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Like an endangered species making a comeback from the brink of extinction, the construction crane has once again made a habitat of Montreal. While the sky literally falls on the city’s crumbling transportation infrastructure, its building stock is being renewed by all manners of new condos, office complexes, hotels and even a new mega-hospital or two. Long established blocks are being torn down to make way for new development, and the metallic lattices rise above the cracked concrete with a promise of a better city (a promise that, more often than not, goes unfulfilled). Granted, the scope and scale of this transition pales in comparison with many other cities, but in Montreal such development optimism has been so rare in the past few decades that the awe impact of any project is well beyond its actual size and floor space. There are, of course, some questions that need to be asked on the socio-economic implications of the condo invasion, as well as the sustainability of the boom and the timing of its inevitable deflation. But on the surface and in the near-term, it is refreshing in the very least to see something move. Born and raised in a referendum-battered city, the novelty effect of hearing the words “construction boom” and “Montreal” in the same sentence has yet to wane for me.
Kalkan, Turkey
If you ever wondered what a British colony would look like in the 21st century, wonder no more.
The rationale for this new British Invasion enabled by budget airlines?
Sun. Glorious, Mediterranean sun.
The kind that scorches pasty anglo-saxon hides in mere minutes, especially when one sunbathes without sunscreen (as British Kalkanites seem prone to do judging by the popularity of the deep red complexion in the town). But apparently a week of sunburns is still preferable to Manchester.
Escape the heat and the crowds:
Escape only the crowds:
 
The Sud-Ouest borough in Montréal is a typical neighbourhood in transition, with condominium living steadily infiltrating a working class landscape built on the back of industry. Of course, this being Montreal and this being 2011, the presence of industry is relegated to rust and relics- the Lachine Canal, the birthplace of Canadian industry, is now plied by pleasure craft and paddle boats. With the factories long faded, moneyed Montrealers are slowly but surely pushing their idea of residential life back to the shores of the St-Lawrence in the downtown core. Nevertheless, the Sud-Ouest retains a roughness around the edges, a scruffy no-nonsense air that has long since been erased from more heavily gentrified neighbourhoods like the Plateau Mont Royal. If you like your gentrification well-cooked and your urban living scrubbed of grit, then this is probably not the area for you yet.
Given the borough’s proximity to all that moves and shakes in Montreal, however, it is hard to imagine the Sud-Ouest fending off thorough conversion to condoland in the long-term. Whether long-standing residents benefit from this or get tossed aside remains to be seen. For better or worse, the fate of more than one neighbourhood in this part of the world.
St-Henri
Montréal, Québec
Courtesy of Wikipedia:
A dépanneur (from the French verb dépanner, meaning “to help out of difficulty” or “troubleshoot”; often shortened to “dep“) is a convenience store, usually part of a chain, or an independently-run corner shop, general store or deli, in the province of Quebec in Canada.
St-Henri
Montréal, Québec
A few months ago, I purchased a Turkish language learning programme to, not surprisingly, learn some Turkish. Living with a wonderful Turkish woman who is soon to be my wife, it was high time to get a better grasp of what exactly she was saying about me to her relatives on Skype. Joking aside, I thought it might also be nice to (eventually) manage rudimentary communication with some of her relatives in Turkey, particularly since I was going to be spending a few weeks in Istanbul over the Christmas holidays.
Turkish is a difficult language, but this particular programme does its best to alleviate the pain by mimicking a natural learning process that eschews translation- in this sense, it simulates the reality of foreign language encounters where the world isn’t simultaneously translated into English.
This also means, however, that my learning curve trajectory was not as straightforward as it would be in, say, a college language class. I feel like I’ve built up an interesting but random vocabulary so far, knowing the difference between ‘desktop’ and ‘laptop’ but still lacking some very basic greetings skills.
For instance, I learned the Turkish word for bridge: köprü. And yet, I’m completely dumbfounded in basic “Hi, how are you?” scenarios. So I’m solidifying my knowledge of Turkish infrastructure terminology? Great- did I mistakenly purchase the Engineering Edition? Was this programme out to get me with my future in-laws, “Hi, nice to meet bridge”?
When I finally did arrive in Istanbul, I understood about as much Turkish as expected: that is, very little. While the language at least sounded more familiar than it did during my previous trips to Turkey, I was subjected to a maelstorm of rapid-fire Turkish with precious little comprehension accompanying it.
One familiar word did, however, make a surprisingly regular appearance in conversation.
You guessed it: köprü.
The word ‘bridge’ is apparently a mainstay of Istanbul conversation, a key element of cursory chit chat and taxi driver ramblings. With the dense urban blanket of Istanbul split cleanly down the middle by the Bosphorus Strait, the city’s two impressive suspension bridges are taught links between its divided land masses and population. These man-made landmarks are central to getting one’s geographic bearings- the “first” and “second” bridge are basic points of reference. Given that Istanbul hosts a car-obsessed population of at least 15 million, the bridges are also central sources of frustration for the city’s countless commuters. There is apparently a mythical 10-minute window of the day when the bridges are not bumper-to-bumber, but I have yet to catch it.
Beyond the physical structures themselves, the concept of ‘bridge’ also lies at the heart of Istanbul. At the most obvious level, Istanbul is touted as a literal bridge across the Bosphorus between two continents (although, strictly speaking, Europe and Asia are arguably one continent). But it has also long been a bridge between different cultures and competing civilizations, a high water mark for European influence as it melts away into the Muslim world. Istanbul is also a bridge between the urban wealth and sophistication of its old European core, and the explosive mega-city growth that seems to be overwhelming its Asian side. A simple, if slow, journey across the bridge takes one from the tourist-recognizable Istanbul into a massive twin Istanbul, a giant that lives just beyond the consciousness of visitors. It’s like crossing a bridge from Paris and arriving in London.
This sense of Istanbul as a vital link, a bridge to everywhere if you will, gives it that priceless urban vibe that lesser cities kill for- it is a place to be without even trying.
Köprü is the new cool.
Maybe that language programme was onto something after all.
Somewhere under Istanbul, I’m told there are hills. I can believe that, although they are hard to discern from the heaving, pulsating city that has been constructed on top of them. The city’s rolling neighbourhoods seems to owe less to geology and more to heaps of apartment buildings that look at first glance to be built on top of each other to form an impressive man-made topography.
Somewhere in Istanbul, there is calm. I can also believe that, although it is hard to imagine amidst the cacophony of honking, sirens, calls to prayer, ferry horns and market tout shouting. Buses, ferries, metros are all packed with the countless individuals of a massive population, on their way to and from bustling buildings, streets and shops. Quiet isolation is not on the menu.
Somewhere in Istanbul, the city gives way to countryside. Maps and experience tell me this is true, but it is hard to imagine. Whenever the city gives signs of dissipating, a new cluster of density and development picks up the slack. Think the European side is busy? Venture to the Asian side, where one can wander inland for a good hour and the buildings only seem to get larger and the streets more crowded. Is Istanbul even one city, or more of a general urban theme? The bank towers of Levent try their best to give this urban behemoth a recognizable highrise skyline, a centre point of focus, but they are thwarted by upstart skyscrapers that are sprouting above the urban fabric across the landscape. And then there are the minarets of the grand mosques in the Old City.
Somewhere in Istanbul, there is no traffic. That I cannot believe.
Somehow in Istanbul, it all still works. Don’t ask me how.
Rue de Brébeuf, Montreal, Quebec
San Francisco, California
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