A few hours later, the plane touches down hard in Montreal. Shortly afterwards, the usual questions at passport control follow. Where are you from? What are you doing here? Where will you be staying? I'm a little unsure on the way out. What can I expect from Esra? We're meeting again for the first time in nine years. I met her in Turkey in 1996 on trip with school budies. Esra is from Turkey and lives and studies (2005) in Montreal. The welcome is friendly and I decide to simply let the next two weeks unfold without any expectations or preconceptions.

 

Esra and Paul (Esra's friend) take me to the youth hostel 'Auberge Chez Jean'. It is located in the area around the Plateau du Mont Royal. I check in, take a shower and am immediately picked up again by Esra, Paul, Caroline and Martin for a Halloween party. There are lots of people dressed up on the streets. I would compare Halloween to carnivals in Europe. At the party I meet a cowgirl, Cassandra, who later turns into a princess.

  

The center of Montreal lies around the small mountain of Mont Royal. At first glance, Montreal gives the impression of a 'standard' North American city. Most of the streets are laid out in a checkerboard pattern. At rush hour, there is a hustle and bustle of people and cars. Montreal has around 1.8 million inhabitants - 3.8 million if you include the metropolitan area - and is actually located on an island surrounded by the St. Laurent and Riviere des Praires rivers.

The naming of the city is a matter of debate. There was an Indian settlement of the Wyandot people at the foot of the mountain until a trading post was established there by the French in the 17th century. The first immigrants who climbed the mountain were so overwhelmed by the view that they named it 'Mont Royal' (Royal Mountain). Another theory is that a backer of the explorer Jacques Cartier, surnamed 'Montereale', influenced the naming. The mountain still plays an important role today. For example, no building may be built higher than the mountain.

 

The climb up 'Mont Royal' is quite arduous - for me at least. Halfway up, I stop at a viewpoint to recover from the exertions and enjoy the magnificent view of the city.

Apart from the city center with a few skyscrapers, the skyline is pretty flat. In the background and visible from almost everywhere is the Olympic stadium (1967 Summer Games). About 10% of the city is protected green space and many of the streets are lined with trees. At this time of year, the city gives a colorful display of leaves.

Leaving Mont Royal, I descend into the English part of the city. I end up in McKibbins pub, where Theresa is running her regiment. At lunchtime, most of the customers are regulars, which is easy to see from the way they communicate. Theresa seems a little stressed, but has everything under control - including her guests. Any objections are quickly quashed. The food looks delicious.

 

In addition to the huge cultural offering, with a myriad of museums and galleries, Montreal is also a paradise for culinary connoisseurs. Over 5,000 restaurants, bars, pubs, canteens ... from over eighty countries offer something for every palate. Long queues form at some restaurants, bars and bakeries that are well-known or popular. People wait patiently, even when it is bitterly cold.

At breakfast in one of the many bistros, I am reminded of the movie 'Dinner for One'. One of the waitresses keeps tripping over the same chair. After breakfast, Paul and Esra drive me around Montreal. Paul proves to be an excellent tour guide, showering me with lots of information about the history and culture.

 

After a few days, I can already find my way around my immediate surroundings pretty well. Whereas at the beginning I used to orientate myself by large and prominent points, now I also remember a lot of 'little things' ... street names, stores, restaurants, ... . I spend the morning in a café studying the local press. The newspapers are in large format. The first section is dominated by local topics. Two individual fates of young people stabbed to death are reported in detail. - A 27-year-old man who was accidentally murdered by a gang because he was allegedly involved in the murder of a gang member. His loud laughter and cheerful sense of life is emphasized several times. - A 17-year-old boy who also died in a gang dispute. The mother denies that her boy ever had anything to do with a gang. - In addition, a government scandal to the tune of around 250 million dollars, in which the Prime Minister is also involved, seems to be causing some commotion.

 

When I get tired of walking around or it gets dark, I always end up in a pub. This time near the youth hostel. A dark but cozy atmosphere. Artfully designed erotic photos in black and white on the walls, shots of pop musicians in reddish colors. At some of the tables, people are discussing loudly in groups of two to four - standing at the bar and sitting on stools. An older man in a black beret sleeps, leaning forward with his head on his folded arms, at one of the tables in the middle of the room. In front of him is an empty glass and an empty bottle of beer. No one pays him any attention. About an hour must have passed before he woke up. He drinks another bottle of beer and then disappears.

