by KRISTIAN GRAVENOR

The news of somebody earning a buck normally merits my fiercest denunciation. ’Tis easier for a donkey to get through a metro turnstile than for a rich man to get into the heaven of praise in this column. But for the past decade many Montrealers—two-thirds of us, to be precise—have shown a serious lack of faith in this sumptuous island city. Our low opinion of this town kept us with suitcase packed and shoes ready near the door. Somebody else’s door, that is. Those who believed enough in this town to buy a chunk of it are now reaping some serious cash rewards.

When prices were low, Montrealers of little faith preferred to play the lunatic stock market high-tech Internet schemes rather than buy land. Tsk-tsk. Suddenly, these same people whose money was too good for this place are desperately shaking their money at any home that hits the market.

But damn, they’re the same houses. It’s the same city. Same government. So other than the lower interest rates, why are we clamouring to buy what we shunned just a few moons ago?

One of the reasons is that small towns are emptying fast. A century ago, most Canadians lived in quaint country villages, but now four of five live in big cities, according to the most recent census. Back then, Quebec villages were wholesome bastions of public virtue. Until the ’70s, Montreal was a cesspool of lead fumes, psychotic murderers, spewing industrial smokestacks and even anglos. Now our small towns have been reduced to a series of dilapidated malls on highways. Meanwhile, the city has become a gleaming, shining pretty pearl in a box of pleasures and delights.

Real estate manager Michael Warren says that banlieusards are also contributing to Montreal’s seismic real estate revolution, noting that off-island bridge refugees are hustling back to the city. “I spend an hour getting to work in the morning and an hour going home. It’s exhausting, dangerous and time consuming,” he says. “People don’t want to do that anymore.” While some Montreal businesses are relocating to off-island sites, he reckons that far more off-island dwellers are relocating to the city.

House appraiser Andy Dodge says that the cocooning spirit has hit like an asteroid on the mountain. “People are spending a lot of money on houses now. They want to tuck in, they don’t want to go out and travel and do other things.”

“Twenty years ago in St-Henri, you couldn’t give property away,” says David Farber, another local real estate brain. “Owners were leaving apartments empty because they figured the only tenants they could get would damage the property. Now lots of people want to live in the city core, so those areas near downtown have seen a tremendous increase in property value.” He notes that home prices go up with every government statement assuring the public that no referendum on sovereignty is peeking through the hedges.

According to legend, Shafter Properties was pioneered by a patriarch who bought one property per downtown block, knowing that he’d be able to squeeze a succession of big developers who wanted to re-do the city core. His grandson Sheldon Shafter denies the tale, but still recommends “as close to downtown as possible.” Shafter, like others, says that the high prices are here to say. Some consolation to those attached to the inexpensive version of this city. “Montreal is still cheap,” he says. “If you don’t think so, then check out Toronto.”

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People, beware car radios. First it was those damn traffic announcers constantly begging for traffic tips, instructing us to “pound 789.” I pounded all right, and wrecked my phone. Then stations started playing a pop song by that Iglesias fellow who keeps repeating, “Don’t turn out the lights.” I must have left my car lights on a dozen times since that song came out. Can’t call CAA to boost my drained battery either, the cell phone is pounded to bits. :

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