In the past, when he heard that I was going to Montreal, Dmitry Feld would ask me to get him a dozen Fairmont Bagels. Montreal is known for its wood-fired bagels, which are thinner than the puffed-up versions sold in the U.S. and consistently ranked higher than anything from New York City.

In Montreal, people tend to be divided into two camps: those baked by St-Viateur, established in 1957, and those by Fairmount Bagel, established in 1919. Both are located in the Plateau, a few blocks apart. Both stores create hand-rolled, wood-fired bagels that are smaller, denser, and a touch sweeter than New York bagels. Of the two, Fairmount’s are slightly thinner and denser, come in a far greater variety and have reached the International Space Station.

What would have excited Dimitry is that Fairmount, not one to embrace change, has opened a bagel coffee shop across the street where people can enjoy coffee infused drinks with a plain or toasted bagel, loaded with a wide range of toppings after purchasing bagels to take home at the tiny shop across the street that sells approximately 12,000 in a 24-hour work day.

On the same block, I got a haircut at Hollywood Barbershop, which has been around since the 1960s and is now led by the Lebanese-Canadian barber Ralph Bou Jaoude, who took over in 2024 and kicked its reputation up a notch. I plopped down in one of their vintage Koken chairs for a cut by Jordi, a French-born artist, graphic designer and hairstylist who got his start in the film industry, and has worked in France and London, and now calls Montreal home.

Jordi has been cutting hair for 15 years, prefers St-Viateur bagels and finds Montreal and Canada very safe places to live, including for single women. He does at times find Québec French a bit of a challenge, especially when out in rural areas of the province, and while justly proud of French bread, finds Montreal bread more interesting because it’s been influenced by so many cultures.

Following my haircut, I spent an hour with a friend, and an additional half hour with he and his wife. My friend Felix, who has two children from a former marriage, was taken off chemo the day before and told he has, at best, three months to live.

Felix is a gifted journalist, political pundit, musician, songwriter, and house painter. A couple of years ago, he and his wife acquired a run-down first-floor Mile End flat off Fairmount, and brought it back to life. They gutted the place and replaced just about everything, adding a lovely vest-pocket sauna on their newly renovated back porch. They were just starting to enjoy the results of that effort when they got the news, about six months ago, that Felix had terminal cancer; one of those take-your-breath-away diagnoses. Such a heartbreak for them and their loved ones and friends.

As you can appreciate, with the passing of Nathan Farb and Jimmy Tolkan, this has not been an easy week. They both had full, rich lives, while for Felix and his family, it’s a life cut short. I was grateful that Renee’s longtime family friend, the Rev. John Graham, had invited us to the Good Friday Celebration of the Lord’s Passion, which he was leading at St. George’s Anglican Church, held that same afternoon.

The Neo-Gothic St. George, based on 13th-century architecture and designated a National Historic Site in 1970, opened its doors in 1870. The vaulting hammer-beamed roof supports a space second only in size to Westminster Hall. The richly carved woodwork, darkened with age, and the luminous stained glass, coupled with its remarkable acoustics, provided both an intimate and a caring space for the service and Rev. Graham’s reflection.

He began by saying that we stand at the cross, a moment that’s uncomfortable because it “forces us to look honestly at suffering, violence, injustice, and loss ­– not in theory, but in our lived humanity.” He also said, “The cross reveals how easily human fear and power combine into cruelty,” and the “forces that crucified Jesus are not ancient history. They live whenever fear overrides compassion, power overrides truth, and people are reduced to problems instead of being recognized as beloved.”

Rev. Graham urged us not to ignore the message and opportunity that Good Friday provides in our rush to celebrate Easter. He said that to become a truly integrated person, we must look at ourselves deeply, our most inner selves — the things we are still working on, not just those aspects that are most laudable. Many people I know who have cancer said that while they would not wish it on anybody, it has caused them to look inward, discover what’s truly most important, and then focus their energies thereto.

One the way to Renee’s home we stopped at SamiFruits, a place of abundance in Lasalle, Montreal’s southern-most and culturally rich neighborhood, with 45 percent of its residents members of a minority group or culture; a very family-friendly district filled with a United Nations of restaurants.

Imagine Price Chopper or a Hannafords selling primarily tropical fruits and vegetables along with cheese and milk products, a wide variety of nuts, dried fruits. Imagine those supermarkets filled with small mountains of brightly colored fruit and leafy vegetables eatured in open-air coolers running the length of the building. The prices, unsurprisingly, are extremely reasonable, cheap compared to U.S. prices, better than Aldi’s.

Our day ended with an evening stroll along the St-Anne-de-Bellevue canal’s 1843 locks that connect Lakes Saint Louise with Lake Deux-Montagnes, where we met Jean-Marc Lavioe, an engaging older gentleman cleaning the edges of the walkways with a stiff broom. Our meandering conversation wrapped up with the impact that three beaver families had on a heretofore dead Scottish river, and his son’s once marvelous way of using a dead beaver, found in the canal, to avoid and ace a dreaded high school report on the industrious dam-building rodents.

With all that, I went to bed wondering what the next day would bring; it didn’t disappoint.

(Naj Wikoff of Keene Valley has been writing for the News since 2005.)