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I prefer Place Jacques-Cartier, where I can loll and pretend I’m Hemingway.
I prefer Parc du Mont-Royal, because the grounds were designed by the same Frederick Law Olmsted who landscaped Washington and Jackson Parks in my hometown Chicago.
I prefer Rue du St. Catherine, because the street remains lively with people day and night, as if the Internet and TV didn’t exist.
I prefer winding staircases lacing floor to floor on the outside the Montreal flats, leaving more room inside for those Catholic Canadiens with once-upon-a-time large families.
I prefer the island of Montreal, because where could you find such an urban paradise than on an island?
I prefer the St. Lawrence Seaway, the hefty, watery wonder that leads the world to Montreal’s door.
I prefer the Canadiens tolerance of my poor high-school French, entranced when I ask “Quel heure est-il? to answer “Un peu” to their “Parlez-vous francais?”
I prefer the easy road trip from eco-rustic Burlington, Vermont, to the sophisticated, continental world of Montreal.
I prefer how Chicago was once part of Quebec.
I prefer how Quebec farms look as familiar as Illinois’ but with a French twist.
I prefer to see Cirque du Soleil one day though I have listened to several of its show CDs.
I prefer to hear about Montreal’s 40-degree-below-zero winter days while surrounded by its summer flower beds and breezy fountains.
I prefer Old Montreal, a place that more North Americans who can’t afford to go to Europe can visit and get a similar vibe.
I preferred to be on Candid Camera and ended up on Just for Laughs in Montreal, which was so much more fun.
I prefer the microbrews and sorbets of Montreal.
I prefer how Montreal embraces its Native American art.
I prefer the Parisian satellite radio pumped into the Montreal hotel lobbies.
I prefer the Montreal accent, an Anglicized, flatter version that rings more familiar to my ear, with its New Yorker twist.
I prefer Montreal.
THE CITY KEY 