If you ask me, Quebec is Canada's sexiest province. I'm from B.C., which is objectively the country's most basic b*tch province, and Ontario is the most Kendall-Roy-From-Succession province — but we don't have time to unpack that right now.
What I will say is that Quebec has always had a bit of mystique to me. As someone who grew up in English-speaking Canada, it's one of those places you hear about constantly — the French-adjacent culture, the iconic food, the Montreal nightlife — but actually experiencing it feels like a different story.
The first time I went to Montreal was on the classic sixth-grade "Quebec trip," which was essentially a Holiday Inn lobby tour with a quick stop at the Old Port and the McGill gift shop. The real highlight? Tween love triangles with full Bravo-level drama.
I did go back a few times in my early 20s, but those trips were… not exactly educational. I didn't draw a single sober breath from YVR to YUL and back, so I'm not counting that as cultural immersion.
Recently, though, I went back as a sober adult with an actual job, visiting our Montreal office for the first time. I took on recommendations from friends who'd lived there, drank espresso at Café Olimpico, had one of the best breakfasts of my life at Larry's, and spent way too long in Librairie Drawn & Quarterly.
And yes — I had a great time. But I also showed up with embarrassingly limited French.
Here are five things I learned very quickly while navigating Montreal as someone who definitely should have practiced more than just "bonjour-hi!"
You won't remember French 9 as well as you expected to
In fact, you won't remember it at all.
This one is specifically for Canadians, because we all vividly remember being forced to take French until high school — and yet somehow retained absolutely none of the information from that time. Other than, maybe, who was making out with who at Steven Glansberg's Halloween party. (Spoiler: not me.)
No matter how long you avoid it, you will end up in a situation where you need to speak French in Quebec — and when that moment comes, you'll be shocked by how completely useless the words you do remember are.
"Jambon."
"Poubelle."
"Concombre."
Great vocabulary. Zero practical application.
You'll be standing there, trying to ask for directions, and your brain offers you… "ham," "trash can," and "cucumber."
Not helpful.
Mentally prepare yourself for the fact that if you got a B or lower in French 9, no one is coming to save you — except maybe Google Translate.
And that's usually the exact moment you think, "Okay, I'll just try to learn a bit while I'm here..."
Do not try to "learn the language" mid-trip
Let me be real: don't go on a trip to Quebec thinking, "I might try to learn some French" on the fly. That plan won't last five minutes.
There's nothing more humbling than standing at a busy café counter, rehearsing a sentence in your head, only to completely panic and forget how vowels work the second it's your turn.
And listen — I respect anyone genuinely trying to learn the language. That's not what this is about.
This is about the very specific moment where you're holding up a line of 12 people, trying to order "un croissant" like you're in Emily in Paris, and the barista has to politely wait while you workshop your Duolingo streak in real time.
Plus, Montreal will humble you quickly. Not because people are rude — the opposite, actually. Most helpful locals will just switch to English without missing a beat if you're struggling anyway (Most... more on that to come).
What I learned is that you don't need to be fluent — or even close. But acknowledging the language does matter.
A simple "bonjour" before switching to English goes further than you'd expect.
Even just asking, "Hi, is it okay if I order in English?" felt like the baseline of politeness — and every single time, people were kind about it.
You're going to think this is your time to FINALLY become fluent (it's not)
After a couple of days in Montreal — after the cafés, the bookstores, the feeling like you're suddenly a much more interesting version of yourself — you're going to have a moment.
You'll think: Okay, I'm actually going to learn French fluently.
It's the same energy as someone coming back from a semester abroad in Tokyo and immediately ordering wooden sandals to their dorm room. For you, it's downloading Duolingo (again), but this time, with full conviction.
And to be fair, some people actually follow through on that. This is not about them.
This is about the rest of us.
You will feel so confident in your newfound commitment to language that you'll briefly consider paying for the yearly subscription, as if it's a long-term personality trait.
It's not.
You probably won't learn French this way. Do you know how I know? Because if you were, you would have already done it.
This is a general life rule. I once had a very wise drama teacher tell me, "I want" actually means "I won't." And just like when he told me my features were being lost in my lifeless, balayage hair with dated layers — he was right.
"I want to learn French" is one of those phrases.
Let that sit with you.
The accents will get you — and you need to be prepared for that
I'm just going to say it: the Quebec accents will work their magic on you as a non-French speaker.
There is a very specific type of Montreal man — usually DJing on a Tuesday night, possibly playing vinyl — who will have you convinced there is something deeply old-world and romantic going on between the two of you.
There is not.
He is just a modern man with an extremely charming accent.
The more architecturally advanced his facial hair is, the dirtier he WILL do you.
You will think this is different. That this feels European. That maybe, just maybe, this is your moment.
It's not.
And listen — I could tell you to leave him to the streets. But you won't.
Some lessons are experiential.
Some people will pretend they can't speak English (they can)
At some point, you're going to be struggling through an interaction, thinking, "There's no way this person speaks English."
And sometimes… that's true.
But other times, you'll walk two steps away and hear them turn to their coworker and switch to perfect English, as if they've been hiding it from you specifically.
It's not personal — but it will feel personal.
What I realized pretty quickly is that it's less about ability and more about approach. If you come in assuming English is the default, you might get a colder response. Open with a quick "bonjour," and suddenly everyone's a lot more helpful.
Same person. Same situation. Completely different outcome.
So yes — there will be moments where people feel a bit… selective.
But most of the time, it's not that they can't help you.
It's that you didn't quite meet them where they were first.
This article was originally published on MTLBlog.com
The views expressed in this Opinion article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
