Jenny has just started the third year of her medical residency and has a schedule that's about as crazy as you'd expect. Her husband Kumanan works for UNICEF and is constantly jetting off to places like Ghana and Geneva. He's on the go about as much as he's home. As a result, pinning the two of them down at the same time was tricky. But on Friday afternoon we successfully rendezvoused at LaGuardia airport and the quick, hour-long flight was over in no time. We took the first of what would turn out to be many, many cab rides to the Old City, dropped our bags off at the Place D'Arms, and flagged another cab. Most restaurants in Montreal seemed to be open just as late as restaurants in New York luckily, and so sitting down to a sushi dinner at 11:00 P.M. turned out not the be a problem. (I recommend the restaurant, Park, most highly.) Our waitress was incredibly friendly, a trend I noticed over and over again in our interactions with Canadians, and gave us tips about things to do in the city.
We slept in the next morning, then walked through the charming old town to a nearby coffee shop for breakfast. The French waiter was very apologetic that he'd messed up the design in my latte, but I assured him I thought it was abstract and avant garde. After the time they spent in Geneva, both Kumanan and Jenny speak some French, and while some people (mostly cab drivers) were happy to speak only in French Ed and I found that English worked just as well, too. No one was snobby about having to switch languages for us, especially if we returned their "Bonjour" with enthusiasm first.I immediately regretted my very good breakfast once we arrived at our next stop, however. Marche Jean-Talon had been recommended to us, and it did not disappoint. It's an enormous covered market that sells the most delectable produce you can imagine alongside small-batch wine, organic honey, flowers, and every maple product in existence. I ate so many free samples of berries and various fruits I thought I was going to burst. Everything was fresh, ripe, and mouthwatering. If fruit always tasted this good parents wouldn't have to beg their kids to finish it.
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| The central area of the market. The whole thing is covered so it can be used during Montreal's bone-chilling winters. |
We bought a bottle of sparkling rose for later consumption and the proprietor kindly uncorked the bottle for us and gave us some little plastic cups from a stack he had available for doling out samples. Our next stop was the Plateau/Mile End area. I never got a good feel for what the difference between the two neighborhoods is, nor where one ends and the other begins, but suffice it to say they are both really cool. We wandered along Rue St. Laurent, another recommendation, stopping along the way at a French-style coffee shop for beer, then, later, at a bar for cold drinks and grilled cheese sandwiches. There are loads of boutiques and interesting antique shops in that area and everyone is nice as can be. Were it not for the winters in Montreal, I'd be very tempted to move there.
Our last planned stop was Mont Royal, a "mountain" that offers a good view of the city. Jenny and I were both able to "hike" it easily in sandals, though our feet did get a bit dusty. It was a hot day, and so the shady trails were nice. It took the four of us about twenty minutes to get to the main viewing area, which is accessible by car and was crowded with people taking in the view of the city. It was, indeed, very pretty, but we decided to keep going up a little ways for a bit of quiet. The very top of Mont Royal was marked by a large transmission tower and was too thickly wooded to provide much of a view. We wandered onward to the foot of a large wire cross where we opened the bottle of by now very warm rose and toasted our day so far. As we sat sipping, a man with an outrageously thick French accent wandered by and commented that he'd climbed to the top of the cross in the '80s, before they put up the safety barriers. We chatted about his exploits for a few moments, then he sauntered away again.
After rinsing off at the hotel, we were back on the road again to Le Chien Fumant (a.k.a. The Smoking Dog), a restaurant that had come very highly recommended. It did not disappoint. We told our waiter about food allergies and restrictions and asked him to bring us whatever the chef recommended, which he did with great enthusiasm. The food was creative and delectable and we weren't able to get close to finishing everything. Our cheerful waiter, it turns out, is a hip hop lyricist named Jacob Molotov when he's not carrying out trays of tantalizing food. We looked him up later, but since he raps in French it was tough to get a sense of his style. M.C. Molotov recommended that we try The Lab for after-dinner drinks. This fantastic spot, just a short walk from the restaurant, boasted juggling bartenders and one who spat fire. The drink menu was extensive and exotic. The table next to us ordered some sort of flaming apple shots which their waitress lit with a small blow torch. She then handed out miniature marshmallows on skewers to be roasted over the flames. When the fire went out, the marshmallows were eaten, then the shots thrown back, much to our delight. We staggered home at 2:00 A.M., exhausted, stuffed to the gills, and very happy.
Sunday had come more quickly than I'd have thought possible, but it was tough to feel glum at the cheerful, sunny spot Jenny had picked for breakfast. We'd mad a quick stop along the way to sample what were supposedly Montreal's finest croissants. Having eaten only that one croissant in Montreal I can't verify that this is true, but I can tell you that it was damn good. Breakfast #2 was also delicious, and stuffed again we went to another small market we'd heard about. This one was supposedly more like a flea market, and we all burst out laughing when we arrived. We'd perused the merchandise in every stall within five minutes were were thinking about leaving the tiny venue when a shady picnic table caught someone's eye. Moments later, a guitarist began to tune up in front of a microphone. So instead of leaving we spent an indescribably pleasant afternoon sitting in the shade, listening to live blues and learning Euchre from Jenny who'd found some cards on a table full of games that were free to borrow and use.
I hope that I have cause to revisit Montreal some day. It seems to me to be an very under-rated city. I hear pleasant things about it, of course, but people don't often rave. Then again, Montreal's charms are the kind that leave one quietly satisfied, not full of electric enthusiasm like New York. New York is certainly still my favorite city. But if I were going to live here another five years it would be awfully nice to know that Montreal was just a short hop to the north whenever I felt like a much-needed respite.
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