Montreal: Where French Rebels, Irish Gangs, and Wood-Fired Bagels Built a City on a Frozen River

Author: Finn O'Sullivan
Category: Culture & History
Reading Time: 18 minutes

I arrived in Montreal on a Tuesday in late October, when the mountain was burning with maple and the wind off the St. Lawrence carried the smell of wood smoke and yeast. The taxi driver from the airport—a man named Hassan who had left Algeria in 1992—told me to look up when we crossed the Pont Champlain. "The city is an island," he said. "It does not know what it wants to be. This is why it is interesting." He was right. By Thursday, I had eaten a bagel hot from a wood oven at 11:00 PM, walked through an underground city that smelled like popcorn and existential dread, and been corrected on my French pronunciation by a teenager working a coffee cart. I did not mind the correction. In Montreal, the language is not a test. It is a negotiation.

The city was founded in 1642 by a nurse named Jeanne Mance and a bunch of French Catholics who thought they could build a Christian utopia in the wilderness. They called it Ville-Marie. The Iroquois had other ideas. The British took it in 1760 and set it on fire. The Irish showed up starving in 1847 and built the canals. The Jews arrived from Eastern Europe and invented the bagel. The Haitians came in the 1970s and turned the north end into Little Port-au-Prince. Every group built their own city on top of the last one, and none of them bothered to ask permission. The result is a place where the street signs switch languages mid-sentence, where the metro stations look like spaceships from 1967, and where you can walk down a cobblestone lane in the Old Port, turn a corner, and find yourself staring at a brutalist concrete apartment block the size of a small town. The clash is the point.

How to Read the Streets (Without Getting Lost in the Underground)

Montreal is an island shaped like a boomerang, sitting in the middle of the St. Lawrence River. The mountain—Mont Royal, the namesake—sits in the middle. Everything orients around it. Streets run east-west, avenues run north-south, and the locals use "up" and "down" to mean north and south. If someone tells you to go "up St-Laurent," they mean north. Do not question this. Just go.

The neighborhoods have distinct personalities, and they shift fast. The Old Port (Vieux-Port) feels like a European city center that got frozen in amber, then sprouted third-wave coffee shops. The Plateau is where students, artists, and the permanently young live in narrow row houses painted in colors that would get you fined in a homeowners association. Mile End is the current center of gravity for musicians and startup employees, a place where you can buy a fifty-dollar vintage sweater and a three-dollar coffee within sight of each other. The Village (Le Village) is one of the largest gay neighborhoods in North America, and it hosts the kind of street festivals that shut down traffic for blocks and nobody complains. Little Italy, clustered around the Jean-Talon Market, is where the old men still argue about soccer in cafes where the espresso costs two dollars and comes with a glass of water.

Montreal also has a second city beneath the first. They call it the Underground City, or RÉSO, though the locals just say "the underground." It is not a city, exactly. It is a network of tunnels connecting metro stations, shopping malls, office buildings, and hotels, stretching for twenty miles beneath the downtown core. It was built because of the weather. January temperatures regularly hit minus twenty Celsius, and the wind coming off the river makes it feel worse. In the depths of February, you can walk from the train station to a concert hall to a hotel to a restaurant without ever putting on a coat.

The underground has a reputation for being soulless, and parts of it are. The corridor between McGill metro and Place Montreal Trust is basically a shopping mall with no windows. But there is also public art down there—murals, sculptures, installations that rotate on a schedule. The corridor connecting Place-des-Arts to the museums has a ceiling lined with thousands of colored glass panels that shift the light as you walk. The best time to see it is late afternoon, when the sun angle turns the whole tunnel amber. The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts even has an underground pavilion, and the path to it is lined with works from the collection that you can see for free.

