A travel guide that starts by telling you not to use it in the shower... you can immediately tell you're not in a typical Petit Futé.
A travel guide that starts by telling you not to use it in the shower... you can immediately tell you're not in a typical Petit Futé.
The Survival Guide for Europeans in Montreal is part of the Ulysse Travel Guides collection, a Montreal-based publisher known primarily for its serious tomes on Quebec, Italy, or walking tours of Old Montreal. However, here we are far from the usual seriousness of the collection, even though the work has been produced with the same editorial care (under the direction of Claude Morneau, with graphic design by Pascal Biet).
What strikes you right away is the note to readers itself, classic for a Ulysse guide (addresses that change, prices that fluctuate, the publisher disclaiming responsibility) but followed by a warning that is not at all typical. You immediately sense that you have a unique object in this collection, neither quite a practical guide nor quite a humor book.
The author presents himself as a "European survivor for over a decade," settled in Montreal where he claims to have "sacrificed himself to the beauty of Montreal women, the purity of winter, bagels, and the sweetness of life in the Beautiful Province." The tone is set right from the biographical notice, and it will not let go of the reader.
Mansion is not a passing tourist who would have written a guide after three weeks on site. He has also written The Hidden Treasures of French in America, Chibougamau, Last Freedom, and Mistissini, Land of the Cree, which makes him a true specialist of deep Quebec, not just the Plateau Mont-Royal and its hot bagels.
The idea of the book is simple on paper: to guide the newly arrived European through the linguistic, administrative, climatic, and social pitfalls of their new life in Montreal. Each chapter opens with a section titled "Freshly Arrived...", dedicated to someone close to the author, as a personal nod before diving into the heart of the matter.
It covers everything an immigrant must face: understanding that "breuvage" means drink, that "job" has changed gender upon crossing the Atlantic, or that saying thank you while shaking your head negatively will earn you a second poutine that you didn't want. The promise is clearly to spare you from this kind of mishap.
Before even getting to the heart of the matter, the author slips in a completely absurd warning stating that this guide "is not suitable for children who cannot read" and that it should definitely not be used "as protection against tornadoes, as prevention against hemorrhoids, or even as a pregnancy test."
It's a detail, but it's a telling detail. From the very first pages, you understand that you won't be reading a guide in the classic sense, but something between a travel guide pastiche and written stand-up comedy. Either it makes you smile right away, or it annoys you from the start, but in both cases, you know what to expect for the next 250 pages.
The book is divided into easily identifiable thematic chapters: language and lexicons, cannabis and its legalization, the Catholic religion and its strange disappearance from mindsets, tourism, commercial scams, life without money in Montreal, the cottage, sports, school, culture. Each chapter alternates between a narrative text signed by Mansion (often addressed to a friend specifically named) and a "Survival Lesson" section filled with addresses, numbers, and useful links.
This double-layered construction works quite well: the literary text sets the mood and emotion (homesickness, culture shock, tender irony towards Quebecers), while the "Survival Lesson" brings in concrete details, phone numbers, websites, and specific addresses. Thus, one moves from an emigration novel to a practical directory within the span of a page, which is disorienting at first but quickly becomes an enjoyable reading rhythm.
The practical guide aspect is not just a superficial layer: Mansion cites real, verifiable addresses, complete with phone numbers and websites, for nearly every imaginable need. You can find the Ulysse Bookstore itself (4176 St-Denis Street) as well as independent stores like Le Port de tête or Gallimard Montréal, record shops like Beatnick or Phonopolis, and even places for "without a dime (or almost)" like the café l'Itinéraire or the Renaissance liquidation center where you can buy clothes by the pound.
There are also very concrete recommendations on housing (Airbnb and mandatory establishment number), insurance, collection agencies (which can only call you between 8 AM and 8 PM), and the Juripop legal clinic for those who cannot afford to defend themselves. This is clearly not just a book for laughs; it is also a real landing tool.
The chapter that best summarizes the spirit of the book is undoubtedly the one titled "43 Hilarious Facts When You Arrive from Europe," a numbered list that randomly enumerates absurd details of daily life in Montreal. For example, we learn that bus drivers never give change, that "Bring Your Own Wine" means the restaurant doesn't have a license to sell it, or that a 1-dollar bill can cost 4 dollars because of collectors.
Some pieces of information deliberately respond to each other in an absurd cascade, such as those about the (non)free nature of phone calls depending on the zones, numbered from 7 to 10, ultimately concluding that "the free nature of the phone has nothing to do with the zone." This is typically the kind of passage you read aloud to someone in the next room.
