Walking Montreal

Modifié le : 2017/02/07

Sun­day morn­ing, I decid­ed to leave the apart­ment, under the screed of a slight headache. The sky is grey, the air humid so that you don’t feel com­fort­able right away even if the main pur­pose of this walk is to get some fresh air. I dive into the sub­way to get out at Place d’Armes sta­tion. To the Old Port.

Still chilled to the bone, I’m no longer sure that going for a walk on the banks of the riv­er is a good idea. But the grey light is beau­ti­ful, per­fect for tak­ing pic­tures. I only have my iPhone with me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been drag­ging my bulky Canon.

I have always loved walk­ing alone, because I have the leisure to be dis­tract­ed only by the shapes and col­ors that appear in front of me and this Sun­day, all in shades of a dull win­ter, reveals the remains of a sum­mer that has become archae­o­log­i­cal, the pow­er of the cur­rent, the rush­ing ice, the qui­et joys of skaters. There is no knowl­edge of a coun­try until you walk it. The metro, the train, the plane, the car more or less hide the tex­ture of the moment, pro­hib­it the intox­i­ca­tion of our human fil­ters. They are cer­tain­ly use­ful, espe­cial­ly since this accel­er­a­tion projects us towards var­i­ous uni­vers­es. But the jour­ney can only be made, in the end, slow­ly. You have to be in con­tact with the jour­ney if only to move from one build­ing to anoth­er. You have to stay in this world and under­stand it.

We know that the uni­verse is more than we can know, that the very real­i­ty of our con­scious­ness is quick­ly called into ques­tion when we put our eyes on a micro or tele­scope. Any­way, my eyes are rocked by the blue of blue umbrel­las lost in the snow of a grey city.

(Click on the images to see larg­er ones)