The French Question (Or: Why They Will Correct You, and Why You Should Let Them)

Here is what you need to understand about the language situation. Quebec is a French-speaking province in an English-speaking continent. Montreal is a bilingual city in a French-speaking province. This creates layers. The metro announcement comes first in French, then English. The street signs are in French. The person serving your coffee might greet you in either language, and they are watching to see which one you pick. Do not make a big deal about this. Attempt the French if you have it. If not, English is fine. The only thing that annoys a Montrealer is a tourist who treats the French requirement as an inconvenience.

The independence movement peaked in the 1980s and 1990s with two referendums that failed by narrow margins. The scars are still visible if you know where to look. There are neighborhoods where the Quebec flag outnumbers the Canadian one ten to one. There are restaurants where the staff will pretend not to understand English, though they speak it perfectly. There is also a generation of younger Montrealers who have moved past the old battles and treat bilingualism as a practical advantage rather than a political statement. The city is calmer now than it was in the nineties, but the tension between the two languages, the two histories, is part of what gives Montreal its energy.

Bill 101, passed in 1977, made French the official language of Quebec and required all business signs to be in French. The law still shapes daily life. Your grocery store receipt will be in French. Your Uber driver might switch to French unprompted. The construction worker repairing the street will curse in a combination of French and joual—a working-class dialect so thick that Parisians cannot understand it. Do not try to speak joual. You will fail, and they will laugh.

What to See Without the Crowds (And What to See With Them)

Everyone goes to the Notre-Dame Basilica. It is worth it—the interior is Gothic Revival done with enough gold leaf to embarrass a Byzantine emperor. The basilica sits at 110 Notre-Dame Street West in the Old Port. It is open daily from 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM. Admission is CAD $10 for adults, CAD $8 for seniors (65+), and CAD $5 for children aged 7 to 17. Children under 7 enter free. The evening light show, Aura, runs Thursday through Saturday and costs CAD $35. Skip it unless you really need the Instagram photo. The church is better in natural light, and you can sit in a pew for twenty minutes without anyone rushing you out. Go at opening, before the tour buses arrive. If you want the full experience, attend a mass—Saturday at 5:00 PM or Sunday at 11:00 AM—and hear the organ, which has 7,000 pipes and sounds like the apocalypse played by Bach.

The real religious architecture in Montreal is not the cathedral. It is the neighborhood churches. St. Joseph's Oratory sits at 3800 Chemin Queen Mary on the slope of Mont Royal and looks like a spaceship landed on a Renaissance palace. The dome is the third-largest of its kind in the world, and the basilica is the largest church in Canada. Admission is free, though donations are welcomed. The oratory is open year-round, with hours varying by season—check the official website before visiting. You can climb the 283 prayer steps on your knees if you want the full experience, or you can walk up the side path and get the same view without the penance. The oratory gets nearly two million visitors a year, but most of them cluster at the bottom. Walk to the top terrace. The view of the city spreading east toward the river is the best orientation you will get. The oratory is also the final resting place of Saint Brother André, a humble doorman who became renowned for miraculous healings and was canonized in 2010.

For something quieter, find St. Michael's Ukrainian Church in the Mile End. The blue onion domes rise above the street like something transplanted from Kyiv. The interior is covered in icons painted by refugees who arrived after the Second World War. It is not on the tourist maps. You might have the place to yourself on a weekday morning. The church is at 4250 Rue Jeanne-Mance, and while there are no set visiting hours, the doors are usually open during daylight hours.

The Pointe-à-Callière Museum, at 350 Place Royale in the Old Port, is built on the actual archaeological remains of the city's first settlement. It is not as famous as the basilica, but it is more honest. The museum takes you down into the foundations—literally. You walk through the original sewers, see the stone walls of the first marketplace, and stand in the crypt where Montreal's first settlers were buried. Admission is approximately CAD $15 for adults, and the museum is open Tuesday through Friday from 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM, Saturday and Sunday from 11:00 AM to 6:00 PM, closed Mondays. This is where you learn that the "Christian utopia" was built on land cleared by force, and that the city's history is darker than the guidebooks admit.

