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The Places We Walked

A week in Old Montreal

By Tineke Ziemer

October 22^nd, 2017

I had no idea I wanted to go to Montreal until about four weeks ago. I had never really thought about Montreal before that day, but suddenly, there it was on my screen, cobblestone streets, petite French cafes and ivy covered brick walls beckoning.

Three weeks later, there I was, sipping a pumpkin spice chai latte, strolling Rue de Saint-Paul and hearing bonjour and merci beaucoup rolling off my tongue like it hadn't been twenty years since high school French class.

By a stroke of pure divine orchestration, I was joined by one of my closest friends and confidants. Together we devoured sublime Montreal delicacies, traversed endless boulevards and explored nooks and crannies of overlooked alleys. We soaked in the stories of those who went before us, recognizing the pivotal impact they had on our country's fascinating history. We cringingly dipped our fingers in the St. Lawrence River, climbed Mount Royal to stand at the base of the cross, and marveled at the vibrant colours of the thriving deciduous forests that whizzed by our train window on the way to Quebec City.

Our mornings began with sunlight soaking our skin, our eyes fluttering open to the incredible skyline view outside the floor to ceiling windows of our twentieth story apartment. The days started slowly, oatmeal simmering, music playing, reading quietly. The afternoons took us hours from home and brought us to markets and squares, boutiques and terraces with panoramic views. Evenings were punctuated by happy-go-lucky tourists filling lively streets, live music floating on the air, light spilling onto the cobblestones like a fairy tale painting... and food. Food that made us wonder if we'd ever actually tasted anything before that moment in time. Food that will endlessly torment our memories from four thousand kilometeres away while we hopelessly try to recreate it in our own inadequate kitchens. Incredible, gorgeous, colourful, tantalizing food.

It was a week I never expected. A week I will never forget. Eight beauty-drenched, culturally-enriching, dangerously-delicious, perfectly-sublime days.