A study of contrasts (Summer 07)

I’ve always been an avid people-watcher. Airports are among the best locales for such a task. I like studying people’s attire, their expressions, their postures and gaits. I wonder about their destinations, where they came from, what they said to their spouses and kids as they rushed out the front door in the morning.

People-watching opportunities may be one of my favorite aspects of living in a city. I stick my earbuds in and listen to a sort of soundtrack as I go about my errands and observe how people fall into step with the beat or how the lyrics or melody sometimes capture the mood of the fleeting glances I see.

When I was in Rome last year, walking among layer upon layer of ruins of the various Roman Forums, it was awesome to see the cold grey dilapidated toppled columns, imagining the splendor of this former commercial and public center of western civilization, and to see vivid t-shirt-donning tourists with sunglasses and cameras milling about, sort-of superimposed on the ancient grandeur.

Montreal woke up from its winter and early spring hibernation a few weeks ago. The streets are teeming with people walking in and out of shops, going to and from work, sitting at sidewalk cafes and waiting around for friends. The movement of people and this year’s billowy, flowy fashion provides quite a contrast to the tall, flat, reflective skyscrapers and partially shaded concrete sidewalks.

A series of posters on a makeshift particleboard wall outside an abandoned building catches my eye–the repetition, the French, the boldness and colors and images flashing by my peripheral vision. The shiny SUVs with blaring bass roll on by and my attention turns to a homeless man smiling and waving at passers-by, trying to earn a buck. I had passed a few other homeless people–one sitting on a stoop, warmed by the sunshine–his wrinkles and steely eyes evidence of many days in the sun, many stoops. Another, with a shopping cart full of his belongings parked right next to him, was sitting on a bench, bundled up in a winter coat, taking a catnap.

Sainte Catherine Street itself is a study in contrasts–there are [majestic but poorly-attended] 150-year-old stone churches set about five blocks apart flanked by restaurants, boutiques, department stores, bookstores, sex shops, strip clubs, coffee bars, office buildings, grocery stores and run-down buildings. On that street you see the chic, the wealthy, drug-users, homeless people, prostitutes, teenagers, families with strollers, lots of people and their dogs and just about everyone else in between.

I continue walking, my heart is stirred and I wonder if the contrast between observation and action is what I really should be contemplating.