In 2004 my 16-year-old son and I took a one-day trip to Montreal. I wanted to show him the place where I was born and spent 27 years of my life. It took me a week to recover - my legs felt like they were bursting from the inside out. Here is what I wrote as to how the trip transpired.
Part I
Oh, What A Trip It Was
Oh, What A Trip It Was
We rolled into Montreal and driving by all the old, old factories near Pointe St. Charles was a real learning experience for J. and very, very interesting for the both of us. What an industrialized city Montreal was and most probably, still is. I would love to walk around this part of the City.
We arrived at the Berri UQAM station and right away we bought a day's Metro/Bus pass for $8.00. Instead of going straight to Rosemount, I thought that we needed a bit of fortification. We got off at Mount Royal and walked over towards Park Ave. My friend had suggested that we eat at Beauty's - a diner which specializes in really good brunches.
We had a very good serving of eggs, bacon, home-fries, and a toasted Montreal bagel, which held us over until supper. I had a few cups of tasty, yummy coffee and J. had a berry smoothie. We were close to the side of the mountain with the wide road, so J. and I began to walk and walk and walk. The incline was almost unnoticeable and we saw many joggers and cyclists. It was actually about a 3 km. walk up the mountain. We passed Beaver Lake, which was non-descript and then we came to the Chalet.
The Chalet seemed totally underused - just a few tables where one can sit and eat an ice-cream or something, which we did. We stood on the lookout for awhile, but I couldn't see Place Victoria or Place Ville Marie - maybe it was my lack of know-how, but I did see the Sun-Life Bldg. After that, I knew that I wanted to climb down the mountain to Peel Street, but most of the stairs have been closed off due to reconstruction. We took one path, however, which was called a 'detour' and it was very perilous. The stone steps were all dilapidated and crumbly. I almost twisted my ankle, which would have been a bummer. The mountain trip took up much time and I knew we had a whole day ahead of us, including the Rosemount visit.
We headed down Mountain Street and also went up Bishop Street. I couldn't find the old Bistro I used to go to and although this place is really hopping with terraces and hanging baskets, I was disappointed to see the infiltration of the likes of 'Subway Sandwiches'. The ambience I once knew was no longer there. We went along St. Catherine Street and saw many of the same stores that we have in Ottawa, such as 'Great Eggspectations' - same old commercialization. We passed Guy Street and I mentioned to J. that this was the street that went with the poem he now knows by heart - something I learned as a kid:
Were you the Guy
Who told the Guy
To tell the Guy
That I was the Guy
Who killed the Guy
On the Guy Street?"
Who told the Guy
To tell the Guy
That I was the Guy
Who killed the Guy
On the Guy Street?"
J. found it intriguing that this was the famous street! You know, I used to think that this had really happened - who knows - maybe it was based on a true story.
Then I found St. Mark (St. Marc) Street and knew that I was hunting down Old Victoria School - my school from K-Gr.4. On a hunch I turned down one street between St. Catherine and de Maisonneuve, and there it was - old and forlorn! I couldn't believe my eyes. The stone inscription said 'Victoria School - 1882'. Some of the windows were broken and when J. and I went around to the side of the school, there was a sign on the wall that said 'Concordia University'. I think they tried to use the school, but found it too dilapidated. I'm sure it won't be there for too much longer. I took a few pictures, but I couldn't get up to the front steps, as the frost fence was padlocked.
From there we headed towards Atwater Park & Tupper Street area. My foster Mother’s street, Hope Ave., runs off Dorchester Street (part of it is still called Dorchester St.) between Fort & Sussex Streets. I was very disappointed to see the run-down condition of this once grand brownstone-style house. It was very slum-like. I took a few pictures of the house, although it definitely was not the way I'd like to remember this marvellous old apt. building with the high ceilings, fire place, foyer, den, pantry room, large dining room and living room, plus three bedrooms. It was neat to take a shortcut through the old laneways.
We headed towards the Alexis Nihon plaza to take the Metro to Rosemount. We passed the Forum, which is completely unrecognizable now. It has been totally revamped with no regard for its original architecture. I'm no longer interested in visiting this part of the City - it has no allure for me.
Part II
Well, there is an unwritten rule amongst Metro users and that is, they mysteriously stick to one side of the escalators going up or down, thereby allowing access to passengers who may want to scurry by them. Quebecers are very patient people who seem to line up very well at bus stops too, no crowding and pushing their way to the door of the bus.
