It would not be fair to rank Canada as a country on these forthcoming few days here in Toronto, and I emerged onto the streets today with this consideration very much in mind. My first exploration of Toronto would be characteristically unmapped; there was a map offered generously by the hostel, though it was folded in the most abnoxious way, which when fully unravelled stretched the dimensions of a large bath towel, and generally obscured all view in the process. But with a typically American waffle-griddle traffic operation in place, I felt reasonably safe in yet another unknown.
After several sun-drenched weeks, delightfully spent amongst Palm trees, the satisfying scent of freshly embraced vitamin C, and bounteous balmy beaches, I have to admit a slight struggle with being catapulted all the way to the austere winter today. To say Toronto has a revitalising breeze is a optimistic approach to describing what is a ruthless breeze; a penetrating unpredictable sub-zero gust which can blast through the most robust of Goretex, and thrust a torrent of shivers down the vertebrae. For the first time since I departed Alaska, out emerged into daylight my trusty hat and gloves. My walk today was paved with a thick slush, from recently fallen snow that couldn't make its mind up as to whether it was best being a solid or a liquid.
Though this isn't strictly the case for the city, the street that my hostel resides on is currently engaged in a lengthy and complex series of ground operations; nearly every sidewalk is blockaded at some point with guidance for the stroller to negotiate an immediate crossing, but once he or she has dodged a rush hour of motorised metal, there's a similar sign to greet you on the other side. I'm sure that such engineering is greatly required; why else would a handful of florescent clothed men be huddling around a manhole in the austere? Just aside from one of these sites, I caught a Toronto oddity. The Hamari Grill restaurant whose frontage must receive some 'second glances'.
Maybe my walk took a particularly obscure route, but I seemed to be exiting and entering a fresh district on each street. But despite the most scrupulous observation, I couldn't spot any remarkable change between each one. Each district had a host of private office buildings, with the mainstream assemble of contemporary window blinds and varnished pine desks. Each street had it's own Pizza takeaway outlet, it's own billboard advertising some purchasable product, and it's own bus-stop. It's the eccentricity like suspended cows charging through concrete that offers some degree of individuality. A little further on, the Financial District set itself aside from every other segment of the city. A congregation of towering glass showpieces shadowed the promenades, though some designs demonstrated at least half an hour's worth of inspired thought, and the result was a collection of some very arresting structures.
Not requiring an urgent fiscal debriefing, or any other pecuniary consultation, I often wonder why I walk around the Financial District. Almost always, I am confronted with the same company logos, and yet there's something that naturally inspires me to saunter through. Toronto, I imagine, realises that such an executive, money-orientated area of the city cannot support a wide range of viewing interest above ground, so what they've achieved is the World's largest underground shopping complex, and it's only when you enter this intriguing subterranean world that you obtain a sense of its internationally recognised Herculean dimensions.
Officially, it is acknowledged under the name of PATH, though whether this is an abbreviation of some tongue twisting arrangement of words is still an enigma. No less than 17 miles of arcades are free to the visitor's advantage, and in a way, I imagine that PATH adds a spoonful of originality to the shopping experience. As I ensued deeper through the labyrinth of this city's retailing arteries, I realised that there's another very cunning advantage to retailing down here. That is, simply, that's it's almost impossible not to get lost, or failing that, not to achieve a small sense of bewilderment. And so, shoppers attempt to re-trace their steps, make a couple of false turnings, find themselves greeting shops they haven't approached before, and subsequently their shopping experience is unavoidably lengthened. Thereby, this increases the chances of them making a purchase before they finally locate the nearest exit out of this subterrestial environment. So I feel slightly proud to admit that I didn't get lost, and I resisted the urge, as a result, a most unnecessary transaction.
When I re-emerged to greet residual light again, I found myself being drawn into the Brookfield Place, like chub salmon is drawn to fishing tackle. The Brookfield Place sits aloft ground this time, in the edge of the financial district, and it's thoroughly composed of both the economical and social textures of Toronto. I'm informed that it's visited by millions each year, and it's not exactly a mind boggling equation to see why. I made an entrance and was instantly lifted by a lustrous galleria, through which a unrelinquishing river of light flows through each day.
In sharp contrast, though, at the other end, is the noteworthy facade of the Bank of Montreal, though perhaps even more thought-provoking is the fact that surrounded by these four restored bricked walls, is the Hockey Hall of Fame. Now, when it comes to Hockey, I'm just as close to being an expert as a professional footballer is to being poverty stricken, though all the same, I had a brief stroll as an all-embracing traveller, in these cases, commits to.
Incongruity greeted me again as I made way around the perimeter of the financial district, passing a number of theatres and other performing arenas. In two ways, this occurred I suppose. Firstly, I caught sight of my first Black Squirrel, as it made a dart up a frost bitten trunk, towards a bare nest of branches above. Just ahead of this, was perhaps the most intriguing of building faces I've encountered on this journey; a sort of audacious attempt at recapturing what I imagine once was a formidable structural gem.
Such to my astonishment that it was actually open, though I was perhaps even more surprised to see that the area was abundant in similar grandeur, even if they weren't all dignified upon entrance. One that will lodge in my mind for a long time, like an apple peel trapped in between two teeth, was one such majestic church with a long winding ploughed walkway, where Black Squirrels played innocently with the snowflakes. It seemed to embody history like a book embodies words. It was to my consequential amazement to find not a row of wooden pews, stone floors, and an ornate technicoloured window, but a corridor of offices. Metal rimmed contemporary glass desks, swivelling chairs, modern art. In one room, a group of individuals worse for wears were indulging in a modest spoonful of soup and engaging in a communal laughter. I wandered through and my nostrils caught essences of more pungent cooked meat, blended with a raw aroma of dried sweat that was engulfing a lengthy queue of more vagabonds. From the outside, such an interior would be the farthest from my mind, though it's these small observations that make Toronto memorable.
Feeling slightly fatigued, I decided to complete my loop of the city, and head back to the hostel via Chinatown. Having experienced quite a few of these now, I realise that each and every city devotes a varying degree of effort towards making Chinatown worth the trek to. No matter where you are, the ethnic enclaves always feel so very far away; a reminder, if any, of the geographically long distance China actually is to all of these American cities. Toronto's Chinatown is stretched over several streets, and try as I might to find the rich red arch to enter from, I realised it wasn't to be found anywhere. Where there might have been a lack of these traditional symbols, still present on the scene were small yet densely packed stores, adorning advertisements I couldn't begin to interpret. In such bitter weather, I was surprised to see so many garments outside, though I imagine the breeze was keeping the copious fruit and vegetable stalls fresh.
I am aware, though, that Toronto offers much more than the selection of sights that have blessed before my eye today, so I remain ever eager to explore more of the city tomorrow.
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