Yes, this is another cheap excuse to put a picture of Montreal (Outremont I believe). One of the last posts of Cynthia on Sur un Boeing Bleu de Mer made me think about my past life as a city dweller and my present one as an immigrant living in a British town. It made me wonder if I was more naturally a town mouse or a country mouse. I grew up in Chicoutimi, technically a city, as it has a cathedral, but so spread around that it is hardly a big city. I thought I would never like living in a big city, yet I fell in love with Montreal when I started living there. And then there was Liverpool, but I did not live in the city itself, I was a few minutes away by train. Of course I slept a few nights in my life in small villages and faraway places, including Sainte-Hedwidge, which is pretty much as remote as you can be.This is one thing that I find fascinating when one spend time in a place is its relationship with noise, particularly at night. I grew up in Chicoutimi going to sleep (often very late) in a sleeping city. When I started living in Montreal, I could hear the traffic going down Christophe-Colomb non stop. At first I found it disturbing, then I found the noise strangely soothing, like it was a big cat constantly purring. Back in Chicoutimi for the holidays, I had difficulties sleeping as the steady sound of the night's traffic was not there. But Montreal, for a "big" city, is rather calm, in some places at least, at night. I am not sure I would have slept as soundly in London, a city I grew to dislike, partially because of the noise and the frantic beat that creates it. In Liverpool, I could live it, then go home and prepare classes, mark, read and sleep in quiet, peaceful suburbia. The Victorian house I was living in got me used to silence at night, real silence. There is nothing like reading a horror story in a quiet town or village at night. It is a deliciously frightening experience. I would ideally read my crime fiction in a city where I can hear the noisy outside world.
