The first time I was in Toronto (a.k.a. Upper Canada), I was a young teen and it was the 80s. It seemed like such a big, debonaire city… but most of what I saw was through the window of a swimming pool. I remember the streets being filled with fast-moving, seemingly angry people. I remember the humidity, dirt, and taking two showers a day to cool/clean off. I remember that it was the first time that I saw a man wearing a dress. This was a big deal in the 80s.
Since that time, I’ve been back in the city a handful of times, but nothing really memorable.
Now I’m in Toronto to kick off a project… and I wonder if my impression of the city would be different now that my star-struck, young, small-town eyes have seen so much.
Since the 80s, I’ve lived in some of the dirtiest of cities… and some of the biggest. I’ve lived on Davie Street in Vancouver and on Hollywood Boulevard in L.A. and only did a double-take once on either street because of what someone was wearing… in this case, it was a football player sized Afro-American man in a gold bikini-wearing stilettos and seven feet of gold angel wings (Hollywood). It was the wings that caught my attention because I couldn’t fathom how he could maneuver through all the people without taking someone out.
In the years since Toronto, I’ve visited the original York… and the 3rd York (New York) several times… it’s where my best friend died. And, now I’m in the Canadian York to work, eat, drink, and sleep.
The thought of working in Toronto (and Canada) makes me feel weird. I know a lot of people in the city because even though I managed to avoid it for decades, all my high school, university, and post-university friends settled in the communities surrounding the core of Toronto. It’s a good time to be in the city. The Blue Jays are doing really well and the city is alive with sports mania.
There are some advantages to working in Canada. I don’t need a visa or a passport to work, I may actually be able to do Canadian taxes this year, there are dozens of direct flights daily on multiple airlines, and, best of all, I can pack food and fruit in my luggage without getting the huffy, snarky, snarly, stink-eye from the people in customs who really don’t want to search my bag to determine if nut-free airline cookies are ok to bring across the border. I’ve probably gotten back an hour of my life every week.
Sadly, I will no longer be able to wear flip flops in the winter. I’m going to miss California.
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