The Wood-Fired Religion of Montreal Bagels

Montreal bagels are not food. They are a theological dispute. They are smaller than New York bagels, denser, sweeter, and baked in wood-fired ovens. The two temples are St-Viateur and Fairmount, both in Mile End, both open twenty-four hours. St-Viateur's original bakery is at 263 rue St-Viateur West, unchanged since 1957. The wood oven has been burning continuously for nearly seventy years. A bagel costs about CAD $1.10. Go at midnight. Watch the baker pull the sesame-coated rings from the long wooden paddle and slide them into the flame. The bagels are boiled in honey water before baking, which is why they are sweet without being dessert. Fairmount Bagel, at 74 avenue Fairmount West, is the older of the two—open since 1949—and has the better sesame seed coverage. The locals have strong opinions about which is superior. The correct answer is to try both.

I asked a man at St-Viateur why Montrealers cared so much about a bread ring. He looked at me like I had asked why Catholics care about the Pope. "The oven is the same temperature as a human body," he said. "The bagel is alive when it comes out. You are eating something alive." I did not argue. I bought a dozen sesame bagels for CAD $10 and ate three on the walk back to my hotel.

Where to Eat Without the Tourist Menu

Poutine is the other required food. Fries, cheese curds, gravy. The curds must squeak when you bite them—that means they are fresh. Every chip stand in the province claims to have invented it, and nobody really knows the truth. For the classic version, go to La Banquise at 994 Rue Rachel East. They have over thirty varieties, but the original, with just the three components, is the one you want. It costs about CAD $12-15. The restaurant is open twenty-four hours and gets crowded after midnight with people who have made questionable decisions. I arrived at 1:00 AM on a Friday and shared a table with a medical student, a musician, and a man who claimed to be writing a novel about poutine. The novel did not sound good. The poutine was excellent.

Schwartz's Hebrew Delicatessen, at 3895 Boulevard Saint-Laurent, is Canada's oldest deli and has been serving Montreal smoked meat since 1928. A sandwich piled high on rye bread with a pickle and cherry cola costs about CAD $15-18. The meat is cured for ten days with a secret spice blend, then steamed until it falls apart. Celine Dion became a co-owner in 2012, which is the kind of fact that only makes sense in Montreal. Expect a line. The line is part of the experience. The deli is open until 2:00 AM on weekends, and the late-night crowd is a cross-section of the city that you will not find anywhere else.

For something more substantial, Montreal has one of the best food scenes in North America, and it is not expensive by the standards of Toronto or New York. L'Express at 3927 Rue Saint-Denis does French bistro cooking that would hold its own in Paris. The steak frites costs about CAD $32, and the zinc bar has been polished by three generations of elbows. For Vietnamese, head to the Plaza Saint-Hubert, where the families who fled in 1975 have built a food corridor that rivals anything in Hanoi. Pho Tay Ho at the corner of Rue Belanger does a beef noodle soup that costs about CAD $11 and will ruin you for the American version.

The Jean-Talon Market, at 7070 Avenue Henri-Julien in Little Italy, is where the city shops. It is open daily from 7:00 AM to 6:00 PM (though individual vendors set their own hours, and many close by 5:00 PM). The market is covered but feels open-air, with stalls selling Quebec cheeses, wild blueberries, fresh cider, and maple syrup in every conceivable form. I bought a block of aged cheddar from a vendor who told me it had been made by monks in the Eastern Townships. I do not know if this was true. The cheese was excellent. The market is also surrounded by Italian cafes where an espresso costs CAD $2 and comes with a glass of sparkling water. Sit at the bar. Stand if you must. The old men will ignore you, then offer an opinion about the weather.

