Montreal

• How I was Hooked - Canada
• The City of Food, Fun & Fashion - Montreal
• Montreal and all that jazz - Montreal
• Welcome to Brollywood - Vancouver

ASK MONTREALERS WHAT THEY like about their hometown and they tell you: It’s like Paris without the nasty Frenchness. Montreal citizens love to tease their French founding fathers, despite being nearer New York than Paris. Montreal, on an island in Quebec’s St Lawrence River, has Gallic architecture, bistros and cuisine - but also fresh air and an exchange rate that means you can afford to breathe it. A French word perfectly sums up a Montreal citizen: flaneur, a bon viveur who steadfastly refuses to take life too seriously.

Being a flaneur requires dedication: Montrealers never jog when they can stroll, never grab a burger when they can savour a boeuf bourguignon and aim to spend no less than three hours daily watching the world go by through a wine glass.

Loony Two'ns

A flaneur prides himself on his sense of humour: Mike ‘Austin Powers’ Myers, Leslie ‘Naked Gun’ Nielson and Jim ‘Why’ Carrey all hail from Canada. Even the coins in my pocket were daft. The $1 coin is called a Loony (after the loon bird on it) and their $2 a Two-ny. My $5 were Loony Two’ns.

My hotel was perfect for flaneuring. The Meridien Versailles was on elegant Sherbrooke Boulevard; breakfast was a leisurely gourmet buffet of asparagus quiche, posh cheese and chocolate torte.

I took a flaneur’s tour with Louise, of Tourisme Montreal, who had an encyclopaedic knowledge of local history and, more importantly, a bag of Montreal-style bagels baked in a wood oven with honey. We started off in the cobbled streets of the Old Town, negotiating horse drawn carriage tailbacks to Place d’Armes and the colourful Notre Dame Basilica. Like Paris, Montreal is into pop culture and spectacle, hence Canada’s Cirque du Soleil and Celine Dion.

There are off-beat festivals throughout the year. Take the Monster Hallowe’en Party from October 29 to November 1, infested with elves, vampires, sorcerers and assorted undead. For the casual sinner, World of Beer in early June offers an opportunity to conduct intensive alcohol research before the jazz festival at the end of the month. Louise took me to the daftest event of them all, a bizarre hedge festival called Mosaiculture (I suppose ‘hedges’ wouldn’t really pull then in).

Louise cruised up Mont Royal itself which turned out to be a fairly small hill, but gave excellent city views, taking in the utterly bonkers 1976 Olympic stadium,

built in the days when a Triffid attacking a turtle was the height of urban design. We ended up at the Atwater fruit and veg market on the Lachine canal. I picked my way through Atwater’s pungent speciality stores, with 450 kinds of cheese, lemon roasted almonds and essential holiday purchases such as cat deodorant.

If you have a family of flaneurs, the Biodome lets them stroll from an Amazonian climate with parrots flying around their heads to the Artic, and the Insectarium at the Botanical Garden invites a local culinary school to cook its exhibits, serving chocolate-dipped bugs. Where you or I see a reason to call Rentokil, Canadians see lunch. Back at the hotel, I briefly flaneured in front of the TV with Montreal’s signature dish, poutine - cheesy chips in barbeque sauce.

Next day I set out on foot. This was tough, as I primarily use my legs for working clutch pedals. Montrealers use theirs for rollerskating, cycling and even walking. On the corner of the main shopping street, Sainte Catherine, dozens of people were disappearing into what looked like a giant Portaloo.

It turned out to be a portal to an alternative universe. Montreal has a huge underground city with no cars, no taxis - just metro trains and 22 miles of walkways connecting 1,700 shops, 200 restaurants and even 40-odd cinemas, theatres and exhibition halls.

I drifted round very cheap Top Shop - type stores and food kiosks for ages before I realised what was missing… daylight. It felt excitingly Bladerunner, but with more emphasis on frozen yoghurt. Back on the surface, the action is in the Plateau region and the Latin Quarter which looks like the Cotswolds meets New Orleans.

On Berri Row, stone cottages were fringed with frilly iron balconies. The hip student population hangs out at the Henri Julien junction with Royal, buying cool retro clothes at shops such as Meow and eating Vietnamese, Portuguese, Indian, you name it, in cheap cafes the length of Saint Laurent Boulevard. ‘Eating is a sport here,’ says Marie Joelle from the tourist authority.

You can eat extremely well everywhere, even at hole in the wall Lebanese joints such as Café Kafka on Fairmount in the Plateau district or, my favourite, Basha on Guy. It looked like a DSS waiting room but the food was phenomenal. Plates of grilled lamb, vegetarian couscous and fresh honey pastries were just a few bucks, and Basha’s boss lovingly prepared me falafels with fresh salad for a dollar.

When Jacques Chirac came to Montreal, he made straight for Ben’s at the corner of Maisonneuve and Metcalfe. Figuring that as boss of France he probably knows about lunch, I went along. Ben’s was a classic salt beef dinner that hasn’t changed much since those first briskets arrived in the New World from Lithuania, with nothing but a dream of ending up between some rye bread.

Place des celebrities

You can imagine a very young Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon on the orange chairs, haggling at the glass cashier’s kiosk, built in front of the exit to stop you doing a runner. Check out the ‘Place des Celebrities’ at the back, with signed photos from famous satisfied beef eaters. I spurned World Famous Cheesecake for a boiled cabbage wearing a cunning beef cloak, probably invented to foil evil Tsarist cabbage rustlers. Sloshing with boiled vegetables, I staggered to the museum of comedy on Saint Laurent for light relief. It’s basically an echoing warehouse showing comedy clips from around the world. Montreal also hosts one of the best comedy festivals in the world, Just For Laughs. This 20-year-beano gives you the chance to see giants such as Jerry Seinfield or Terry Jones and Eric Idle doing their Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink routine.

The simultaneous TV and movie festival premiered South Park and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I headed for the Delta Bar where all the comedians hang out and met Arthur Smith, packing in locals for his show Arthur Smith Sings Leonard Cohen. ‘Have you ever been so bored you stopped halfway through shaving?’ drawled Arthur, adding: ‘Then you think stuff it, I’ll do the other leg tomorrow?’ he festival is worth it for such unforgettable acts as goldfish-swallowing Stevie ‘The Regurgitator’ Starr and Chris ‘Rocket Butt’ Lynam.

No relation to Des, unless Des has a little-known party trick with some baked beans and a blowtorch. Perhaps the perfect conclusion to a Montreal visit was the Just For Laughs Annual Giant Omelette Day. The Brotherhood of the Omelette (it’s a very selective admissions procedure) fries 21,000 eggs with the Federal

Co-operative of Quebec Master Cheese Makers (don’t even think about getting in).

A truly Canadian day out - a party in honour of something ludicrous you can eat - it brought thousands together. And let’s face it, if 21,000 eggs don’t bind you, nothing will.