We were going to the Free Concert in Parks series by Orchestra Symphonic du Montreal (OSM) at Parc Olympique and before, we walked on Promenade Ontario and stumbled upon this cool bistro. Very nice ambiance and tasty off-the-beaten-path food. We had bison ribs (Côte levée de sanglier) and some duck crepe (I forgot exactly the name). It was very good. But the ambiance was stellar - red brick lined walls, eclectic orange and yellow decor, lights that I wanted to steal for my apartment and super friendly staff - I even got a coffee for free. They also have some artisanal beer, eventhough we didn't get to try any... I was sleep deprived from last night and didn't want to fall asleep at the concert.
And also, I must mention a word or two about this neighborhood, Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, HoMa. Apart from having a cool name (oh look they put the Native American name before the French name - I have of course written about the great Paul Chomedey, sieur de Maisonneuve, 'founder' of Montreal, whose statue stands tall in the Old Port in front of the Bassilique Notre Dame, with a smaller unnamed-because-they-really-don't-matter-not-now-not-then Iroquois soldier squatting at his feet, right?). So what was I saying now...? right this HoMa neighborhood.
The first I specifically heard about this neighborhood was this one time a friend and I were walking and he told me about the poverty and crime in this hood and when a hobo approached us with a long, sad story - my friend had the patience to listen and afterwards even remarked how perfect and eloquent his French was, "but" he said "these people scare me; I know they are my own people, but they do scare me". Yes of course hobos scare people, so do gays, so do blacks, so do Sri Lankans... poor poor you... But, I have mentioned my inability to to identify with the word "fear"? It comes from my mom - oh and I am not in denial that, this, will someday come to bite me, but I must admit, I have made so many fun discoveries, thanks to this trait.
In fact I have felt very comfortable in this HoMa hood, the unpretentious working class French (ok, that's my romanticism... they are really not poor as they used to be during the era of Michel Tremblay's books) actually comfort me. Every hood in Montreal has its slogan for me - Blvd St Laurent for the shi shi, St Denis for the bling, Plateu for the not-so-hip-anymore-from-tourists'-abuse, Mile-End for the bohemian, Bernard when you want to eat a thin-crust-pizza with arugula, cherry tomatoes and fresh mozzarella and feel infinitely superior to the mere mortals who are dining on a steak on St Denis, Vieux Port for the touristy, and HoMa, when you feel like the materialistic world is sucking you into a lifeless consumerism, to remind you that people are still super nice, and there exists some people who will still stop to take off their gloves and offer them to you as you rub your frozen fingers, that if you really want, you can still be down to earth.
Seeing all the blue fleur-de-lise my friend commented on how very French and hence separatists these people probably are and looked at me as if I would take my bazooka out. Seperation, I have lately come to realize, is not my problem; exclusion is. He went on to say how the waitress's English was really not good, he did have to translate quite a bit; but I hardly made the conclusion that communication was hard, myself. The secret, the waitress smiled, a lot, genuinely...
I know I have quoted this before, but...
As a photographer I have learned that women really do hold up half the sky; that languge isn’t always necessary, but touch usually is; that all people are not alike, but they do mostly have the same hopes and fears; that judging others does great harm but listening to them enriches; that it is impossible to hate a group of people once you get to know one of them as an individual.
- Annie Griffiths Belt, photographer National Geographic
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