The Seasonal Rhythm (Or: When to Come and When to Stay Away)

Montreal is a different city in every season, and the locals will tell you that you picked the wrong time to visit regardless of when you arrive. Summer is festival season. The Jazz Festival in late June shuts down ten blocks of downtown and brings in two million people. Just for Laughs in July is the largest comedy festival in the world. Osheaga in August fills Parc Jean-Drapeau with music fans who camp in the mud and pretend to enjoy it. The city feels electric in summer, but it also feels crowded, and hotel prices double. If you must come in July, book hotels three months in advance.

Fall is the secret season. September and October bring crisp air, changing leaves on the mountain, and a city that has recovered from festival madness but has not yet descended into winter hibernation. This is when the locals will tell you that you picked the right time, which means it is probably the best time. The average temperature in October is 12 degrees Celsius. The mountain is red and gold. The terraces are still open, but the crowds are gone.

Winter is not for everyone. The temperature drops to minus twenty Celsius in January, the snow piles up, and the underground city becomes essential rather than optional. But winter also brings Igloofest, an electronic music festival held outdoors in January, where twenty thousand people dance in snow pants and parkas. It brings the Montreal En Lumière festival in February, with light installations and food tastings and a city that refuses to admit that winter has beaten it. The Christmas market at the Atwater Market runs from late November through December, with mulled wine and roasted chestnuts and ice sculptures that melt by New Year's. If you come in winter, bring layers. The wind off the river does not forgive optimism.

Spring is mud season. The snow melts, the streets flood, and everyone is grumpy until the first warm day, usually in late May, when the terraces open and the city remembers why it stays here. The sugaring-off season in March, when the maple sap runs, is worth experiencing if you have a car. Drive an hour east to the Laurentians and eat tire sur la neige—maple taffy poured on snow and rolled onto a stick—at a sugar shack. The experience is touristy and authentic at the same time, which is a very Montreal combination.

What to Skip (And What to Skip Without Guilt)

The Old Port horse-drawn carriages. They cost CAD $50 for twenty minutes, the horses look miserable, and you can walk the same cobblestones for free. The calèches are a holdover from a romanticized version of Montreal that never existed.
The underground food court at Place Ville-Marie. It is a mall basement with a Canadian accent. The poutine there is microwaved. The bagels are from a chain. You are twenty feet from the actual city. Go outside.
Rue Crescent on a Saturday night. This is where the suburban kids come to get drunk. The bars are overpriced, the lines are long, and the vibe is desperation. If you want nightlife, go to the Plateau or the Village instead.
The Biodôme de Montréal if you have seen real nature. It is a fine indoor zoo, but it costs CAD $22 and you are in a city surrounded by actual forests and rivers. Save your money for a day trip to the Laurentians.
Any "ghost tour" of the Old Port. The stories are made up by a marketing team. The history is already dramatic enough without adding fake hauntings. Read a book about the Irish Famine refugees instead.
The Olympic Stadium tower in bad weather. The view is spectacular on a clear day, but the elevator costs CAD $24 and the stadium itself is a crumbling monument to 1970s ambition. If it is cloudy, skip it. If you do go, take the metro to Pie-IX station and walk the ten minutes. The surrounding park is nicer than the tower.
Buying maple syrup at a tourist shop in the Old Port. The same syrup costs half the price at Jean-Talon Market. The vendors at the market will let you taste before you buy. The tourist shops will not.

Practical Logistics (The Stuff You Actually Need)

Arrival: Most visitors fly into Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport (YUL), about twenty kilometers west of downtown. The 747 express bus runs every fifteen minutes and costs CAD $11 one-way. It drops you at the bus terminal on Rue Berri, one block from the metro. A taxi to downtown costs a flat CAD $41. Uber operates legally and costs about CAD $30-35. If you are coming from the United States, the train from New York City takes eleven hours and is only worth it if you love trains.

