Montreal for The Romantics: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

Twenty-one storeys of the man in his fedora, painted from a photograph; stand across the street as the lights come on and hum the second verse.

Climb the ninety-nine wooden steps pilgrims take on their knees, or take the escalators, then watch the dome light up over the whole city.

A wine bar from the Joe Beef family with vegetable-led small plates and a list of natural bottles on Rue Notre-Dame; a table in the corner, a long glass and no hurry.

A landscape garden of maples on the mountain's northern flank, with winding lanes and the whole city below; Cohen's family plot is nearby, pebbles on the stone.

A 1705 governor's house with vaulted cellars, panelling shipped from Nantes and a garden at the back with herbs and benches for two.

The black-and-white tile, the bistro mirrors and the bone marrow with sea salt have not changed in decades; a table for two is a Montreal ritual.

Two ponds, a footbridge and benches where the Plateau reads; in October the maples go red and a coffee is the right companion.

The whole vault painted ultramarine and pricked with gold stars; on Sundays visitors are admitted after the service, so go in the afternoon.

The splurge: a dim room of dark wood below street level in Old Montreal, with hunting-lodge cooking and a serious wine list; book weeks ahead.

Émile Nelligan's neighbourhood: painted Victorian terraces around a fountain and a bench in the sun, with poets' houses on every side.

A French brasserie two blocks from the square, with a terrace and a short brunch menu; the croque and a flat white are worth the wait.

If you did not climb into the blue on Sunday, go now: the weekday hush, the carved pulpit and the gold stars suit a goodbye.