First sightseeing

A lazy, hazy, and wet Sunday morning. I left my apartment and grabbed my bike. The roads here are pretty pock-holed, so cycling takes extra care. On the map a cyclepath was marked, but it was nothing more than cycling alongside huge humvees and 18 wheelers. Past a vacant lot I rode, past warehouses and an industrial zone, where the stench of factory smoke hung in the air. I turned, and before me was the water, flowing towards downtown Montréal.

Finally, after almost two weeks in the city, I could take the time and freedom to go out and see a bit of it... the bits other than my university or the streets and alleys when I was desparately looking for a place to live. I rode along the Canal Lachine, which apparently used to be the industrial vein of the city, connecting it with the Old Harbour and inland. Today, derilict looking factories and warehouses have been revamped into modern apartments, while the rusty skeleton of towering silos reminded the present of a bustling time in the past. The banks of the canal have been converted into the so-called Green Belt, a stretch of cyclepaths and greenlands that go on for kilometres. And on this I rode, enjoying once more that feeling of freedom and joy I get from hutling at high speeds.

Cyclepaths here are very different from the Netherlands. They are not terribly well marked, and you could tell that often they have just been demarcated wherever there was space. So often the path winds and snakes, sometimes on the main road along with gas-guzzlers, and sometimes onto the pavement, where you have to be careful not to run over the mum with the toddler and the dog on a leash.

Down the canal I pedaled, until eventually I arrived at the Old Port. At first glance, it was only a host of abandoned warehouses and defunct quays, and it is perhaps difficult to imagine the prospertiy and activity that the port once enjoyed. But like some many old ports that have outlived their usefulness, the area has been converted into a recreational and artists' zone, with boutiques, museums, an IMAX theatre, fountains next to abstract Ju-Ming's Tai-Chi sculptures.

Close by, lay the sprawling streets and hunger-evoking scents of Peking Duck in Chinatown. I parked my bike, and for the first time ever in my life, I paid for the parking fees at a slot machine, like you would when you park your car. The ticket I place on the handle, and I wondered whether a traffic warden would actually come by and check. I guess paying a $2 for 30 minutes (bike) parking is better than risking having your bike 'towed' away.