Summer in Toronto

We arrived in Toronto surprisingly refreshed after driving for thirty hours from Saskatoon. Our stop in Ottawa was the perfect way to begin this one-month adventure, visiting family and our new nephew Lief who totally seduced us. We were blessed to be invited up to Curt’s uncle’s cottage on Legatt Lake and experience the serenity and beauty of an Ontario lake. Rose wine at lunch over hand-made spring rolls. Lounging on the dock until the hot sun forces us into the most perfectly temperate lake, swimming and swimming and swimming. There was no reason to think or feel a thing beyond that moment.



Curt's strategy for recovering from the drive from Saskatoon to Toronto.


So we entered Toronto relaxed and ready for adventure. We’re staying at an apartment off the Danforth, which is flooded with restaurants, lounges and shops. This is Greek town, so the small sidewalk patios are crowded with people feasting on souvlaki, spanokopitas, feta and tomato. We hear about the taste of the Danforth, when over two million Torontians will wander down this street over the weekend. They shut down the Danforth and restaurants set up booths selling skewers and shaved pork and baklava and sweet corn with the husks pulled down. Rather than make a note to attend it, we know we’ll hardly be able to avoid it, living a mere block from the action.

The first couple days in Toronto, we settle into a routine, working in the morning and then hitting the streets in the late afternoon to explore new neighborhoods, most often gone until the wee hours of the morning when we catch the last subway home. We are ravenous in our exploration, throwing ourselves into streets, buildings, and cafes to absorb each new idea.

Curt is better than me at slowly taking it all in. He saunters down these streets, where my pace is always slightly more feverish. I pull him in. Look at this, look at this, did you see that, I call back over my shoulder, always onto the next discovery before he even has a chance to respond. After a couple days though, we balance each other.

On Friday, we hit the Taste of the Danforth. It is complete chaos. I am overwhelmed by the throngs of people and their wild display of style and identity. I am assaulted by the smells of grilled meats, pork and pastries. We float along, absorbed into the crowd. We attempt conversation a few times, but are interrupted by people or our own distraction. So instead, we listen to the chatter and shouts and general noise of the street.


Tasting the Danforth...

I’m hungry. I am watching these people savor flavors or greedily gorge themselves and it reminds me that we skipped lunch today. Everything looks delicious and I’m paralyzed by choice. Paralyzed. I surf around. Each time I start to make a decision, the line is too long, or I see something better, or I get distracted. I’m starting to get angry at myself—this unfocused confusion is starting to grate me. My eyes are madly sweeping the scene trying to take it all in. All of it, and my mind is hopelessly trying to keep up.

After dinner, we retreat, satisfied. A little dizzy from the experience of the Danforth, we decide to avoid it as much as possible for the rest of the weekend. But I begin to realize that much of my experience on the Danforth exaggerates what I’ve been feeling since we got here. A little dizzy. A little overwhelmed.

It’s cathartic to be free of the mirrors crowding my hometown that tell me who I am. I’ve always loved the anonymity of being in a big city. And here, the exploration of new ideas and scenes and music gets my creative juices flowing, flowing in and out like people dancing on and off of subway cars. A mad, disorganized yet graceful dance.

So the adventure continues, and what we don’t know, we make up as we go along.