Montréal, Day One

The grand clock face of Toronto's Union Station mocked me with its punctuality. It was departure time for Montréal, and my backpack, heavier than usual with the weight of a weekend escape, felt glued to my shoulders. This wasn't any ordinary train trip. We, being myself and my travel buddy, had opted for the cheapest train tickets available. Escape, they called it, cheaper than economy class. We argued that being thrifty was actually an exciting adventure.

We walked down the platform stairs, anticipation bubbling in our chests. Rows of shiny VIA Rail carriages greeted us. A wave of satisfaction washed over me — even the budget option looked decent. Until, that is, we reached the very end of the line.

Our carriage stood there, nestled like the forgotten sibling. Its paint, once a vibrant blue, had dulled to a patchy turquoise. Dents, like battle scars from countless journeys, decorated its metallic sides. The excitement calmed down a notch, replaced by a hesitant smile.

"Well," I chimed, voice laced with amusement, "at least it has character."

And I was right. This wasn't the spotless perfection of a high-speed bullet train. This was a seasoned traveller, a vessel that had carried countless stories within its worn walls. Maybe this was exactly what our budget adventure needed — a touch of the unexpected. With the optimistic mind, we stepped onto the train, ready to see where the rails, and this slightly worse for wear carriage, would take us.

The roar of the locomotive's engine pulls these steel carriages slowly forward, runs aside the GO Train. We gazed out the window, watching the train passes through the familiar cityscape of Toronto, melt into a blur of green fields and distant houses.

A jolt of excitement shot through me. Montreal, with its cobblestone streets and charming cafes, awaited. The once-blurry landscape sharpened into focus, revealing the outskirts of Montreal.

People began filing towards the carriage doors. With a final clatter and a hiss, the train pulled to a halt in Montreal's Central Station, or Gare Centrale. The doors whooshed open, the platform is underground in the harsh glare of the artificial lighting. We shouldered our backpacks and plunged into the throng of arriving passengers, walked up the stairs from the platform into the station.

Gare Centrale, acting as the city's hub, connects to the many veins of transport networks. VIA Rail Canada, AMTRAK, STM, EXO, and the latest automated self-driving light rail line, REM. We booked a little B&B in Brassard at an affordable CA$40 per night, just in time to experience this REM route.

The air was fresh, with a gentle breeze, and the sky slowly began to drizzle, which gradually became heavier after we settled in at Brassard.

We stepped out of the stylish, modern REM station into the Montreal afternoon. The air was filled with a moist scent, refreshing and different from the cold on the train. The excitement of being in a new place buzzed in our veins, urging us to explore. We set off without a clear destination, fuelled only by our desire for the city.

The Old Port of Montreal feels like a walk through time. Your feet crunch on bumpy cobblestones, worn smooth by years of footsteps. Old brick buildings line with the water. Salty air whips your face as you watch the boats bob in the harbour. Cafes with colourful awnings spill onto the street, and street performers add their music to the mix. It's a place where the past and present rub shoulders, a walkable mix of history and fun.

Our rumbling stomachs finally steered us towards a Montreal institution – Schwartz's Deli. The line snaked outside the door, a testament to the legendary smoked meat piled high on rye bread. We joined the line, the anticipation building with each inch forward.

The wait was not insignificant, but part of the experience. Finally, we stepped through the door, greeted by the warm aroma of smoked meat and the friendly staff.

I had some difficulty understanding the menu so I asked for recommendations instead — smoked meat was the star, with variations on portion size and the addition of golden-capped canned coke (a must, in my opinion). I opted for the classic — a mountain of tender, perfectly seasoned meat piled high on rye bread. The first bite was a revelation. The meat practically melted in your mouth, bursting with flavor that didn't need any fancy accompaniments.

And yes, the golden-capped Coke can wasn't just for show. It felt...different. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the company, but that Coke tasted a whole lot more refreshing than usual.

By the time we finished our meal, we were utterly satisfied. Sure, it wasn't fancy, but Schwartz's offered a taste of Montreal history and a whole lot of deliciousness. It was a must-do experience, worth every minute of the wait and every penny spent.

Our Montreal adventure was off to a rattling good start. The city stretched before us, charming cafes, and the promise of more delicious discoveries. This was just the beginning...