This week I'm really worried about Montreal.
I know I shouldn't be. I think that city will do just fine without my input. They have federal governments that keep giving them stuff, but still, I kind of grieve for the city. This is, by all standards, a world-class destination, except in Canada, where we tend to diss our two major metropolitan giants Toronto and this place I'm talking about.
Unfortunately, in spite of all its grace, beauty and historical significance, Montreal can't seem to stop shooting itself in the feet, and now it's going around with a heavy limp to accompany its usual whines and whimpers.
The city fell into the hands of organized crime syndicates. I don't know when that started, but I'm guessing this has been part of their fabric for decades.
The big Owe, the large Olympic Stadium that has taken on new guises over the years, was opened in 1976 for the Games but wasn't paid for until last year. It's old, dirty and needs to be taken down soon.
The Champlain Bridge that bears the brunt of the traffic flow, is about to collapse. Nobody seems to know what to do with it.
Now I read that Mirabel Airport, the terminal that was supposed to solve all the air traffic woes when it opened in 1975, is destined for closure, or may have already been shut down for all I know. I never go to Montreal. I have no need to go to Montreal, but if I did, apparently I'd be in for a whole world of hurt if I tried via Mirabel. Apparently it was an ill-conceived plan to put the port way out of the city, requiring an expensive cab or limo ride just to relocate civilization once you landed. And, it seemed, that was just the first strike. Amenities, service, functionality and connections to the downtown port were disastrous. They never did get it right.
Montreal is a problematic city, yet it has so much to offer.
I actually got there twice, as a much younger man. I visited friends there and before I even got a smell of the city, they had whisked me out to the Laurentian Mountains, which are really just big hills, but for someone from Saskatchewan, they served the purpose. I learned a lot of French swear words because the guy driving our little sports car eagerly participated in Montreal's favourite sport ignoring traffic lights and signals. Nobody paid any attention to them, and instead, the drivers swore at one another then laughed and carried on. It was fun, and we all lived.
The next time I hit Montreal was by accident. My flight to Toronto was stormed out and we landed in Montreal. I don't know if it was Mirabel or not, and I didn't care. I do know I was put up in a fancy hotel for the night and they got us back to Toronto by a special train the next morning. Try doing that in Regina or Saskatoon! I loved my stormy evening in Montreal. There were lots of places to see, fantastic food, ambiance and crazy clothing fashions. And if you at least tried to speak French, the locals were understanding and helpful. There was no actual language barrier.
It might be different now. I have no excuse to visit. Those friends moved, the Expos died, I can see the Alouettes when they come to Regina and who, in their right mind, wants to watch the Canadiens play hockey? But at least it isn't Weyburn.
