My City of Lights

In my last job, in what feels like a previous life, I commuted to downtown Montreal everyday. Each morning I would roll into town on the train with all the other sleepy west-islanders bracing ourselves for the workday. I would step onto the platform at Lucien-L'Allier and be greeted by the tall brick facade of Centre Bell. Exiting the station, I passed through Centennial plaza paved with personalized bricks purchased by adoring Habs fans, one of which is a tribute to my late brother, I always made a point of looking down to see his name. I would continue along past the plaques and retired numbers of former players, the bronze figures of Howie Morenz, Maurice 'Rocket' Richard, Jean Béliveau and Guy Lafleur.

From there my journey took me by the historic stone facade of Windsor Station, once a hub of rail travel for the city, from which many an exotic adventure would begin. I would cross Peel and cut through parc Place du Canada and it's magnificent and sobering war memorial. My next shortcut crossed the steps in the shadows of the tall pillars of Marie-Reine-du-Monde Cathedral which faced the equally majestic, although philosophically diametric, Sun Life building. From there I made my way towards Montreal's iconic Place Ville Marie. This grand, modern structure is still impressive even at her relatively young age of 48. My father, and my wife's father, both worked in head offices in what tenants affectionately refer to as PVM. As I passed through the plaza below, not far from the elegant green fountain, I would often see a man performing his ritual morning Tai-chi. My office was not much farther, situated on Phillips Square facing the archetype of Canadian retail, The Bay.

I would often take that walk for granted. I was usually more preoccupied with the coming events of the day than the city around me, but not always. As commutes go, it was not a short one, nonetheless the reward for the train ride was the sights, sounds and smells of a vibrant city.

There were a few things about downtown life I could do without. The impending peril of stepping off a sidewalk. The not-so-pleasant aromas wafting forth from an alleyway. If you were tired or sick, the city seemed cold and noisy and unsympathetic. It was often congested with people and traffic which brought forth ill tempered honks and dirty looks.

Blemishes aside, Montreal was and is a most beautiful city. It is dense with history, overflowing with character, rich in culture and alive in diversity and spirit. It is jazz and hip-hip, rock and opera, sushi and steamies.

I don't commute to the city anymore. A career change has led me to a somewhat bland location in Laval. Okay, it's in an industrial park, so bland is being kind.

Earlier this week I started a course that has taken me back into the city, to a location not far from Bishop's and St. Catherine. While my focus has been primarily on this new and exciting venture, I find myself once again drawn to this endlessly fascinating city. Even though I barely have the time between work, classes and family, I find myself wanting to linger, even if for a few moments, just to drink in the atmosphere of Montreal.

True, my hat hangs in the suburbs, but part of me will always belong to the gleaming lights on the long gentle slope of Mont-Royal.

Something tells me I'm not alone.