I got on the bus like I do every morning, but it isn’t morning, it’s 7:45 PM, 7:54 by the time I board the bus. And I didn’t get off at the Metro station, no, I got off at the stop that I used to get off at when we lived where lived 2 moves ago. Then I walked.I walk toward the mountain, down deVimy, around some twists and turns and I come to Côte Ste Catherine, not to be confused with Ste. Catherine, which is downtown. Left one block takes me to Vincent d’Indy, named after not the most famous French composer in the world. And looking down Vincent d’Indy, one is face to face with Mount Royal. Toward the end of the road there is a steep climb up to Salle Claude Champagne, which is the university level concert hall of the U of M, where the Montreal Chamber Orchestra performs. One gets to Mont Royal Blvd, and the walk up to the hall is so steep that on performance nights there is a shuttle bus to take the concert goers up the hill, one short block.
I didn’t go up that hill. I took a sharp left and followed blvd Mont Royal, as it hugs the side of the actual Mount Royal, with its twists and turns, and trees and dark places. There are houses on the north side, which sit mostly on a downward slope; as one can imagine, they are patrician houses, priced probably in the millions should they ever go on the market. I look at them but they don’t fascinate me, they are money, that’s all, and money does not fascinate me.
The mountain, though, it fascinates me. Just where the road curves round toward the east, somewhere between leaving the U of M grounds and coming upon the cemetery, if one look to the right through the forest, one sees the a wall of rock, and that’s the Mount Royal, up close and impersonal, and maybe next time I’ll venture to explore, make my way through the trees, hope not to meet any skunks or hostile raccoons.
Further on there is a cemetery, and it slopes sharply upwards, and there were sprinklers going, and as I walked by I was accosted, if that’s the right word, and it isn’t, by the smell of newly watered grass. And there is no smell like that.
The cemetery, well, it’s quiet. But the whole walk is quiet, the very occasional pedestrian or bicycle scooting by, but almost totally bereft of cars. Quiet.
Well, would be quiet but for The Byrds blasting in my ears. The Byrds, then The Hollies. Life is too short to pass by an opportunity to listen to groovy sounds. Ok, so I actually took them out for a bit, the ear buds, to listen to the mountain. That was by the cemetery, and the mountain at that point sounded a lot like a few maintenance workers talking in Quebecois patois.
Past the cemetery is Mount Royal Park, but this is the wilderness end of the park. There are actually one or two trails that head up into the heart of the slope, and maybe next time I’ll venture off. I walked by this time though, thinking I’d never noticed those trails before. And that makes total sense, because this is the first time I’d walked by there while there was still some daylight.
As the mountain on the left slopes upward, so the road slopes downward and I could feel civilization just beyond, and after a few steps I see the traffic lights, and my streets meets up once again with Côte Ste Catherine (the streets curve every which way) and just beyond that is the great Montreal landmark street of Park Avenue (avenue du parc). And there are the people in Jeanne Mance Park, out for a picnic or a walk, or the people catching the bus, walking walking walking, biking, out to eat, to sit at outdoor cafés, to grab a beer and listen to jazz. I just missed the bus, but it’s ok, they are not far apart, and the weather is wonderful. I took the earbuds out as the Hollies album ended, and listened to the sunset, the traffic, the people. A young woman joins me at the bus stop, nods lightly in comradeship, and we commute without communicating.
Well the bus came, and I rode just up to Bernard, so I could get a cookie and coffee at Cheskie Bakery. A honkin’ big cookie it was, with what they call hazelnut cappuccino, but which is in fact just sweet coffee with flavour in it. What paradise.
Bernard Avenue is beautiful itself on a summer evening, with one outdoor café after another, and that will have to wait for another day…