Anyhow, J. and I were on our way to Rosemount. We got off at the Rosemount Metro stop, lined up on one side of the escalator and resurfaced on Rosemount Blvd. Now even though I've lived in Montreal for many years, I have never been to Rosemount (after 3 yrs. of age). After trial and error we found out that we needed to take a #197 bus along Rosemount Blvd. to 1st Ave. The bus ride took a good 15 mins. We found the address on Holt Ave. where I was born and the door to the flat was open. The balcony was nicely decorated with plants - it was very well kept. J. urged me (or dared me) to walk up the stairs and ring the bell. I (we) did just that and I explained to the woman that I was born in the front room of that house. She was very kind and I took the opportunity to look down her hallway, because I could remember the 'oil stove of old' and instead of the oil stove, she had a small gas furnace in its place. It was very weird to see at least the hallway of this old legendary house - for better or for worse. From what I could see there was a lot of love put into that house of late! I took a picture of the back of the building and not only were the windows new, but a patio door had been installed in the bottom flat. I think that people are now buying these flats and are putting big money into them.
What I was amazed about in Rosemount is that they are now building into these houses underground garages! - completely incredible! All these houses, instead of becoming more run down, are becoming more charming. People are replacing windows with vinyl windows - even bay and/or paned windows. New wrought-iron fences are being installed, as well as new porches, with wrought-iron embellishments.
Because I had never seen Rosemount since I was a young child, I found it rather charming. The streets are quite wide for Montreal, the trees are all healthy and people are planting rock gardens in their tiny postage-size yards. People are really putting a lot of effort into planting various green vegetation and exotic grasses. The buildings looked totally solid and alive. Most of the back lane sheds are now gone.
I tried to find the Salvation Army and I stopped at a convenience store to enquire, but the man didn’t know anything about it. All the people I met in Montreal were incredibly friendly. I asked a lady coming down the street if she knew anything about a Salvation Army once being there. She began to describe a church quite a distance away and I think it must have been the United Church. I didn't make it to the United Church as it was getting late and I wanted to go to Old Montreal for supper with J. and my feet were getting mighty tired.
Off J. and I went to take the bus back to the Rosemount Metro. I wearily asked him if he would like to see where I once lived, as it was the next stop on the subway. So, we got off at Laurier Station and it took a while for me to get my bearings, because we took the Berri St. exit. We crossed St. Denis St. (near St. Joseph Blvd.), went through a laneway, et voila, we were on de Grandpre Street. There was a narrow passage way - a tunnel one metre across, which led to the back yard. That tunnel had been closed off when I lived there and I asked some people if I could go through it. They waved me on encouragingly. Once in the back yard, we met up with a young couple who lived in the bottom flat. They were actually from Toronto. They were playing with their cat, who was toying with a bouncing ball on a string. I told them the humourous story that had happened to me while I lived in the top flat.
I had shared this apartment with my boyfriend and then we split up. A few years later I took the apartment over from him and he had left an inexplicable liquid substance in an oil barrel on the balcony. My friend, M., was visiting me from Winnipeg and we got into the giggles. Being giddy and all that, I thought it was a good time to throw whatever was in the barrel over the side of the balcony. The weight of the substance, together with the barrel threw me off balance and made my aim absolutely useless. As soon as the substance was in the air, I knew that it was 'liquid dog pooh.' My aim was so lopsided that the pooh got thrown into the second floor kitchen window. The young, recently married couple flew out on to their balcony with fists in the air and I ran back into my house in such a fit of fright and laughter than I wanted to crawl right into the walls. When I regained my composure, I asked my irate neighbour if I could help him clean it up, but he refused. This has to be the most embarrassing episode of my life!
We had a good chat with the couple playing with their cat and they asked me if I wouldn't mind telling them how much I paid for my rent back in 1975. I proudly said $65.00 per month. They smiled and said that they are paying close to $700.00 per month, plus their own utilities. How times have changed. I also told them that I passed my apartment on to a fellow who absolutely infuriated the landlady by gluing leaves all over the walls to make the place seem like a jungle! I would love to have seen this amazing sight.
We said good-bye and then J. and I were off to Old Montreal - I really needed to rest up my feet. By this time J. had completely fallen in love with these flats and the wrought-iron staircases and with the whole of Montreal, boutiques included!
