Andy HoffmanAmong the many reasons, this one rises to the top.
We ventured out of our neighborhood to meet a fellow writer our network had recommended to us. He suggested a spot in his neighborhood, Mile End, which sits on the opposite side of downtown, McGill University, and Mount Royal from Notre Dame de Grace. Mile End has painfully little Metro service, and the hot weather had returned, so we drove across town. David had chosen In Gamba Café, on Avenue du Parc or Park Avenue, because (he explained later) the many other good cafés in his neighborhood catered more to socializing with strangers than getting to know people.
We drove down Parc Avenue and marveled at the many shops and restaurants and the sort of West Greenwich Village vibe on the street. We spotted the café and took the next right, to get off the busy street. And right there we spotted St Viateur Bagels, one of the two premier bagel bakeries in Montreal. Street parking in Montreal has small, numbered posts marking each spot and a solar-powered pay station nearby. Our spot became very expensive very quickly, and we weren’t sure how long this conversation would go, so I bought an hour of time using my credit card, my first time using these French-language devices.
After I settled accounts, we looked around. This neighborhood had hundreds of black-hatted men and long-skirted women in wigs, a community of devout Jews. In addition to the bagel place the street had wonderful restaurants, where we thought we might stop for a meal after coffee. We bought our bagels and met our coffee date, from whom we learned many amazing things. David, a writer and an academic with an interest in foodways, proved a delightful conversationalist. As the coffee continued, I excused myself to move the car to a different spot on another street.
After we wrapped up, we chose a Greek place across from the bagel store. I had a decidedly unkosher poutine, French fries smothered in cheese curds, gravy, and gyro meat. Deb had souvlaki. Arahova impressed us both and we loved that this local chain has restaurants in most every neighborhood: good food at a good price. I went to the cashier to pay.
When suddenly my heart sank. I did not have my credit card. I paid with debit, but fretted about surviving another month in Montreal without a credit card. I knew I had forgotten to take it from the second parking pay station and felt absolutely certain that someone had taken advantage of my oversight. I expected to spend the evening getting my bank to cancel the card and ship me a new one.
We walked back along a lovely quiet street peopled might Orthodox Jews. We noticed the mezuzot on most of the door frames, and we passed the shul and yeshiva along the way. The loss of the card really preoccupied me. We got to the street where I’d left the car and I ran to the pay station, expecting only to confirm the worst. The credit card had been removed from the pay slot, of course, but whoever had used the pay station next had thoughtfully placed my car in another slot in the machine. It’s possible they charged their own parking on my card. In fact, I hoped they had. Though expensive for parking, it would be a small price to pay for the comfort of such kind treatment. We will certainly return to Mile End.