News

How many times have I walked this street? A thousand? A million? A decade ago and barely "of age," I enthusiastically moved with my little sister one block west of what francophones refer to as to as Boulevard Saint-Laurent, and anglos call St. Lawrence (or simply, "The Main").

This Montreal strip between rues Sherbrooke and Mont-Royal was our backyard. We called it "the street," as if those six blocks were a self-contained kingdom and the only one in the world that mattered. To us, the street represented excitement, opportunity, sophistication, creativity and the endless potential to absorb and express. "Why would anyone in their right mind live anywhere else?" I often asked myself.

Our divorced parents joked that their parents had spent their lives struggling to escape this ghetto, yet there we were, running back to it. Like most children of immigrant Jews, both our mom and dad had grown up in the neighbourhood.

Some insiders say Old Montreal, Little Italy or Saint-Henri have replaced Saint-Laurent as the city's hippest district. While trends come and go, the one-street 'hood that once sliced a deep trench between Montreal's French and English communities remains, well, the "Montrealest" of them all.

Boulevard Saint-Laurent celebrated its 100th birthday last year, and continues to embody the paradoxes that are the city's essence: old and new; French and English; North American and European. This is where you'll find 80-year-old sausage-shop owners fraternizing with young models, and Converse-clad club kids chatting up local celebrities.

A stroll along the Saint-Laurent strip also reveals both the city's history and my own — both so intertwined that one is, basically, the other — along with some of Montreal's best shopping.

When I have time to wander, I start at Rue Mont-Royal and make my way south. The first block is lined with interior design boutiques. I admire furniture I can't afford at Montauk, Biltmore, Latitude Nord, Côté Sud and Moderno. When I moved back to Montreal from California in 2001, I treated myself to a custom-made white sofa from Côté Sud. It turned grey in a month, but I still adore the thing. It's now waiting for me in storage.

At the corner of Rue Marie-Anne — near Leonard Cohen's house — is J. Schreter, founded in 1929 by Romanian immigrant Joseph Schreter. The sportswear institution has been here since 1955, and it's still the best place in town to stock up on basics. My parents shopped here when they were young, and I was always jealous of those Schreter long johns worn to slumber parties by the cool girls in my fourth-grade class.

At rue Duluth is Le Point Vert, a great magazine store where I used to photocopy articles for my portfolio. The Portuguese family that runs the joint doesn't seem to mind if you linger. I sometimes stop next door at minimalist café Laika for tapas and electronic music, or across the street at Brasserie Artisanale & Bistro le Reservoir, a hip but low-key microbrewery and restaurant that serves beer brewed by the pub's young owners.

Next, I pop into adjoining vintage clothing boutiques Twist Encore and Friperie Saint-Laurent to hunt for dresses and shoes. A few paces down is where Simcha's used to be, the fruit store Fanny and Simcha Leibovich ran for half a century until the couple passed away last year. I shopped there religiously, and my dad still praises Simcha's homemade dill pickles.

But before I get sentimental, a Pharmaprix sign jolts me back to the present. The drugstore chain opened in the space that family-owned grocery Warshaw occupied for 67 years — an anomaly in a neighbourhood that prides itself on authenticity. (The locally run Moksha yoga studio on the building's second floor offers some redemption.)

The working-class immigrants who established many of these shops years ago set the stage for entrepreneurs to do business on the strip today, and defined the community's independent spirit. In recognition of their contribution, Boulevard Saint-Laurent was named a National Historic Site in 2002.

Speaking of legends, I pass smoked-meat stalwart Schwartz's and its lesser-known nemesis The Main, and nod to the doorman at Moishe's Steak House.

Then I hit the record stores. Located beside one another near rue Roy, InBeat and DNA both cater to DJs. But I like browsing at both: It's nice to greet the old friends — and sometimes ex-boyfriends (but that's another story) — who work or hang out there. Then I move along to Freitag to peruse modern jewellery and accessories.

Between avenue des Pins and rue Sherbrooke, trendy, urban and expensive is the name of the game. This is where money meets squeegee punks and their dogs, where designers and dive bars share real estate with the city's swankiest clubs, terraces and restaurants. In fact, this drag is so action-packed that I avoid it altogether during the celebrity-studded Grand Prix of Canada (this year's Formula One auto race is taking place next weekend) and the Main Madness street sale — at the beginning and end of each summer — when cars are banned and throngs of noisy suburbanites create pedestrian traffic jams.

These blocks are also dense with boutiques. At Nevik, designer Kevin Allwood peddles his gorgeous women's wear. Lola & Emily sells couture labels and reworked vintage pieces. Scandale features cutting-edge clothing by Quebec designer Georges Lévesque.

Meanwhile, Arithmetik and Soho offer upscale street wear. La Godasse carries cool sneakers. And, though I covet the soft, stunning leather bags and jackets at M0851, I love the affordable lingerie tops and comfy leggings and hoodies at Space FB too.

For a coffee break, Italian café Eurodeli makes my favourite espresso. I sip it outside and people-watch. I'm reminded of sitting here with my mom, who told me about her own childhood in this part of town — of snow forts as tall as houses, and holding her own in a fight with a neighbourhood bully.

Next door is Tonic, where I worked my first summer on "the street." The bohemian-chic Aveda salon was the baby of identical Québécois twins who wore their scissors in leather gun holsters and welcomed friends with a gentle Buddhist bow. I booked appointments, greeted clients, and worked the cash register, all while attempting to ignore the more territorial stylists griping behind my back. After all, we had to answer the phone in the most jubilant of tones: "Boutique Toh-nique, bonjour" (My Dad found this hilarious and phoned often, just to hear the glee in my voice.)

This, of course, was before I discovered another way to finance university: working in bars. Nightlife is Saint-Laurent's signature product, and I happily stocked up for a while. Blame it on a childhood of Coke-bottle glasses and paperback friends, but I became a regular behind the velvet ropes. I may have been picked last in elementary-school gym class, but here I always got in first. Fortunately, working in the trenches quickly taught me that nightlife popularity is an illusion for sale.

At the end of the strip, I visit the avant-garde Ex-centris cinema and new media complex, the brainchild of Softimage founder Daniel Langlois. Designed to evolve with changing film technologies and committed to supporting independent producers, Ex-centris captures the rebel spirit of innovation that has defines Saint-Laurent for a century. Be it supporting the arts through technology, as Langlois has, opening an indie record store, launching a clothing line or starting a business fresh off the boat from Poland, people on "the street" take risks. They always have.

Special to The Globe and Mail