Montreal, so much to say, the city I passed into adulthood in seen through almost new eyes, the seven years of distance seems like a lifetime ago. Although as far from home as New York City, it feels like there’s a continental divide especially when your phone doesn’t work. Called on to present at the Montreal Collage Book Fair there was no better opportunity than then to introduce my partner to this adopted city of mine.

The older I get the more appreciative I can be of the little things. The changing colors of the leaves & and the rolling hills of Vermont. We arrived before dark with ease. Montreal, more colorful than ever, come to find that 1% of all building budgets have to go to public arts.

First stop was the old city which Nick said felt like something out of a fairytale. The cobble stone streets and souvenir shops same as ever. Here we came across a reinforced facade, peering through the dusty glass, the piano caked in debris, sheet music still in place but evidently long closed. Turning left round the corner we saw the ruins of the fire clearly. Almost like a bomb had been dropped. The facade and front of the dining room were clearly all that survived. Yet still the husk sold for 2.4 million.

Up to Chinatown for dinner, D&G supermarket is very on trend for their steady stream of foreign Kit Kats & Labubus of questionable authenticity. The line already ran outside a bunch of restaurants on the street including the 1st floor restaurant at D&G. Hoards of Dr. Martens strode by as the line grew & I continuously analyzed the couple standing ahead of us. It felt like we might be in that line forever. So I left Nick to descend to the supermarket below, quickly realizing I would be there only to browse, he held all the cash. To my surprise I found him behind me, shaken that we were to be sat at a booth with the couple ahead of us. Dreams of a private conversation dashed.

We flowed across the street to the Pho place where the three inches between the tables felt like an ocean. Nick & I falling into our usual habits. Sufficiently warm & full from our meal we headed back to our hotel, giddy with excitement for the adventures & memories ahead.

The next morning we arose & attempted to try the hotel’s buffet but the lane dragged up the stairs & into the lobby with a recommendation in hand we trekked north through a maze of construction, past the cinema de l’amour, ferme unfortunately at the time, until we reached Le Vieux St-Laurent. The home fries there were the best I’ve ever tasted, secret ingredients left unknown. Lately, I’ve been having a hard time compartmentalizing my profession so I can live my day to day existence. Decisions of the past gnawing at me both sleeping and waking. Thankfully I have the console of my partner who works so hard to trick me out of these thought spirals.

Back at the hotel we discovered there was a metro strike. Nick drove us to the Casa D’Italia much to his chagrin. We arrived promptly to meet my artist’s cohort. I was mostly enraptured by my fellow artist’s presentations. After many run overs in presentation times, morale was drained. I suggest Nick go over to the market, Jean-Talon, but even a block away he assumed he’d get lost & never find his way back. The venue itself was gorgeous. Downstairs was a cinematheque that reminded me of my youthful years at the Harvard Film Archive. The posters handing alone in the basement looked so easy to slip under my dress & into my Longchamp, but I resisted the primal urges within that have lead to so many works on my wall. My talk went well, strong with confidence, thankful to all those at Kolaj Institute who have found something in my work worthy of sharing with the wider creative community. As soon as the seminar ended Nick grabbed my purse & raced out (I can’t blame him, the parking garage was closing shortly). That night we dressed in our finery for date night. Nick looked more handsome & stylish than I had ever seen before. Across more cobblestones & construction we landed at Barroco. Hooked in by their beef Wellington we made reservations at the 42 seat bar where all the walls were stone and most of the decorations were needlepoint. Best salad of my life, best meal of my life, beef welly is life changing. Kindest bartender ever, her reminded us so much of our friend Max. After a couple of days without our usual crowd having that connection with another person is what traveling is all about. We loved him so much we tipped him all the remaining money in out pockets & walked through the unreasonably warm October night, certainly drunk on love.

On our final day we went over to Drawn & Quarterly, my favorite graphic novel publisher. I picked up the latest Mimi Pond book, Do Admit, about the Mitford Sisters. Wedged right in my niche. On our walk from Drawn & Quarterly to the Y2k thrift stores we saw drops of blood streaming out of an apartment building. We kept following the GPS & the blood continued with us. It was like following a horror movie, one block after another, my tongue & mouth filling with the taste of iron. All the other passersby were unaffected by the gruesomeness beneath their feet. By the time we reached the next stop we were thoroughly shaken, called the police and found that a man had been stabbed by his girlfriend about 12 hrs before; nevertheless he was expected to live.

48 Hours in Montreal

Alejandra’s Guide to Northampton