My nerves are on edge and I realize that I am holding my breath. My right hand is gripping the handle tightly while my eyes dart from side to side looking for a sign. I am wielding a machete chopping my way through the concrete jungle to locate my target, or so it would seem. In actuality, I am a passenger in a vehicle trapped in a queue on the congested streets of downtown Montreal and I am trying to determine if we are in the correct lane or if we need to merge towards the next exit. An aggressive driver, a local who knows exactly where she is going, wedges her pick-up truck ahead of us forcing us to let her in. Somewhere in the background I hear honking and in the distance the faint sound of a siren.
Big bustling cities do not summon me as do the mountains and lakes and I would trade the bright lights for the desert moon in a heartbeat. My purpose in crossing this busy metropolis today is to reach the hill emerging from its centre; the one Jacques Cartier scaled in 1535 and named Mount Royal. Our group intends to hike to the summit in time to watch the sun set over the skyline.
I exhale gratefully as we reach the parking lot at last. Instantly, I find myself in another world, a refuge of nature in an unexpected place. From here the skyscrapers are not visible. As far as the eye can see, there are frosted trees, a partially frozen lake, and people here and there milling around the grounds. We follow a path along Beaver Lake watching children slide down a hill in snow tubes or sleds, their laughter replacing the cacophony of car horns. There is more snow up here then back home, and I am surprised to see cross-country skiers gliding by so early in the season as it is only mid-November. In the blink of an eye, I can almost forget that I am in a large city.
The sunlight is slowly fading as we walk up the trail to the Kondiaronk Belvedere. It looks like we timed our arrival well. From the half-moon-shaped plaza we can look down onto the high rises that define urban life. The view to the east set against a pinkish sky is noteworthy. In downtown’s heart I spy an impressive large-scale mural depicting Montreal-native legend Leonard Cohen. As he stares my way I can almost feel the “Hallelujah” melody vibrating through my core. Standing in this pocket of nature, I feel removed from the traffic chaos below. I inhale deeply, appreciating this haven of preserved land. It has been nearly five hundred years since Explorer Cartier stood on this very hill. I wonder what he would think now.
Just a short distance away the illuminated Mount Royal Cross stands majestically over the St. Lawrence River, outshining the dotted city lights in the valley below. We stop here briefly before heading back down the path. We are just in time to catch a glimpse of St-Joseph’s Oratory silhouetted against the last of the sunlight. The setting has calmed me considerably and I am now ready to head back into the urban din, through the throng of vehicles once more. It is amazing what a pocketful of air will do for the spirit.
First appeared in the Cornwall Seeker, January 2020/Sylvie O’Rourke