 

I also make my way to Bistro á JoJo, a jazz and blues bar where a band plays almost every evening. A woman, I guess she's in her fifties, who reminds me a little of Tina Turner because of her hairstyle, sits motionless at a table. She is wearing sunglasses. At first I think she's blind, but I'm proven wrong when she moves unerringly through the restaurant.

B.B. King and James Brown are playing on a screen. These are older recordings. A young 'Michael Jackson' makes a guest appearance. He is in the audience and doesn't shy away from physical contact.

I exchange a few words with a man about my origins and what I'm doing here. It turns out later that he is the drummer of the band 'Uncle Groove' playing that evening.

 

The next day, I spend a few hours at the Museum of Contemporary Art, where, among other things, a photo and multimedia exhibition on the development of living spaces is on display. Art is in the eye of the beholder, especially if you know little about the artist.

At the train station, I buy a ticket to Quebec City, where I want to spend a few days. On the way there, I see a woman walking her cat on a lead. It's easy to tell from the cat's reluctant behavior that she's not enjoying it.

 

We are invited to Esra's for dinner, where we have delicious spaghetti and time to talk about the past. Later, Ivo and Olivia come over and we go to a bar. After being dropped off outside my hostel around midnight, my insomnia drives me back to Bistro a Jojo, which I leave drunk at around three in the morning. Three even more drunk guys than me, about my age, one of whom raves about Montreal and can hardly think straight, and one of whom asks me over and over again about my political views - Are you a socialist? Are you an anarchist? Or maybe a communist? - accompany me home. I'm in good company.

 

The old harbor is dominated by a rusting silo facility. The building towers into the sky like a giant monster. In the 1920s, ships loaded grain here on their way to the Great Lakes or the Atlantic. As the railroad grew in importance, the ships stopped less and less over time. There is very little water in some of the huge harbor basins.

Where it has coagulated, seagulls peck around and ducks weed through the silt with clicking noises in search of food. Part of the harbor has been reactivated for recreation and is ideal for walking, cycling and boat trips.

 

On Saturday evening, Olivia picks me up for Ivo's birthday party. Olivia is a woman full of emotion and bubbling over with words. We drive to Christine's to pick her up. When we arrive at Christine's we have to wait a while because she isn't ready yet. Olivia tells me that she keeps having problems with her battery, which is confirmed shortly afterwards when Christine arrives. The car won't start. Olivia desperately tries to take the key out of the ignition, but it doesn't work because the gearshift is still in “Drive”. As Olivia and Christine speak French, I can't hear a thing. After about fifteen minutes, we stop a car and ask the driver to help us with the starter cables. We still have difficulties distinguishing the + pole from the - pole on the car battery because they were not really recognizable and of course connect the starter cables incorrectly. As the main fuse in my car has already blown in this way, I'm worried about getting the car to run at all. But after several attempts it works, and we continue on our way relieved and spend a nice evening at Ivo's birthday party.

 

I wait at the station for the departure to Quebec City. The service leaves nothing to be desired. Even an hour beforehand, the attendants, who remind me of my grandfather, are there to help me. Large luggage is checked in. Stairs leading to the platforms take you into the belly of the station, which houses the trains. The space available and the comfort of the seats for the individual passengers make for a pleasant journey. We leave the building in reverse before changing direction after a short stop and a voice announces the start of the journey. We plunge into an autumnal landscape.

 

Quebec City is the only city in Canada that is surrounded by a city wall. The core has been declared a World Heritage Site by the UN. The architecture, sometimes up to 400 years old, conveys a certain charm. Stone houses, churches and narrow alleyways.

The wind blows through the alleys with an unpleasant force, in the parks it drives the leaves in front of me and the first frozen snow stings my face like a thousand tiny needles. The stores are slowly preparing for the Christmas season.

The icy cold is not at all inviting to stroll around, but I still venture outside to visit a few of the sights, the 'Citadelle', a fort that was completed by the British after thirty years of construction, 'Chateau Frontenac', an imposing hotel for rail passengers who stopped off here.

 

After three days, I head back to Montreal, where I round off the last few days with my friends.