up for strolling much – although some strolling has been done.
The train from Toronto on Sunday took over seven hours, including a long segment when the train not only stopped dead but then actually rolled backwards for several kilometres, with only a garbled, incomprehensible explanation over the loudspeaker. Eventually a very long freight train passed us on the adjacent track, going the other way. How is it possible trains in this country are stuck in the last century? Infuriating. A packed train of hundreds of people sat for over half an hour so a freight train could pass. Phooey.
It was great to arrive chez Jessica – friend since Carleton University – and Geoffrey. They are heavy hitters in the art world of Canada, well-travelled friends to many fascinating international figures; they lived for a long time in Montreal where their sons were born, moved to Toronto when Jessica was appointed curator of modern art at the AGO, then, a few years ago, moved into a luxurious modern condo in Montreal. I am on a Murphy bed in Jessica’s study.
We immediately went for a walk, which was welcome after over seven hours on a train, into the cold, to the lovely Square St. Louis close by and along the fabled Montreal streets, where no structure is too tall. Everything is human scale here, at least in this residential part of the city – three or four story buildings, the famous row houses with staircases outside leading to the upper floors, bike lanes everywhere, open spaces, parks. The very enlightened mayor has done great things here, even if some of her innovations are not popular. And, strangely, in this now-secular society, the giant illuminated cross still shines from the top of the mountain,
That evening, their two sons Charles and Matt came for dinner with their girlfriends – both friends of my kids during their Toronto days. Now one is a touring musician and the other an artisan. Loved seeing them now, as adult men, after knowing them as boys, and meeting their significant others, both impressive young women. Jessica served coq au vin, salad, cheese, apple pie; I had a bit too much of everything, including Geoffrey’s fine wines. Charles and his girlfriend drove from Toronto to see Macca – they today, I on Tuesday. For a forty-year old, he knows a lot about the Beatles; there was much Beatle talk. Thrilling. (I wore my Macca t-shirt for them.)
This morning Jessica drove to the Marché Jean Talon, a big indoor market, where among much else she bought bulk items for the Christmas cakes she’s going to make soon, and mussels for our dinner tonight. I bought some gravlax, and we stopped to buy a dozen hot bagels. Then lunch at L’Express, a Montreal institution, a restaurant in the old French style, skilled waiters in long white aprons, good but not fancy food, an air of sophisticated conviviality. Charles joined us.
A quiet afternoon, a nap, much discussion of many things, a dinner of moules marinière with a delicious white and a Quebeçois cheese, and a bit of the dark chocolate ginger I bought at the bulk place. We watched some of Ken Burns’ superb doc on the American revolution which could not be more timely, about how the people overthrew a tyrant. I hope they’re listening down there.
More anon.
