As I approached the trail which commits to follow the sinuous border of Toronto city and Lake Ontario, my journey's progress was hindered momentarily by a mature gentleman negotiating a push bike across the sidewalk. Once you engage in a single microsecond of eye contact, then undoubtedly one is trapped within the confines of conversation. Thus my boots were glued to this spot whilst he accounted a tale of losing his rucksack, and his wallet consequently, being 20km away from his wife and not having any money for a bus or any food. Though I never said anything, my gentle nod and what appeared to him as a facial expression of compassion led him to continue and he told me about how he had spent two nights out in the cold of Toronto, and then another plea for monetary assistance; he even offered to sell his bike to me for some money and supplementing this, he vowed to send back another $100 to England as a gratuity for providing emergency assistance now. The problem for me was that I genuinely didn't have any cash on me, and what I do have on my card is just enough to see me through until Thursday. In addition, I wouldn't know what to do with a bike, and although his desperate attempts to appear a genuine charity, I cast much doubt on him sending me money to England. And so, I bid him farewell, untangled myself from this gentleman's net of appeal, and watched as he crossed the road to cast his tackle on some other innocent member of Toronto's community. I have experienced so many of these instances, and remain just as committed to my philosophy; if the beggar uses what skills he does have to perform in front of the community, then he or she is deserving of a small token for the entertainment, and I have been known to offer a couple of dollars to these people. But if there's anything that so strongly binds all of the places I've visited on this trip, that is undoubtedly the presence of the dispossessed.
Solitary once more, I engaged in a combat with a strong headwind, and any hair that wasn't contained within my hat (quite a lot, now) became a talking point for those who passed me. Incidentally, let me note here, I am receiving an accumulating number of smirks and unconfined laughs; I am well aware that I don't appear as suave as your average tourist, but the length of my hair is perhaps the most visible representation for the duration of my scholarship. As I followed the trail, leaving downtown behind, very soon I became acquainted with Lake Ontario. Now, I don't know what images you conjure when I refer to a 'lake' but the nature of the one I was visiting today is one which sets quite a few contrasts with those I have witnessed thus far on the trip. Lake Ontario, today, was a scene of such tempestuousness; shallow waves embraced an essence of impatience to break and the buoys received this treatment of outrage the most. Thus it was that I scanned the horizon; neither Lake Ontario or it's immediate skyline above it looked inviting, but all the same, the scene was oddly invigorating. I felt like I was caught within an argument between forces of nature and it's most probably the only conflict that bears some beauty about it. If only human conflict could follow suit?
I continued admiring this very vista along the promenade for some way, and then executed a departure towards some 100 Canadian Geese. Reminiscing on sightings of them in Portland, those many weeks ago, I passed my regards from their Oregon companions; this gaggle were treading on frost-bitten strands of gelid grass but didn't appear in any way benumbed by their present living conditions. Upon the sight of my red waterproof, they took a speedy scamper to what they considered safety, and I ambled on.
My downtown-bound journey took me along the labyrinth of pathways that circuit Exhibition Place; a destination that for once does exactly what it says on the label. Exhibition Place exhibits the most elaborate grandeur that Ontario is fortunate to contain. Today, I had the 'place' to myself; all bar one walking his dog and he departed prematurely anyway. I couldn't make out why I hadn't approached many on the walk along Lake Ontario and now similarly sequestered was Exhibition Place. The government house from 1912 boasted a great view from each facade, and close by, I caught sight of the first urban wind turbine in North America. It's a typical blend of the classic and the contemporary that I have become aware of these last few months.
With the afternoon to spare, I decided to finally visit the Ontario Art Museum, and taste for myself what I hear is a city with a vibrant art scene. They're entirely accurate with this. The complex is segregated conveniently to aid those, like me, who aren't confident with a paintbrush and a black canvas; the first exhibition was themed around Europe and so I was transported back to the 12th century and shuttled through to the 16th, hopping between different countries simultaneously. Museums like this one, I've noticed, attract a wide variety. There's those who will savour one painting for half an hour examining intricate brush direction; these seem to be the ones who will open an deeply philosophical discussion with those also enjoying it. And then there's those who will maintain a pace, nodding approvingly at the ones that catch their eye, and worry not for the hundreds they miss out on. I'm comfortably in between.
There's some rooms that I will whizz through, to escape museum fatigue, and to maintain some aspect of captivation. And then there's exhibitions like the Ontario Museum's Evan Penny floor which literally left me spellbound with admiration. If the purpose of art is to capture reality as close as possible, Evan wins gold in my books. He has taken photographs of people and then creates a 3D construction, using real human hair! They all posses a certain actuality about them, and it's quite difficult not to mistake them for real people.
A muffled voice announced the museums closing, and I made my way down to the exit, descending one level by staircase, which offered a wonderful panorama view of twilit Toronto. The city's sky scape didn't appear so menacing from this vantage point, but my stroll back to the hostel wasn't without a few chills. And so, another week closes, and a new one begins. It's difficult to acknowledge the fact that in less than four days, I will be back, pillowed by home comforts, but I have a special treat to look forward to tomorrow, and then it's one final day before I board my final plane, back to Great Britain.
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