ON OLD TOILETS
This entry refers to my partner and I’s visit to Le Kiosque K in Carré Saint-Louis (a public park in the Montreal borough of Plateau-Mont-Royal), during a school trip to Quebec.
Early on Friday morning, we walked to the park to see it in the daylight. We had come here a few nights earlier, in the dark, and found it to be a wonderful space. Set back from the main street, the park revealed its towering maples, their leaves turned rich autumn hues. Fallen leaves were scattered along the path we walked, which was lined with benches, many already occupied by strangers. We reached the park’s fountain—a grand basin with a central spout, though no water flowed from it.
At the south end of the park stood a small building. Made of stone, it featured oddly small Corinthian columns at each corner of its octagonal form. The doors were open, and a quick look inside revealed it was a café. Though the space was cramped, customers were tucked in around the room at small folding tables and chairs. I stepped inside and ordered a coffee.
The man behind the counter turned out to be one of the owners of Le K Café. I asked how long he’d been running it. He told me he’d owned it for about a year. Before that, the café had been operated by someone else for fifteen years. Before that, it was a flower shop for a few years. And before that, it had been public toilets.
He spoke about how important the space becomes in the summer. Mornings bring hundreds of customers on their commute. There are often musicians playing, and people singing. “It is a lovely place. You must come next summer,” he said.
I paid, took my coffee outside, and sat at a table. I sketched the small structure and listened to nearby conversations, watched as dog-walkers passed by, and observed all the other people who, like me, appreciated this moment of pause within a busy city.