Travel: Montreal

My Leonard Cohen dreams were all music: Cohen suspended above a gulch through which a river flowed while he crooned his ballad Suzanne, its sound distorted, interrupted by a backing trio of nuns. Leonard flew to them, switching the words into French. But this wasn't France.

Somehow I knew it was Montreal, and I wanted to go there. When I mentioned this to my wife, she shook her head and said, "It's late-onset mid-life crisis." Pah, I thought, and went anyway, to search for the Montreal places Cohen had written about in his songs. Once there, I discovered that in the city of his birth nobody remembered him.

Now, 10 years later, on the brink of Cohen's 80th birthday, and with a decade of resurgence to his credit - new albums, new fans, new acclaimed world tours - I am back on his beat, even more curious to discover his stamping grounds, above all to explore the reasons why Montreal is one of the world's most irresistibly vibrant cities. The easy option would be to jump on a join-the-dots tour on one of the many open-topped buses.

Look at it this way: if singers have albums, so too have cities. The guided tours (if you're in a hurry, take the chance) will deliver you Montreal's greatest hits - Old Montreal, which in its entirety is a world heritage site, the Notre Dame Basilica, Ste Catherine's Street (the city's east-west axis) with its rash of great museums, its big-bucks shopping, dining and churches.

You will be sped to St Joseph's Oratory, situated atop Mont-Royal Park from which the views of the downtown city, the old port and the great, encircling St Lawrence River are a scenic wow. Seen at its best on a sunny evening, light gleaming off spires and domes, you understand why Cohen called Montreal "the shining Jerusalem of the north".

If you have two or three days, buy tickets to the buses and metro. My wallet is stuffed with them as I hop from my Old Town hotel, the Auberge Napoleon, full of genuine Gallic character and comforts, and hit the cobbled, twisting streets off Rue St Paul. In terms of history and romance, the Old Town justifies its full five-kisses rating. Crusty old couples who barely speak to each other are suddenly holding hands here. Beneath window-box colour and antique gas lamps, you can almost feel the intimacy, and, in the afternoon heat, I hear a distant accordion tune drifting on the breeze that wafts from the river.

For those in ignorance, Leonard Cohen's most famous, most played, most plangent song - written and set in Montreal - begins: "Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river," shifting focus then to seduce you with: "Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water, and he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower … forsaken, almost human." Leonard did misery with knobs on.

I imagine his brooding 1950s spectre hunched laconically in a doorway in Rue Francois-Xavier or mooching in Place Royale where Suzanne had rooms above the Auberge de la Place Royale. Half a mile east along the waterfront is the tower, crying out to be climbed once my jet-lag has abated.

Today, I begin at the central Place d'Armes, peopled with statues - satirical sculptures of a modern French madame and an English gentleman, ignoring one another, representing the cultural fault line on which Montreal stands. In the centre of the square stands the cavalier figure of Maisonneuve, the founder of the city who, in 1642, established a mission here to bring Jesus to the native Iroquois tribes.

Directly facing him is the Notre Dame Basilica, opened in 1829 and designed by a New York Irish Protestant, James O'Donnell, who created a theatrical interior with balconies, stalls and a star-spangled ceiling. It seems fitting that its latest claim to fame is as the rather garish setting for Celine Dion's five-star wedding.

The whiff of horse manure (entirely coincidental) wafts through the precinct, a gift from the animals hauling tourists in fancy carriages ($40 per half-hour). I head for the downtown end of Boulevard St Laurent.

Running south to north, it is known as the Main, and roughly divides the city (French spoken mostly to the east, English more widely in the west). I spend a whole day here, taking the bus (No 55), cruising due north to Little Italy and Montreal's Marche Jean-Talon, packed with just-picked produce (lots of free samples), piquant scents and ranks of delis and cafe-restaurants.

From Little Italy (shoe shops, coffee aromas, stereotypical silver-haired guys with moustaches looking like Marlon Brando's cousins), I stroll the glorious length of the Boulevard, back towards the distant, glassy high-rise, savouring every nuance and shift of its multicultural tastes and leanings.

To even scratch the rich patina of what makes Montreal really tick, you have to come here - where trendy meets seedy, chic meets cool, where the latest immigrants and the oldest have planted their turf.

