Back from holidays

Returning from vacation


It was with difficulty that I tried to distance myself from the news during the weeks which, to tell the truth, bore little resemblance to the holidays before the pandemic. At the time when we were often happy, but we did not know it.

In July, I went to Boston, a transformed city, elegantly restored on a human scale. A city where the pedestrian feels respected, where cyclists practice a courtesy unknown in Montreal, a city of stunning cleanliness where the inhabitants hasten to inform the tourist in search of a museum.

In short, a city that dazzles, but which has plunged the Montrealer that I am into discouragement when I think of the current state of Montreal. A city with streets rutted by construction sites and disorganized by one-way streets, a noisy city where motorists are on the verge of a permanent nervous breakdown, a city where homeless people occupy the sidewalks and parks, begging for a few coins in saying “the Good Lord will reward you” or giving you a wink or a suppressed smile that would tear your heart out.

New York

Then I went to New York for the first time in six years. The city is also under construction, but New Yorkers are coping with it with contagious energy. It seemed to me that they had become more polite than when I last visited.

A black motorist from Harlem offered to precede me so that I could join the highway towards Montreal . He drove for thirty minutes in front of me to put me back on the right track. Before taking the exit ramp, he gave me a cheerful wave.

When I arrived in Montreal, I avoided getting my wheel stuck in a pothole; a cyclist gave me the finger. 

On the radio, it was announced that there had been gunshots during the night in Montreal North. Conclusion: a young man murdered. 

I was definitely back home.

Back from vacation