In Love with Montreal

(Arnie Greenberg is a world traveler with an infectious zest for exploring other cultures, other landscapes. But one thing you can count on is that the city closest to his heart is the city of his birth, Montreal. Thus, it's quite appropriate that as he is about to leave on yet another voyage, this time to Central Europe, he has written an ode to the city he loves. -- Editor)

By Arnie Greenberg

(You can reach Arnie at: ultours@gmail.com)

I live in Montreal. It's a pleasant city of over two million people. It's an island with a good-sized mountain in the middle, Mount Royal.

During the summer, people stroll around Beaver Lake on top of the mountain, sailing boats or feeding the swans. Lovers walk hand in hand, joggers puff along the roads, and photographers delight in the pastoral setting in the midst of a metropolis.

From the beautiful chalet lookout, you can see the St. Lawrence River to the south and get a bird's eye view of the skyscrapers, bridges, stadium and parks. The same is true for the winter, when people skate on that same Beaver Lake or ski down the gentle slopes.

Montreal is a city of commerce, restaurants and more churches than most cities per capita. There are walking streets, ethnic areas and places to just sit and watch the boats go by on the seaway near the site of Expo 67.

We had the Olympic Summer Games here, and the legacy was a unique enclosed stadium that for the past years has been a home to the Montreal Expos.

(A horse-drawn carriage takes visitors through the narrow cobbled streets of Old Montreal)

Tourists frolic through the narrow cobbled streets of Old Montreal or take a horse-and-buggy ride through the narrow lanes. There is something for everybody, even boutique or upscale hotels, nightlife, bars and a world famous Jazz festival. Add Formula One racing, and you've said it all. Or have you?

Montreal is something more.

It is the city of one of the most fabled hockey teams in the world -- Les Canadiens de Montreal, the Montreal Canadians. Now it's true that the hay day of Montreal hockey domination may have ended in the early nineties. The team has changed. It is younger, faster and often sports Czech or Russian, Finnish or Swedish names.

I grew up in an era when we knew The Canadians would win the Stanley Cup. But that was before expansion. Now we watch a league where young Montrealers are playing for Tampa Bay, San Jose, and other American teams.

No problem. We still fill the Bell Center and cheer on our hapless 'Habs" as they are called. It's short for the French word Habitants, the name of the early Canadian explorers.

Gone are the players like Jean Belliveau, Toe Blake, Maurice and Henri Richard. Gone are the first goalie to wear a face mask, Jacques Plante. Time has passed Kenny Reardan, Dicky Moore and "Boom Boom" Geoffrion, Cournoyer and Guy Lafleur.

The names have changed and the scores have changed, but the legend of my youth lives on in this city that loves hockey. It's infectious.

Last night, I wandered past the old Forum, where hockey was king for many decades. Outside, two men were polishing the plaques that told of Stanley Cup victories dating back to the twenties. They are there for us to relive the glory days when Montreal was hockey and hockey was Montreal.

Last night, the Montreal Canadians lost a hard-fought fourth game to the Tampa Bay Lightening. Last night the dream ended for this year. The team that came back from a 3-1 deficit against the mighty Boston Bruins, and won their series, fell to Tampa in four.

I wasn't at the Bell Center, but I went into the old Forum and watched the game with others on giant screens. It was the next best place to being there live. The forum has been rebuilt as a theatre outlet with restaurants, but the place where center ice had that permanent H within a C, the Canadians symbol, emblazoned in the ice is now a tiny amphitheatre with those old red seats from the original forum.

It is surrounded by screens and the die-hards without a ticket sat in those same old seats and watched as their team did battle.

The excitement was fever pitch. Memories of the years gone by danced in my brain. I remembered the time as a high school student that I played on that same Forum ice and was proud to report to my father that I had scored a goal in the same net as Maurice Richard. I remember, too, that we lost that game.

And speaking of Richard, I must say he was a national hero. In the days before helmets, you could see the spark in his eye and the rapt determination as he dragged the puck one handed around the defense and scored with that special style.

Maurice Richard was at the Forum, too, last night. Not in person. Maurice passed away some years ago, but in front of the old red seats where I saw where the architect placed a players bench with a life-sized statue of our hero seated as though watching center ice.

And on the walls were murals of him leading a charge towards the goal. I tested myself by trying to name the players of old from the team pictures on the wall. It was an evening of total nostalgia, even though the team lost and people walked home dejected but proud. The results, they reasoned, were better than last year. The team would continue to build. They'd be back.

I walked home on a pleasant April night, under giant elms along silent streets. There were no parades. There was no shouting. There was silence. There was acceptance. There was peace. I was in Montreal, my life-long home, my city of pride of hockey, of memories.

How many places, I rationalized, in a world of chaos, can one find safety, peace and happiness. God, I love this city.

(This article is dedicated to my friend Michael Garbutt, who would be the first in line at any Montreal hockey game).

For information about visiting Montreal, see www.tourisme-montreal.com.

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