Shelter from the Storm

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Issy decides on a day off from touring so I head off on my own. It’s overcast, humid and stormy looking.

First stop is the iconic Notre-Dame Basilica of Montreal. I read that this is “regarded as a masterpiece of Gothic Revival architecture”, and earlier this year it was named by one notable worldwide travellers’ publication as “the sixth most beautiful building in the world” (Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia was ranked first, which is a bit hard to argue with based on the limited buildings we’ve seen in our travels). And it seems that people are noticing. Apparently somewhere around 11 million of them visit it every year, making it “one of the most visited monuments in North America”. The interior is indeed spectacular; the sombre blue tones of just about everything are particularly striking. I read that there’s been a church on the site since 1672. The congregation eventually outgrew earlier iterations, and most of the current structure was built between 1824 and 1829. It was the largest church in North America for more than fifty years. The architect converted to Catholicism on his deathbed and is the only person buried in the crypt. He was apparently previously an evil (?) Anglican, and I can’t help but wonder if they still would have honoured him in quite the same way if he hadn’t swapped sides at the last minute ….

I wander down towards the waterfront and out onto the Grand Quay of the Port of Montreal. The Quay’s boardwalk provides some history of the Saint Lawrence Seaway which it seems is inextricably linked to the history of the city itself. The Seaway is a series of six locks and channels bypassing rapids and dams along the Saint Lawrence River between the Atlantic Ocean and Lake Ontario, and forms part of a larger system which allows ships to navigate their way all the way from the ocean up to the western end of Lake Superior. Up until its completion in 1959, Montreal was Canada’s economic capital. The Seaway bypassed the Port of Montreal (I wonder if any locals were involved in that little decision) and that title then passed to Toronto. Greater Montreal is currently Canada’s second largest urban centre at around 3.7 million, behind Toronto’s 5.6 million.

I’m getting a bit on the hungry side so I stop for a quick bite at the IMAX theatre cafe on the next quay along. I can feel a few drops of rain. The umbrella I’m sitting under just covers my table and chair, but the umbrellas aren’t all that big, and I'm fairly sure that if I had company my dining partner would now be getting wet… or more likely my partner would be dry and it would be me who’d be getting wet. I’m starting to feel quite smug sitting out here on my own while all the other diners have fled indoors. A few gusts of wind later, and I’m suddenly not feeling quite so smug anymore as I beat a hasty retreat inside. The rain gets heavier, and then turns into a raging thunderstorm. Hmmm.

Next up is a slightly damp stroll along the very attractive Rue Saint Paul East and up into Place Jacqués Cártier. This looks like Montreal tourism central - wall to wall restaurants and cute looking historic buildings.

The rain starts to get heavy again. This is not good. I make a dash for a small doorway in a building fronting Vauquelin Place. I can wait it out here I’m sure. The storm’s getting more intense by the minute - torrential rain, blinding lightning, deafening thunder, with more than the odd hailstone thrown in for good measure. I’m feeling smug again in my tiny doorway … well I was until six other fellow refuge seekers decided to invade. It’s now very much standing room only. I consult the Google machine. It seems that Montreal is currently subject to a “severe thunderstorm warning”. I think I could have told you that. I’m told the rain will be heavy for the next 32 minutes. That seems like a very exact number. I wonder what their definition of “heavy” is? Everyone in the tiny doorway starts talking …. well everyone except me; it seems I’m the only person here who doesn’t speak French. It was feeling like a club in here before, but not anymore. What if they’re talking about me? What if it really is a club and they’re currently proposing a motion to expel anyone who only speaks English? I feel myself getting squeezed into the front part of the clubhouse where it’s not quite so dry.

