Permission to Enjoy Montreal

There were several places to purchase
herbs and other culinary plants.

With any trip, it is important to find some point of beginning, even if it is in medias res. So, I will allow the travel to Montreal, our settling into the apartment, and our first dinner for later – a different theme.  Instead, I will start when we truly felt the gracious permission to enter Canada and be welcomed to Montreal.  Welcome usually begins with food.

The first morning or our first full day in Montreal (June 28^th) found us looking for coffee and breakfast at the Marché Jean-Talon in the Little Italy neighborhood. Marian was our travel guide for most of the trip, and as we stated our wishes and preferences, she presented positive ratings and reviews and (most importantly) directions for restaurants and sites. Marian promised us incredible crepes, and we followed.

The Crêperie du Marché was
surrounded by picnic tables.

Marché Jean-Talon covered a generous block. The street spots were already filled so we used the underground parking and climbed the stairs toward the smell of coffee. The main opening to the shops was through a large marque that fronted a roofed area. The Crêperie du Marché was under this high roof and just a few feet from the open area of tented space and walkways. The side streets that banded this area presented side shops that framed the central farmers’ market. It had a totally different feel from Cleveland’s West Side Market and was far more open. The three main differences were the ring of shops that framed the market space, the many plant and herb displays, and the small entrepreneurs who had set up a little soap shop or macaroon display or other little hooded tables in the back aisles of the market. Freeness and accessibility presented a welcoming atmosphere, and it was charming to see a trio of artists set up sketchpads and watercolors before the grocer who had garlic hanging decoratively at the corners of his table.

The artists were totally focused
on their projects.

Marian had searched for gluten-free options, and the crêperie boasted buckwheat crêpes free of wheat. There were marvelous savory choices (egg-spinach-ham, or apple-bacon-maple, or whatever) with coffee that Marian wanted to box for home. Feeling content, since good food settles and grounds one after a 13-hour drive through cloudbursts and one-way streets, we went in search of cheese and strawberries of the texture and flavor special to Montreal.

There is something to the buzz of a bilingual atmosphere in which the children ask questions in French and the lady in charge of the handmade soaps switched between English answers for me and French greetings for everyone approaching the kiosk. I felt far more inadequate in Montreal that I did in Paris, since I truly had more times when it was necessary to speak French and make myself understood. Everyone at the Marché was able to assist me, or would defer to a more English-fluent helper, but at the gas station and at one of the bookshops I was quite on my own. Inadequate is not strong enough for how I felt (and I truly need to put forth more of an effort if I aspire to return), but everyone was so kind.   

We entered several of the shops
that framed the market space.

I had asked permission to photograph the artists, and I truly aspired to be a gracious guest in this marvelous city. A year ago, Lynn Gadus has asked if I had a bucket list of things I wanted to do. Since I had never truly thought of myself as needing a bucket list (won’t I live to be 110?), her question caught me unprepared to answer. I first answered, glibly with a negative; however, a few minutes later Montreal and several other places I had dreamed of visiting and actually searched for in picture books and catalogues seemed to pile before my eyes like the multitude of post-it notes that fame my computer.  Maybe it was remembering my 5^thGrade teacher, Mother St. Abercius who was of a Canadian order of nuns, maybe it was remembering Fr. Aimee Le Jeune who spoke of the basilica in Quebec, but something brought this city to the top of my bucket list.  I began expressing my desire, and when Marian proposed a few days excursion, I jumped at the chance.

Traveling entails more than asking permission to leave chores and responsibilities, more than accommodating traveling companions. I was aware of a need to ask for permission to blend my footsteps with the history that continues to live on this selected spot, the need to ask permission to blend my own breath with all that had made the ambient air rich with words, art, and commerce.  I asked permission for many things, and I was welcomed.