Oh Canada...

On the flight from Edinburgh, we passed over Greenland:



It seemed like decades before this plane would land and I couldn't concentrate on reading, couldn't decide what to listen to, couldn't sleep...just couldn't wait.

And then, all of sudden, the Atlantic gave way to Canada:



I was grinning like a fool the whole way down.

* * *

Back in the big T-dot-Oh-dot with a weary body and myriad intentions.

I've spent the week enjoying everything I've missed for the last 7 months - a disparate collection of certain favourites, comforts and points of pride:
- Tim Horton's and Second Cup
- Toronto's vibrant multiculturalism
- Ontario thunderstorms (like nowhere else...)
- Visiting shops I used to frequent; recognizing faces and being recognized myself
- The ease with which you can strike up conversations with strangers
- The best street-meat: spicy italian, mild polish, oktoberfest, grilled and perfectly charred
- Many cheerful you're welcome's for people who say thank you when I hold open a door, or step aside to let them pass, or pick up something they've dropped
- NOW magazine and the Metro newspaper
...and so many other details that let me know I'm home.

I've wandered my old neighbourhood - The Annex - a few times over:

Near Bloor & Spadina (Cobbs bread, on the right: best bakery ever - they give free samples)


The little kiosk at the corner of Bloor & Brunswick, right where it's always been:


Bloor Cinema: my favourite independent cinema in the city - one theatre, one huge balcony, cheap prices, great popcorn...


Ah Second Cup...how I've missed it. Nothing like a Chai Chiller to cool you off (and give you brain freeze) on a humid Toronto day.


Mel's: one of the best breakfast places in T.O., open 24 hours. Killer monte cristo.


Speaking of Montreal...montreal bagels! Cheap thrills I know but they can't be beat.


A goldmine of international and independent films: Suspect Video on Markham:


A new addition: the labyrinth painted on the street in Mirvish Village:


I'm staying in Bloor West until I move to Hamilton (more on that craptastic development later...) and the streets are just as lovely as I remember. So many houses are flying the flag, I assume in support of Team Canada.


I'm told this summer has been nothing but rain and thunderstorms.

For some reason in Ontario the sky just cracks open and drenches us with little-to-no warning. The sound of the rain is deafening; you can feel the cooling release almost right away, and then it's gone just a quickly as it came, with a grumble of thunder in the distance.


Sushi! Brittany and I chow down close to 11 pm at one of the many sushi places in the Annex. Miso soup, green salad, dragon roll, edamame...I almost squealed with pleasure.


The Greenroom is still comfy and chill, the greenroom specialty (glass noodle stir fry) still mouthwateringly delicious.


And the sangria is better than I remember. Good thing Dana suggested it.


After that we wandered 20 feet to Futures Bakery (Bloor & Brunswick) for a late night slice of cheesecake. It was packed full of people engaged in loud conversations, people whispering in corners, and people trying to read amid the clamour. Just like I remember.


The grand spectacle that is Honest Ed's on Bloor & Bathurst is still glittery and overwhelming as ever:

* * *

Yes I'm wrought with excitement to be back in this city - this city which I never really loved until I left. I have a new (and wholly unexpected) appreciation for Toronto after having traveled through Europe, for its similarities and its differences.

I notice things like the sidewalk planters stuffed with trees and flowers, the street sweepers, the magazine and newstands on every corner, the late night convenience stores, and the sheer diversity of everything from people to produce.

This weekend - the last weekend before my banishment to Hamilton - is the buskers festival, and I have yet to make it to the St. Lawrence Market and Queen West...

* * *

A phrase from the back of a book I picked up at Shakespeare's in Paris popped into my head last night as I caught a glimpse of myself passing by a darkened window shop on a quiet street:

I knew the person I was looking at was myself, and yet there was an alien quality to my reflection, an otherness that brought with it a feeling of exuberance and celebration. All at once I was looking at a stranger.