Back in September, I visited Montréal solo as a birthday gift to myself. Only two hours away from Chicago by plane (perhaps someday by high-speed rail), it was the perfect destination to get away and practice my French without my friends groaning.

My first stop in the airport is the transit machine - a bubbly, approachable woman my age greets me in Quebecois French, but it’s too fast for me to follow. She notices my confusion and switches to English, offering me her bus pass to the city. Of course, I oblige. I never considered not taking the bus to my hotel. I have always told friends - you are not a true resident of a city until you can navigate the transit system.

My hotel is a two-minute walk from Berri-UQAM metro station, aptly named for its proximity to L’Université du Québec à Montréal. My room looks off of a pedestrian street - an initiative started in 2021 to reclaim streets for people, installing planters, benches and vibrant road art. I am delighted by all this. I chose this city precisely to geek out over its people-first infrastructure, and this is research best done on the ground. The famous bagels and smoked meat from Schwartz deli were only a secondary part of this temptation.

Most notably, renting a bike to traverse the city is effortless - fully protected bike lanes connect each neighborhood. On the second day, I pick up a Bixi bike to visit La Fontaine Park and Ma Poule Mouille for my first taste of poutine. (Okay, I understand the hype now). On my way to the destination, my eyes scan the unfamiliar territory. I can’t believe that I can experience European-style urbanism just a short jaunt away from Chicago. Because bike lane paint and concrete are unmarred and trees lining the streets are still juvenile, one thing is clear, however: this is a city actively renewing itself.

La Fontaine Park is adjacent to an elementary school, and at 2 pm, the sidewalks are full of giggling students hand-in-hand with their parents, skipping and pointing out fluffy dogs. My rental bike slows at a red light - I find myself behind a father and his two children pedaling home from a long day at school, backpacks swaying. The elder sibling leads the way with blue streamers on her handlebars and silver stars on her helmet - she clearly knows the route home by heart.

As I weave around the city on foot, popping into small shops selling vegan pastries or trying some locally-harvested maple syrup, my mind settles. This is how everyday life is meant to be: relaxed and connected to an urban landscape at peace with itself. It makes me wonder why my own city can’t be this way too.

Back home, pushback to this idea is always the same. We cannot slow down cars. We cannot improve sidewalk conditions. We cannot keep children safe. Cannot cannot cannot. Yet time and time again, cities such as Montréal prove that these “cannots” standing in the way of progress are questions of cowardice, not feasibility. Here, children can walk to school independently, fall off their bikes without major consequences, and breathe fresh air every day. This city reshaped my belief in the necessity of safe streets and radicalized me to demand more from American neighborhoods.

What if we stop asking ourselves why we can’t and start asking ourselves how we can?

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