I try to relieve the tension by making some random observations. Based on what I’m seeing, people can be classified into three groups according to their behaviour in thunderstorms of biblical proportions (did they also have ordinary thunderstorms in biblical times?). There’s the “Take Shelterers”. That’s me and my six (former?) clubmates. Then there’s the ”Preparers”. They’re the one’s who looked at the forecast before they left home this morning and are now still wandering around. They might look a little hassled, but they’re all well protected under their umbrellas, or raincoats, or ponchos. And finally there’s the “Can’t Get Any Wetters”. They're still wandering around as well, but they’re giving the impression that nothing unusual’s happening. They’re instantly identifiable as anyone who looks like they just spent half an hour under the shower fully clothed. One of them wanders casually up to our little group and asks for directions. She doesn’t make any effort to get in under the doorway, she just stands out in the downpour, listens to the advice, and then wanders casually away seemingly without a care in the world.

Meanwhile the time until the rain isn’t any longer “heavy” has whittled its way down to only 24 minutes. This is looking promising. A couple of my clubmates briefly consider joining the “Can’t Get Any Wetters”, but after a few steps outside decide to reconsider. I take the opportunity to reposition myself in the back of the clubhouse where it’s noticeably drier. They give me a look of total contempt. I do need to be careful. I remind myself that I’m outnumbered six to one by the French speakers, and one or two of them look like they might have spent some time in the gym. The time ticks down to 23 minutes, and then 22. Excellent. The ordeal will soon be over. I wait for 21 to appear. No!!! It’s gone back up to 60!!! The weather forecasters here aren’t exact after all; they’re just like the guys back home; they just look out the window every now and again (that was perhaps just a tad harsh).

OK, there’s no choice now, I’m going to have to make a run for it and join the ranks of the “Can’t Get Any Wetters”. It’s only 24 minutes back to apartment, how bad can it be? I follow my nose and quickly find myself in Skid Row. It’s a bit too late now to realise that I should have used the Google machine. These guys are sheltering in doorways too, but they all look way too drugged out to care. I look like a tourist with my big camera, and whilst they might look totally spaced out I still think now might be a good time to leave. I crawl up the stairs into apartment. Issy says she’s been having a great time watching the whole show from the comfort of a lounge chair. I’m somehow not feeling the same sense of enthusiasm ….

I decide to take a nap. But it seems there’s no end to Montreal’s natural terrors today. This time it’s an earthquake. But no says Issy. She tells me that the guys next door stopped using their wrecking balls while the storm was raging but it seems like they’ve now started up again. I hope they know what they’re doing. I think I felt more comfortable when I thought it was an earthquake.

The skies eventually clear and we head back towards Rue Saint Paul East and Place Jacques Cartier in search of dinner. It somehow looks a lot more attractive without the biblical downpour. The facade of the Bonsecours Market grabs our attention. We read that this was opened in 1847, and it’s served at various times as the city’s main market, and as chambers for Montreal’s City Hall. It now seems to mostly house high end boutiques.

We enjoy a very pleasant meal in Place Jacqués Cartier. The food’s excellent, but the main entertainment’s coming from the next table. Someone’s clearly out to impress. We’d need to take out a second mortgage to order the steak and lobster combo, but money’s clearly no object for this guy tonight. The meals come out accompanied by two extra tables, and the lobster’s quickly consigned to table number three. The steak’s removed to a cutting board on table number two, where it’s cut into ultra thin slices with surgeon-like precision. But the show’s not yet over. The slices are then placed under a plastic cover, and out comes a contraption to blow smoke into the whole shebang …. and through most of the rest of the restaurant. I’m suddenly glad we’re sitting outside. The slices are served up to our expectant diners, and the poor old lobster’s reintroduced almost as an afterthought. I’m still not quite sure why it was sidelined in the first place, and why the third table was needed at all. All very mysterious. The place was almost empty when we got here, but a crowd’s quickly gathered in the street to observe the whole ritual, and now there’s a queue forming to get in. Interesting marketing ploy…..

It seems that we’re here in the middle of the renowned Montreal International Jazz Festival, which is apparently generally regarded as the world’s largest. As we struggle our way home it’s a bit hard not to notice the milling crowd around an outdoor stage blaring great sounding music.

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Photos

The door where I “Sheltered from the Storm”
And no that’s not me in the picture.

Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

MONTREAL
One of our favorite cities. I love the vibe.

[DaveandIssy]

Montreal vibe
Yeah, the vibe of the neighbourhood we were in in particular was great - street art, cafes. All very cool.