Are you happy at home? Or are you dreaming of moving? In the midst of a housing crisis, The Duty has called on readers’ stories, which are published over the summer. The rapid transformation of a neighborhood that becomes “trendy” can cause anxiety among longtime residents.
Walking through his childhood neighbourhood in Quebec City’s Lower Town, where he has lived most of his life, Richard Bélanger feels a pang in his heart. Small local businesses have given way to condos and “trendy” restaurants. Street redevelopment work — complete with orange cones and signs announcing “detours” and “blocked streets” — is making life difficult for residents.
What hurts the 67-year-old retiree the most is the construction of high-rise buildings in the name of “densification” – a laudable principle, but one that is changing the face of the Saint-Sauveur district, once a working-class area, which has now become an example of gentrification.
The phenomenon is well documented: Young professionals are buying up the homes of older residents. Housing prices are soaring. Taverns, barbershops and corner stores are giving way to coffee shops offering $8 chai lattes and $5 muffins.
On the corner of the street, near Richard Bélanger’s place, a trendy bistro offers quail with cherries, beets, soubise and tarragon for $28, and char, stuffed zucchini flower and virgin with bisque for $30. People come from all over Quebec to discover this gastronomic paradise. But what Mr. Bélanger loved about his neighbourhood was the draft for 30 cents at the Jos Dion tavern, when he was a student.
Young people who arrive in the neighborhood love the atmosphere, the cycle paths, the flower boxes, the places to coworking. But long-time residents are losing their bearings. What they want is a parking space on the street in front of their house. They cringe at the sight of bike lanes. And at the sight of the businesses that saw them grow up disappearing. The ice cream shop, the small auto repair shop, the Chez Suzanne snack bar, the jewelry store…
“It’s growing without thinking about people. Since last year, I’ve been asking myself the question: do I still have a place here?” says Richard Bélanger as he welcomes us onto his back balcony. As part of our call for testimonials, another reader of Duty phrased the dilemma differently: “I like my neighborhood, but my neighborhood doesn’t like me.”
“I want to leave, but where to go? The only solution I see is damn condos at $2,500 or $2,800 per month,” laments Richard Bélanger.
Ever higher
The former government employee lives on the second floor of the duplex where he was born and where he has lived most of his life. He inherited the building when his father died. The small street is a reflection of the neighborhood: a quiet corner that was once a village but is rapidly changing.
Until last year, the retiree could see the Laurentians in the distance when he had tea on his terrace. The small two-storey house behind his home, which housed women who were victims of violence, was demolished. It made way for an imposing building with 20 social housing units spread over four floors.
Gone is the view of the mountains. You can now see this grey behemoth when you sit on Richard Bélanger’s balcony. He dreads the echo that this immense façade will send back to him when his many neighbours arrive. The building, located a few metres behind his house, is still under construction. The retiree has been living with the din of the work for several months.
A stone’s throw away, on the other side of the Saint-Charles River, a “high-rise town” is growing in what used to be a vacant lot. That’s all you can see when you walk down the street along the river. No more mountains here either.
Richard Bélanger understands the value of urban densification. It’s good to group people together in a central neighbourhood to promote the development of public transit and local businesses. No need to take your car to buy a litre of milk. It’s a lot better than sacrificing farmland in the suburbs to build big single-family shacks.
In fact, densification is breaking the social fabric of the neighbourhood, deplores Richard Bélanger. He deplores the lack of transparency of elected officials, who make crucial decisions without real consultation. “There should be limits to increasing the number of people in an environment. It increases the number of social interactions, without public debate.”
Beautify the city
He still loves his neighborhood. He speaks passionately about what used to be Sacré-Coeur parish. The mobilization of young families helped save the elementary school. The Saint-Charles River, once an open-air dump, has been cleaned up. The slums have been renovated. The neighborhood, where prostitution and drug dealers reigned thirty years ago, is now safe.
Richard Bélanger knows each of the beautiful century-old houses that line the bourgeois streets of the area. He knows each of the two-story buildings lined up on either side of the concrete streets, devoid of greenery, that crisscross the area once populated by working-class families.
City officials have implemented a greening plan. To beautify the city. Eliminate heat islands. Trees will be planted along the streets. Some residents are delighted. Others are furious.
“They call it a friendly street,” says Marc Pouliot, a local resident. “They’re going to plant trees and put flower pots in front of our windows. In ten years, we won’t see outside anymore.”
He is “at his wit’s end” because of the street redevelopment work that has been going on for three years. He has trouble parking his two cars and his motorbike on the streets in the area. He is not at the end of his troubles: work has just started on rue Saint-Vallier, the main artery that crosses the neighbourhood, to make it one-way towards the west.
Once again, this project is dividing the community. Buses will now have to use quiet streets in the neighbourhood. You will have to walk four or five blocks to get to some bus stops. Not easy for the elderly. But the street will become more beautiful and “friendly”. We can imagine that young people who arrive by bike at the cafés in the area will love the new look of rue Saint-Vallier.
If he decides to move, Richard Bélanger will probably have a consolation prize: if the trend continues, his house will sell quickly. And he will get a good price.
A happy bourgeois
This type of situation is repeated in all the “gentrified” neighborhoods of Quebec: long-time residents are often overwhelmed by the scale and speed of the transformations in their neighborhood.
Others are doing just fine with the change. And they can’t believe how lucky they are to have chosen to live in a once ordinary and now highly sought-after neighbourhood. This is the case for Pierre Mondor, who has lived in La Petite-Patrie in Montreal for 35 years.
“I would no longer be able to afford to buy my house,” says this communications professor at Montmorency College in Laval.
Real estate prices have exploded in his area, near the Beaubien cinema. The housing crisis makes him appreciate even more the joy of living in a central Montreal neighbourhood, close to all services. On his terrace, on the ground floor of his triplex, the only sounds he hears are children’s laughter and birdsong.
He loves Montreal. The quality of life. The local shops. The lack of stress. But the congestion, the orange cones? “No problem, I don’t have a car,” he replies with a laugh.
He travels by public transit and by bike. Yes, at 68, Pierre Mondor cycles to work in Laval. Summer and winter, he happily travels the fifteen kilometers between his home and his job, morning and evening. Contrary to what the outpouring of hatred on social media might lead you to believe, bike paths make people happy in Montreal.