I’ve learned that when people say they want to visit Canada in winter, what they usually mean is pictures. Snow on rooftops. Snowflakes drifting politely downward. Snow that looks very Instagram-compliant. What they don’t realize is that snow here has a personality. And that personality is: I’ve been here longer than you.
Three things snow never tells visitors—and Canadians never explain.
If you’re coming north in winter, there are three things you need to understand. Not tips. Not suggestions. Laws of nature
The first is walking. We need to talk about walking on snow, especially the kind that looks perfectly innocent but is almost certainly plotting against you. This is where technique matters. Canadians don’t stride in winter; we place. You keep your weight centred over your body, not leaning forward like you’re late for a train or backward like you’ve already accepted your fate.
Your steps get shorter. Much shorter. Think “penguin with a purpose,” not “confident urban pedestrian.” Your feet land flat, directly under you, one careful commitment at a time. Momentum is the enemy. Elegance is optional. Staying upright is the entire goal.
This is particularly true in places like Montreal, where freeze-thaw cycles create layers of deception: snow on top, ice underneath, and false confidence everywhere. After an ice storm, the sidewalks can look like they’ve just been polished by a Zamboni. At that point, footwear is a lie. I don’t care if you’re dressed to climb Everest or invade a glacier. You will not conquer it. You will shuffle. You will widen your stance. You will adopt a walk that quietly says to strangers, I respect gravity now.
I know this because I once stepped outside feeling entirely too sure of myself and realized halfway down the block that my main survival strategy had become “don’t fall where anyone I know can see me.”
The second thing is why some of us keep coming back to winter despite all the evidence to the contrary. Fresh snow on a cold, clear day changes the world. The sound alone . . . that soft, dry crunch underfoot is almost otherworldly. The city goes quiet. Even your thoughts slow down.
I always notice myself walking more carefully here, too, but not out of fear. Out of appreciation. Winter, briefly, is on its best behaviour, and you think, Ah. This is why people defend you.
And then there’s the third thing. The thing no one tells visitors because it sounds unhinged until you experience it yourself.
The complete and total satisfaction of kicking the slushy snow that builds up behind a tire, trapped against the mudflap. This is not random. This is deliberate. You spot it. You assess it. You test it lightly. Sometimes it betrays you by being rock solid, and yes, that hurts. Winter enjoys reminders. But when you catch it at just the right moment—soft enough to move, heavy enough to matter—and it breaks away cleanly? That’s joy. That’s emotional closure.
I’ve done this outside grocery stores, on residential streets, parking lots, once while quietly cheering myself on like someone who has been indoors too long. No regrets.
So yes, come to Canada in winter. Bring good boots, shorter strides, and your weight centred, and a sense of humour.
Snow is beautiful, ice is a liar, and if you ever feel an unreasonable sense of pride after successfully kicking frozen slush off a tire, congratulations. You’re doing winter properly.
