| By Lauren Taglienti |
The Old Port of Montreal bustled with tourists, couples, families, and students from the city on a Thursday night. Some were there to take a spin on the ferris wheel, some there to see one of the closing performances of Cirque Du Soleil's Kozza, others walked with their friends toward the terrace for drinks, relishing in their cigarettes and the quiet of ducks swimming along the way. Pictures were taken, capturing the memories being made. Several blocks away, Vieux Port's Modavie jazz bar had a three-piece jazz band playing: a pianist, a saxophonist, and a drummer who doubled as the lead vocalist.
Patrons sat, sometimes casually, sometimes with piqued attention, listening to the music as they patiently nursed their glasses of red wine beside the bottle on their table. They looked around the room at the detailed ceilings and subtle columns painted a pale olive green, at the brick and stone walls, at the romantic European architecture that laid just beyond the windows, the warm light emanating from the ornate iron street lamps, the people who walked the narrow streets and sighed with delight as they peered through the restaurant window, eager to see what all the jazz was about, eager to see how others were enjoying their night, just as I was. And this perceived joy, I hope, added to the brightness of their nights, just as it did to mine.
Music sounded on: covers of "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt, "A Song for You" by Donny Hathaway, the classics, as well as some more upbeat tunes that I didn't recognize but was delighted to learn. Candles flickered on every table. Claps arose from those listening intently like myself after each song finished. Casual comments were passed in French from mother to son, husband to wife, partner to partner, and so forth in between songs. My brother, who sat across from me, shared a story about his recent travels, and we commented on the decadence of our meals, his lamb chops, my mushroom risotto, and the dessert we shared: an ice cream-filled profiterole with chocolate drizzled over it that was the size of the saxophone's bell. Nobody had anything to do for the rest of the night aside from doing exactly this: appreciating life. They ate delicious food, listened to good music, and enjoyed the company of their loved ones. Rather, we all did these things, separately yet together.
Modavie, the name of this jazz bar, separated into two words as "Moda Vie" translates to "Lifestyle" in English. And what a magnificent lifestyle it is to listen and glance at the serenity that abounds and to partake in it, to appreciate the simple things in life, to slow down.
It is this energy, the simultaneous casualness and passion for life, the pursuit of nothing but enjoying a Thursday night, the pleasure of the moment, the absoluteness of living life for the purpose of being alive, that I plan to bring home with me to New York, the ever-competitive, ever-driven city. Sometimes all I need to do on a Thursday night is to enjoy it.
Photo by Lauren Taglienti
I took this photo from my seat at our table at Modavie.
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