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So it was the 24th day of August when I landed in Toronto. Having had very little sleep, I also had a headache. And big bags. I had called the residence in which I would be staying (thanks to Simi) and spoke to Granny before the plane took off, seeing as I would no longer have any mobile phone reception after takeoff. A lift from someone I randomly met at the airport (after playing a game of Jewish geography with a few common acquaintences from Toronto and Sydney) helped me get to their place, only the car left before I realised that the note on the door instructed me to call Granny if I wanted to get in. Of course there was no way to do that. So, on the porch, with my bags beside me, I ate a classic lunch of Brooklyn bagels and avocado and wondered (through my headache) what next.

The plan then went something like this: (1) pocket the note from the door; (2) hide my bags behind some plants; (3) walk up the street and look for a bank to get some Canadian currency; (4) walk to a store to buy something small for change to use a phone; (5) look for a public telephone; (6) call Granny; (7) return with the secret passage of entry. Thankfully I was able to skip 4 and 5 after the bank teller offered me the courtesy phone. So eventually inside, I spent most of the rest of the evening getting some rest.

Indeed, I did a lot of getting rest in Toronto. Somewhere between that lingering feeling that I maybe should have just saved Toronto for later during the trip (as I’ll be going back anyway), feeling like I had travelled enough for the moment and wanting to settle down a little more, and the weather, I didn’t really get out very far on Friday. I did do some important errands, but nothing that I couldn’t have done in Montreal (but in hindsight, it would have taken many more hours and dollars there): researching phone plans and buying a new carry bag after my last one’s zipper broke.

I already felt more at home in Canada. There was something about the attitude and the pace of the neighbourhoods that was familiar and comfortable as compared to the US. I’m still not sure what it is. I could also tell that my neighbourhood there was very multicultural, with Italians, Arabs of various flavour, Orthodox European Jews, white, black, and many things in between.

The general arrangement for Toronto was that while Simi wouldn’t be in town, her family would host me, and she would “arrange fun meals” for me over shabbat. I landed up at a table on Friday night being served by people who insisted on songs before each course of the meal could be served. This was mostly because all four men at the table were remarkably good at singing, and unremarkably hard to remove from their seats (this seemed to be the way things were in the household). It was a small group of young people (mostly couples) at the fairly new apartment of the recently-married hosts. And we produced a beautiful sound, and a wonderful night.

In the morning I experienced the Village Shul, which is run by Aish Hatorah. I only experienced it quite late, though, having no readable clock in my room (I squinted at the phone display which read either 7:30 or 9:30—to my dismay it was the latter). Although it was a nice enough atmosphere, I felt there was a lot of fuss to make a big deal out of everything happening and each communal celebration which meant that it goes quite slowly (and these celebrations aren’t as significant for an out-of-towner).

Lunch was spent with another host put forward by Simi, the ?Krakowsky family. While lunch itself was mostly family, within a short time the neighbours had joined us at the table, along with their guests, and a few others. I was clearly in the life of the party for the neighbourhood’s shabbat afternoon. I even got in contact with a guy who would be able to take me out and show me around that night… but it never ended up happening.

Here I’ll note a little that I found it hard to hear that much of the Jewish community was Canadian. Maybe they have more Americans hanging around than the average local. Indeed, despite the stereotype of calling the place “Tronno” (as I have been so carefully trained to do by Stacey), I found many called the city “Toronto”, but they may have been adapting to my presence. And there also weren’t that many “eh”s.

Sunday, my last day of travels before Montreal, I finally got out to the city and wandered about a bit. The CN Tower (”largest free-standing structure in the world”) would only give me a view of two blocks around due to the weather, but still would cost as much to enter, so I saved it for another time. Still, it had flower gardens at its base, and I found it appropriate to take photos of “flower and tower”, which actually turned out quite nicely. An unusual ten-piece band was performing by the harbourfront. It featured multiple drum kits, xylophones, as well as string, brass and keyboard sections. I actually really enjoyed their sound and their energy, and asked the guy next to me to spell their name “The Hylosoists“. Listening to them now I’m not as impressed or enlivened. Maybe they’re just better on the stage than on the computer.

I wandered around a little longer, visiting other free entertainment on the way, buying a bus ticket, ambling towards the provincial parliament house before the rain started pouring down. I moved to the side of the road outside the General Hospital and waited out the worst of the storm before moving up to my destination and the train station.

That evening I went for dinner out with Ilene Greenberg (Stacey’s mum…). It was nice to see her and catch up, and somehow she ended up convincing me to take a dessert for the bus, and ended up buying me two behind my back. In the end, they turned out quite handy when I got to Montreal and had some time to spend in the bus station until it was late enough to go over and check out my new home…