Farewell

Jazz at the City Hall

Cinema in the City

Philip Glass in the Prospect Park

Eliasson’s Waterfalls

Concert at the East River

Montréal

Small big city

As expected, I deeply fell in love with Montreal and its people. A city that feels immense and tiny in the same time, that shares the features of a cosmopolitan and a provincial community. A city where confusions only serve to stop and expand time, time that is so fully enjoyed.

During the trainride to Montreal I often find myself listening to the conversation of the mother and daughter behind me. The mother, not having seen her daughter for a while, poses her questions in Frech – she answeres in English. Sometimes they exchange their languages, always looking for the most appropriate expression to use. And this smooth evidence only becomes politically charged when the border police asks the mother: Donc votre fille était née aux États-Unis. Mais elle parle quand-même en français? Bien sûr.

The border policeman turns to me: Sir, I’m afraid that you need a visa to enter Canada. The obligation for visa apply to all Hungarian citizens. No, Sir, not anymore. Until a few months ago I needed; but not anymore. I’ll go to call the central office. He comes back 20 minutes later and gives me my passport with the first new stamp in 2 years.

Thursday evening, the city is alive, like on a weekend. You can smell in the air that people have free time, and they use it. We’re expected to visit David before arriving to Mireille’s, but we decide to leave my bags at Jess’s place first. A typical Montreal residential building, with an exterior staircase leading to the second floor. A great old flat, organized around a long corridor, connecting the living room to the kitchen and to all the bedrooms, and the two balconies (one opening from a small room to on the street, and the other expanding the kitchen to a system of staircases ornamented with plants and flowers on all the floors.

I gradually realize that my two sms’s apologizing for my delayed arrival ended up in the black hole of lost text messages. The phone numbers I thought to refer to cellphones are actually fixed lines – and I will be fascinated to discover that virtually nobody in town has cellphone. We call each other at home, and leave a message.  Nobody’s strolling around in the streets shouting in their mobile, and nobody changes plans in the last minute. Life is predictable, and trajectories converge.

Furthermore: we leave the doors of the house open. While all of us is taking an afternoon nap, we let the air enter the open front door and leave on the back door of the kitchen. Likewise, when we go for a walk, or to the grocery, the doors remain open in the middle of a city of 2 millions. The safety of a small town with the look of a metropolis.

A parallel universe, Montreal. Time is not a scarce resource, because space is neither. Rents at 1/3 of New York prices, Montreal is much cheaper than Toronto or Vancouver, but offers a fair share of international opportunities. When I first visit the Center for Architecture, I hardly enter the exhibition space when I bump into a small, unofficial delegation of Storefront, New York. Joseph introduces me to Giovanna, curator at the CCA who offers to give me an interview about the Center, on Monday – one day before she leaves to Italy to work at the Manifesta. Still she offers her time. After the interview, precise, deep and highly informative, she introduces me to Alexi, director of the Study Center of the CCA, who offers me to join the Study Center community for lunch. The lunch is organized to welcome Bernardo Secchi, the famous Italian urbanist, who is starting his residence at the CCA. After the lunch Alexi brings me around in the library and explains the functioning of the Study Center. I am impressed. After hunting small organizations in New York for months without success, Montreal offers me instant access to people and places.

I’m taken everywhere by Jess and Alex. A picturesque evening concert in the province Québécoise, with everyone sleeping in the house or in the garden and leaving the next day. A studio visit with friends, drinking beers and watching the fireworks in the harbour. A long walk from Buckminster Fuller’s 1967 dome to the Mile End. A dinner in St-Henri, and a walk halfway home at 2am. Walks, pop-up friends and long talks, I could stay for another few months or more. Moving to Montreal?

Graffiti in the gallery

Before renovation

New York City Gay Pride ‘08