I am sitting on the corner of Girouard and Monkland,
sur la terrasse of the coffee shop that opened here six years ago. java u café is well established here in my old neighborhood, NDG. Some stores have come, some have gone; but the autumn sunshine and the sounds are much the same. Diesel buses,
la Française du Québec, English with a francophone accent, conversations that mix French and English,
les voitures qui passent... Even a friend calling my name, unexpectedly. On each corner,
une boulangerie, une patisserie, une charcuterie.
Un café avec le café. Sitting here, I am home. I have felt this week to be a homecoming of sorts since I arrived; or rather, since Arianne and Kevin pulled up at the curb at Dorval (now known as Trudeau). Since we spotted Alessia and Alex at Else's;
et quand nous avons embrassé, Alessia dit-à-moi, "Welcome home," with a kiss on each cheek.
I have felt some sort of unexplainable connection to Montréal since leaving, sometimes manifested in dreams, sometimes in a surprise bit of French uttered from my mouth during conversation with non-French-speaking friends. Not having returned to
cette belle ville in the six years that I have been away, the connection has been maintained as a form of nostalgia. I have been out of the loop- the comings and goings of life in Montréal have not included me. Most of my friends from university are no longer living in Montréal, having returned home to their respective provinces, states, and countries; or having relocated to Nova Scotia and Vancouver for school, Ottawa for jobs. An Alaskan friend of mine voiced a concern I didn't even know I had: was my fond remembrance of this place just that... nostalgia? Or did I still have a genuine connection to the city and the life I had led there?
My return did not feel imminent until I arrived in the Dallas airport from Austin, and found that half of the people at my gate spoke French with a thick Québec accent. I had wondered whether my French would come back to me; and at this point, I felt some concern because I could keep up with very little of the conversation around me at the busy gate. Some of the passengers could be clearly picked out as Québecois, even without my hearing any of their speech. Scarves, not as much for warmth as fashion, around the throats of the women, skinny jeans on the men, and lastly a definite lack of the UT orange gear that seems requisite to being a true Texan. I smiled to be returning to this city I had grown so fond of in the couple of years I spent there during school, picked up the novel I was reading (Nabakov's Ada or Ardour, complete with smatterings of slang French here and there in its pages), and put my headphones on my head, iPod tuned to Arcade Fire. Getting the feel for this place I was returning to, changing my mind set... not from Fairbanks, Alaska but from Austin, Texas. Preparations for a traveler with a currently confused sense of place!
And in almost no time at all, at least no time compared to the time I am used to traveling between place (Alaska) and destination (anywhere else), I was on the ground at Dorval. I soon whisked myself through customs, with all of the ease that entering Canada in non-holiday times affords someone with a United States passport. Both bags successfully off the baggage claim belt, some cash exchanged (really? fewer Canadian dollars than U.S. dollars handed over? I must head downtown to Ste. Catherine), I stepped out into the cool, crisp air. Aaaah. A relief from the stifling humidity and heat of Austin.
Arianne and Kevin, a good friend from University and her boyfriend (now husband) whom I had not seen in six years, pulled up at the curb within moments. I broke out in a grin: being greeted by the smiling faces of friends is so much more pleasant than taking a cab or navigating the transit system all the way from the airport to the city. And these familiar faces, even though now belonging to Vancouver and soon to San Francisco, spoke to me of Montréal. Their voices were just as I remembered, and so my trip began with the ease and grace of nostalgia realised in the still-familiar. We had plenty to say and plans for the evening. Kevin wove in and out of the fast-paced traffic; and I remembered the aggression of Québec drivers, as we, all three, wove our words together into a tapestry of conversation. Amidst the conversation, memories flooded back as we traveled through Notre Dame de Grâce (familiarly known as NDG) and across town, through the downtown area, and into Le Plateau in the north of Montréal. I wondered how my memories could be so vivid yet so fuzzy at the same time, as I traveled this route I had taken almost daily. I would find out later that some things in the city had certainly changed, especially the store fronts on St. Laurent; and this explained some of my muddled nostalgia.
We arrived at Le Plateau, and Kevin's good luck found us a parking space directly in front of Else's, a jazz/blues bar that was one of my old haunts while at McGill. We entered the long and narrow bar, which was much less crowded than in my memories and thus felt unfamiliar. Perhaps that was because no band was playing this night, but so much the better for real conversation. At the very back, hands and arms waving: Alessia and Alex, the bride and groom for whom we had all traveled across the continent.
Alessia had welcomed me home with the warmth of a Montreal greeting: a kiss on each cheek, which is so much more unassuming than a hug and so obviously warmer than a handshake. I have missed this custom and would love to institute this greeting amongst my circle of friends; but without the societal norm to back it up, it would likely only seem pretentious. Alessia, dear Alessia, remained unchanged but radiant. Familiar faces and familiarity in the menu made me quickly feel right at home. I ordered a Sleeman's and settled in for conversation with my four friends, remembering the email conversation in which she had informed me that she was dating Alex, whom yes! I remembered. He had helped me load my moving van to leave this city after University had ended, and Alessia had been there also. The two had met in my apartment in NDG.
from Alessia
to me
date Mon, Jul 9, 2007 at 7:42 AM
subject flashback
...The reason I am writing to you is because I thought you would appreciate this bit of news: Do you remember when we helped you move out of your NDG app. with Arianne and her friends? Well, as it turns out, I hooked up with Alex again all this time later and we are now dating. Who would have thought!
Anyway, just wanted to send you a flashback note about how the world works in mysterious ways;)
bisous,
alessia xx
From: me
To: Alessia
Subject: Re: flashback
Date: Mon, 9 Jul 2007 11:42:05 -0800 (AKDT)
Ma cherie! That's fantastic! I owe you a letter tonight. I remember Alex was very good looking, yes?
from Alessia memboldenow@thelorax.us
date Tue, Jul 10, 2007 at 6:40 AM
subject Re: flashback
and sweet, and funny and, and...
alessia xx
We stayed and talked until late into the night, as this would, both fortunately and unfortunately, be our one chance to catch up before the wedding itself. The next day, Alessia and Alex would leave on a honeymoon cruise. We left as the time neared 1 am, and I smiled to know that I would wake up in Montréal tomorrow; it would not be just a dream this time!