Getting Around: The metro is clean, fast, and covers the core areas well. A single ride costs CAD $3.75. A three-day pass is CAD $21 and worth it if you are staying central. The green line runs east-west through the downtown core. The orange line forms a rough U shape and connects the main train stations. The blue line serves the Plateau and Rosemont. The yellow line is just three stations long and exists mainly to get people to the casino on the island's south shore. Buses fill the gaps, and the BIXI bike share system operates from April to November. The city has been adding bike lanes at a rapid pace, and cycling is now a viable way to get around in the warmer months. Just watch for the potholes. Winter freezes and thaws tear up the asphalt, and the city patches rather than repaves.

Walking is the best way to see the neighborhoods. Montreal is compact. You can walk from the Old Port to the Plateau in forty-five minutes, and you will pass through three distinct districts along the way.

Where to Stay:

Budget: Auberge Saint-Paul at 347 Rue Saint-Paul East in the Old Port. Dorm beds from CAD $35, private rooms from CAD $85. The building is a converted 19th-century warehouse, and the rooftop terrace has a view of the river.
Mid-range: Hotel William Gray at 421 Rue Saint-Vincent in the Old Port. Rooms from CAD $180-250. The hotel has a rooftop pool and a restaurant that serves Quebecois cuisine with French technique. The location is quiet but central.
Luxury: The Ritz-Carlton Montreal at 1228 Rue Sherbrooke West. Rooms from CAD $400-600. This is the oldest Ritz-Carlton in North America, opened in 1912. The Palm Court still does afternoon tea, and the Maison Boulud restaurant has a Michelin-starred chef.

Daily Budget:

Budget traveler: CAD $70-90 per day (hostel, BIXI bike, bagels and market food, free museums and parks).
Mid-range: CAD $150-200 per day (hotel, metro and taxis, restaurant meals, paid attractions).
Luxury: CAD $350+ per day (Ritz-Carlton, fine dining, private tours, no compromises).

The Legal Drinking Age: It is eighteen, not twenty-one. The wine and beer selection at the government-run SAQ stores is excellent, though the prices are higher than in the United States. The strip clubs on Rue Sainte-Catherine are world-famous, or infamous, depending on your perspective. They are also expensive and aggressive with the upselling. If you must go, set a budget beforehand and stick to it.

Tipping: It follows the North American standard: fifteen to twenty percent at restaurants, a dollar per drink at bars, a few dollars for hotel housekeeping. Sales tax is nearly fifteen percent and is added at the register, not included in the marked price. This shocks European visitors. A CAD $20 meal will cost you CAD $23 after tax, plus tip.

Safety: The city is safe by the standards of any major North American city. The usual rules apply: do not leave valuables visible in cars, stay aware of your surroundings after midnight, avoid the small area around Boulevard Saint-Laurent and Rue Ontario after dark if you are alone. The metro stops running at 12:30 AM on weeknights and 1:00 AM on weekends. After that, the night buses run limited routes, or you can use Uber.

Health and Connectivity: The tap water is safe to drink. The healthcare system is excellent for residents but can be slow for tourists. For minor issues, walk-in clinics exist in every neighborhood. For emergencies, the Montreal General Hospital is at 1650 Avenue Cedar. Canadian SIM cards are available at the airport and at most convenience stores. Most cafes and hotels have free WiFi. The 4G/5G coverage is excellent downtown but can be spotty in the metro tunnels.

The Last Word

Montreal is not trying to impress you. It has seen empires come and go, has burned down and rebuilt, has voted on whether to stay part of a country and decided by a whisker to give it another try. The city has nothing to prove. What it offers instead is a place where you can eat a two-dollar bagel at 3:00 AM, where you can hear five languages on a single street corner, where the architecture clashes beautifully and nobody minds, where the people have learned to be French and English and Irish and Jewish and Haitian and something else entirely, all at once.

Come in the fall if you can. Walk up the mountain at sunset. Look down at the grid of streets, the river curving around the island, the orange glow of the streetlights coming on. The city will not ask you to love it. It is too busy being itself. But if you pay attention—if you learn to read the streets, if you try the French, if you eat the bagel hot from the oven—you might find yourself loving it anyway. The city has that effect on people. It does not try. It just is.