The Jewish quarter, reached in just over an hour, is a treasure trove for Cohen fans. Beside Parc du Portugal, in the middle of Rue Vallieres, stands the house where he stays when he comes to town. Across the Boulevard is Bagel Etc, his morning coffee hideaway. I have lunch there. On the walls, beneath the smoked ceiling, hang pictures of Leonard, with framed and signed albums. Across the street, in Schwartz's deli, are the tables where the would-be poet sat late at night composing verses as a student.

Schwartz's is a Montreal institution. Celebrities visit to get their photos on the walls: Tina Turner, Halle Berry and, most recently, Ryan Gosling. Punters queue around the block to claim a seat, and a 12-slice sandwich of smoked beef with pickle and fries. Go in late morning or late afternoon to miss the rush. A consortium including Celine Dion recently bought the joint for a rumoured CAN$6 million.

Across the road is Schwartz's rival, The Main. It carries a newspaper cutting of Cohen under the headline "I'm Your Main Man!" - alluding to one of his biggest hits. The Main is for purists. I plan to make it my spot for dinner (no queues in sight). Or, on second thoughts, I might go to Moishe's, "the finest steakhouse in the city" I've been told (book a table from 10pm for a cut-price deal).

Heading towards town through the afternoon rush, it seems the whole planet has taken root here. Cuisines from Afghanistan, Burma, Portugal, Bangladesh, Hungary, Greece, past the Irish pub (there had to be one), sniffing stir fry, letting the taste buds cry with joy as I stop for shish kebab with sauce (to keep me going).

Progress is slowed as I riffle in bookshops and browse at music stores, passing the windows of dozens of garment shops, florists, frippery joints, coming finally to the strip bars. I'm now within sight of the Chinese pagoda towers and decorated arches that mark the borderland of downtown.

Having gone native, I decide the next day to find my inner tourist. I take a taxi to the top of Mont Royale then walk down through Westmount, leafy and wealthy, Montreal's prettiest sylvan suburb. It's where Cohen grew up, at the end of Belmont Avenue. Clandestinely, I take a snap of his house, then turn towards Rue Sherbrooke, heading east towards McGill University, Canada's citadel of Ivy League aspiration. I talk to students on the lawn, munching hotdogs bought from the food trucks on campus. Sabine, 21, who is studying literature, tells me: "He's cool" (meaning Monsieur Cohen). "My girlfriends love his latest songs. His older stuff too. He's a singing lizard."

On Ste Catherine Street, where I lunch at Bistro Le Balmoral, I visit the Museum of the Montreal Jazz Festival, where there's a must-see display of Cohen memorabilia, including his guitar and famous fedora. Then I give Cohen a rest until nightfall.

The Old Town is magical after dark. Floodlit statues come alive. The cobbles are drenched with light from galleries and restaurants, doors and windows flung open wide. From the shadows of the Chapelle-Notre-Dame-de-Bonsecours along Rue St Paul, I hear from a distant window a woman singing "Every time we say goodbye, I cry a little." The melancholy blots out the pizzazz; light and darkness seem in cahoots. Above the chapel of Bonsecours, the Sailors' Church, stands the "lonely wooden tower" of Cohen's song. I gaze up at it, and promise that before I leave I will climb its 92 steps to the observation deck, and there, flanked by the angels that stand beneath the arms of the outstretched Jesus, I'll crack open a small bottle of local cider-wine and toast the old balladeer. Happy birthday Monsieur Cohen.

TRAVEL NOTES

Getting there

Canadian Affair (www.canadianaffair.com, 0141 223 7517) has return flights with Air Transat from London Gatwick to Montreal from £378. Easyjet (www.easyjet.com ) flies daily to Gatwick from Glasgow (return from £75) and Edinburgh (return from £68).

Where to stay

Auberge Bonaparte is perfect for sightseeing in the Old Town. En-suite rooms with breakfast from £110 per night. Visit www.bonaparte.com.

Where to eat

Bistro Le Balmoral, 305 Ste-Catherine Street West. Mains from £8. Schwartz's Deli/The Main, Boulevard St Laurent. Mains from £7. Bagel Etc, Boulevard St Laurent (from £6).

What to see

Sailors' Church (www.marguerite-bourgeoys.com)museum and tower, adults £5.50. Montreal Jazz Fest Museum (above Bistro Le Balmoral). Free.

Other information

For free brochures and advice call Tourism Quebec on 0800 051 7055, 3pm-10pm, or visit www.quebecoriginal.com.