It is exactly one year to this day that I left for Montreal.
Before I left the grey skies of Edinburgh and flew into Canada, I had an imaginery picture of what I thought Montreal would look like.
After spending a year in that fantastic city, I am still in awe at its magical aura. For me, at that time, it was the place of dreams.
I wish to describe my Montreal – this fantastical place which seems to me, upon reflection, a truly magical and imaginary place, but which is infact a truly real city. The memories of it will live on in me, forever coming to fruitition when I least expect them to.
The steps to Mont-Royal and wooden beams,
The crevice where you place your foot
The view of the skyscrapers; glinting silver, gold, aluminium, crystal
The chateau at the top, where fictional princesses lay their heads
The green trees around, the squirrels, acorns and leaves
The depanneurs, corner shops and bakeries
Each with their own stash of French news papers and croissants.
The Tim Hortons cups,
Which lay crumpled in the snow,
The coffee stains a pleasant reminder of warmth.
The sound of Tam Tam drums,
The boom boom beat in your chest
The boom boom of pulses.
The “ouis”, “nons” and the occasional “trop nice!”
The flutter of tourists on Saint Catz
The clip clop of feet and hooves at Old Port.
The swish of ice skatings on lakes,
The squelch of mud between toes
The crumple of girls’ hair, frozen and stiff.
The many seasons that permeated the year
Filling my calendar with colours, smells and temperates
From minus twenty five, to plus thirty —
I loved it all.