F-1, F-U

Yup, the Montreal Grand Prix was in town this weekend and this was the weekend that I learned that real Montreal folks stay home. Well, not really but Friday, my Luv-ah and I took a walk to Crescent street and watched Montreal become Monaco’s skanky trailer trash cousin. Maggie has already mentioned the leathery skinned Eurotrash ladies who swarm our downtown like the cast of a George A. Romero film. Let me add that Friday night, it became apparent that human cloning had been achieved when we had to force our way through an entire army of Johnny Hallydays. We left that scene and headed over to The Auld Dublin, which is quickly becoming our “local,” despite the fact that we have to take a bus to get there, seeing as Verdun is afraid drinking alcohol may lead to fights between Sailors and Zoot Suits. Damn zoot suits!

Saturday, we discovered you can walk from Nun’s Island to downtown Verdun if you have an hour to kill. I like Verdun. Parts of it are quite nice and are like any other Montreal area neighbourhood with the outside stairs and balconies on the apartment buildings and all. And other parts of it remind me of the sketchier parts of Saint John so there’s a nice ring of familiarity to it.

That evening we took in the fireworks at the Old Port, which were cool, we also waited an hour for the bus home in what was likely the busiest intersection downtown: University Ave and St. Antoine – where the traffic comes off the Champlain Bridge. It was backed up all the way to the bridge and everyone in Brossard had decided they, too, were F-1 drivers were intent on showing Montreal just how cool they all were. There was a lot of horn blowing, bass thumping, and the sudden screeching of brakes. It was an ugly scene.

Today is the race, which we can hear faintly from our apartment, which is just far enough, thank you very much.


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