The linguistic part is undoubtedly the richest in the book, featuring no less than three glossaries (Quebec-French, common expressions, French-Quebec) that dissect words like "magasiner," "pogner," "flabergasté," or the famous "tabarnak," soberly translated as "motherfucker." The author also has fun with interjections ("ayoye," "ouache," "opelaï") and untranslatable expressions like "m'am starter un bill."
But Mansion never mocks Quebec French without returning the favor to the French: for example, he reminds us that it is believed "all of France used to speak like Quebec does today," and that it would be "more useful for the French to learn to speak English than to criticize the French of others." This reciprocity prevents the book from falling into easy French bashing.
What I really liked is that the humor is never gratuitous; it systematically serves to lighten topics that could be painful for a newly arrived immigrant: the lack of money, homesickness, the incomprehensible bureaucracy. The passage about airlines "treating us like fools by offering 15 different prices for the same seat" is a delightfully self-aware display of bad faith and well-crafted sarcasm.
Even the most serious subjects are filtered through a comedic lens, like this remark about hockey that intentionally digresses into a discussion about chicken wings and 10th-century Russian bandy before returning, three paragraphs later, to the original topic. You can sense an author who enjoys writing as much as making people laugh, and that comes through in the reading.
Beneath the layer of jokes, there is real documentary work. The chapter on cannabis legalization precisely details the allowed thresholds (30 grams in public, four plants per residence), the differences between provinces, and the consequences for a criminal record when traveling to the United States. The one on education clearly explains the difference between CEGEP, bachelor's degree, and master's degree, with an equivalency chart between Europe and Quebec that will be helpful to any immigrant parent.
Even the most offbeat sections, like the "Guide to Depression in Montreal" or the list of support associations (ranging from the Quebec Association of Timid People to Overeaters Anonymous), provide real functional phone numbers. This book can clearly be used in daily life, not just read once for a laugh.
The downside of this diptych construction of text/survival lesson is that the whole sometimes lacks a clear hierarchy. We move from a very personal account of the disappearance of Indigenous women (with chilling statistics from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police) to a joke about beavers being "sucked by ducks" within a few pages, without any transition that truly prepares for this wide tonal gap.
Some "Survival Lesson" sections resemble thematic catch-alls where we encounter a mix of museum addresses, official statistics, and author jokes, without always understanding the logic behind the organization. This is not problematic in itself, but it requires accepting to read this book in a piecemeal fashion rather than from beginning to end while seeking a logical progression.
Mansion's highly referenced and sometimes provocative humor (the remarks about wearing a Sikh turban, the removal of yoga classes in Ottawa for cultural appropriation, or about the Catholic Church) may not be received the same way everywhere. The reader who is looking for a sober practical guide might be surprised, even annoyed, by these engaged digressions and the biting irony that is distilled on every page.
Similarly, the very conversational style, full of addresses to friends named at the beginning of chapters ("To Anna," "To Jérôme, Laurent, Anaïs..."), gives it a diary-like quality that may confuse those expecting a more neutral and universal work, the kind to consult coldly to find an address without having to deal with all the personal context surrounding it.
Among the 21 unforgettable experiences listed by the author, there is one that I cannot fail to mention: "Attracting a raccoon into your apartment. Just leave the windows open and put cat food in dirty plates. They will demolish everything, and they won't do the dishes, it's charming." This is typically the kind of sentence that sums up the spirit of the book in three lines.
Another delightful moment is the definition of the word that symbolizes the Montreal rite of passage: "Saying 'Tabarnak!' when falling into a pothole. The day that happens to you, you will be Montrealer..." I think this captures the best punchline of the entire book, summarizing everything it tries to convey about integration.
This guide primarily targets Europeans who are settling or considering settling in Montreal, whether they come from France, Belgium, or Switzerland. In fact, the book dedicates specific pages to "Quebec in France," "Quebec in Belgium," and "Quebec in Switzerland," with local addresses in each country. However, it also works very well for curious travelers looking for a different in-flight read than a traditional guide.
Quebecers themselves are not excluded from the intended audience: several passages explicitly play on the external perspective of their own shortcomings, and it is highly likely that a Montreal reader will enjoy this affectionate self-deprecation of their own culture just as much, if not more, than a European would.
In the end, the Survival Guide for Europeans in Montreal holds a rare promise in the landscape of travel guides: to make you laugh while being genuinely useful, with addresses, numbers, and administrative explanations that are reliable. It's a book to nibble on rather than read in one go, and that's both its strength and its limitation.
I recommend it without hesitation to anyone preparing for an expatriation to Montreal or simply wanting to understand why their Quebecois friend said "çô lô" without ever saying no to their face. However, if you're looking for a sober and perfectly structured guide, look elsewhere; that is clearly not Mansion's objective. For everyone else, it's a hilarious travel companion, to be enjoyed with the perspective and self-deprecation it deserves.
Author Audrey on 12 February 2013
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