Part III
Well, this is my Grand Finale of the trip to Montreal (I guess you can see that I haven't had a vacation in over 15 years!).
J. and I jumped back on the Metro and headed towards Old Montreal. We got off at Place d'Armes and when we emerged from the Metro, we were at St. Urbain St. However, I didn't see anything that looked like Old Montreal, except for the big church off in the distance, Notre Dame de Grace.
So, we went into a hotel and asked the tourist clerk for directions. He said just head straight towards the church and you'll be at the footsteps of Old Montreal. I asked him if we could use the washroom there and he said certainly. This is where J. really got impressed. He started filling up his water bottle in this exclusive washroom and the maintenance man, who was cleaning the facilities, spoke to J. in perfect English. He said 'I wouldn't use that water if I were you - it's not filtered. Use the water from the water fountain instead.' So, we just mingled with the businessmen who were sitting around a rather big waterfall, sipping cocktails - I mean, we were tourists too, right? We just weren't registered at that particular hotel!
We headed towards Old Montreal and we noted that the traffic lights not only had a 'walk' signal, but also a clock with count-down seconds. It would start at 16 secs. and you'd be able to tell how many seconds were left to make your not-so-fatal crossing.
We really didn't know what we were doing in Old Montreal, or what type of restaurant we were looking for. We jutted around on the narrow streets passing this restaurant and that. We crossed over and saw a bit of the harbour and the train tracks, but we didn't have time to browse. I didn't want to eat in a fancy, fancy place with white tablecloths at $24. a meal. Luckily, we found a nice Spanish restaurant. The waiter suggested that I try a marvellous 'Marguerita' and then turned to J. and said 'and you may have a Daiquiri' (and something else I can't remember). J. could have been served liquor and he's only 16. I opted for a lemonade and J. had a coke! Seeing that we really had no focus in Old Montreal, we wanted to make good use of the time we had left in Montreal. I have to say that the trip to Old Montreal was worth it though because of some of the amazing architecture. Even though I have no idea what I was looking at, i.e. a huge court yard with tall, immense black wrought-iron gates, everything seemed so Charles Dickens like. Also, J. looked down one of the alleyways and shuttered. He thought it was like right out of a movie.
What I failed to mention throughout this trilogy, was how enthralled J. was with all the funky boutiques on Mount Royal. I kind of yanked him away from browsing too much when we first set out for brunch, because the day had just begun and we had a lot to do. But he was dissatisfied that he hadn't bought anything from Montreal and he wanted to go back to Mount Royal Ave. I told him that these stores would be closed, but back we went - and 99% of the stores were closed. But it was nighttime and the streets were alive and vibrant.
We found one East Indian store on Mount Royal with the front entrance wide open. There were no visible doors and that was the way most of the stores and bistros on St. Denis Street were as well. J. bought a bracelet. It was at that point when everything seemed magical. It was the perfect summer night - balmy with no wind. We decided to stroll down St. Denis Street right down to below de Maisonneuve to the Voyager Bus Terminus. Montreal has re-defined itself and in so doing has such a finesse that one can say that French Canadians are truly continental.
We passed bistro after bistro - patio tables, little jazz bars - each bistro exuded it's own ambiance. There was electricity in the air and it was only Tuesday evening! These bistros, classy boutiques and funky boutiques went on for a mile or two. I just didn't want it to end. Finally, we walked past Carré St. Louis and down, down, down, towards the bus depot. We were going to take the 10:00 bus home, but found ourselves arriving at 8:50 p.m. We both suddenly said to each other 'let's try to get the 9:00 bus home, instead'. We walked into the station, found the bus almost loaded up with passengers and we showed our tickets, found our seats and I threw off my shoes and wearily sat back. We had changed our worlds from the sensuous atmosphere of St. Denis Street to the reality of 'busing it home'.
The bus ride home was almost in total blackness, but in a way it felt kind of luxurious. We arrived an hour early and my husband picked us up. We were all very happy to be together again and the security of home. My one day vacation seemed so vast in time! So, that's it folks, J. now knows how to do this alone. He knows how to walk right up St. Denis from the bus depot. He knows the Metro Stations and I wouldn't be surprised to see him do a similar trip in the not so distant future. All he wants to do is shop, shop, shop in Montreal! Now he finds Ottawa REALLY boring!
*****
Happy Canada Day!
