Toronto can be an exciting and intriguing place. If it were, in fact, either. As it stands, our Niagara neighbor is pretty low key. They don't seem to get real excited or animated about much of anything. But they are somewhat intriguing. Most interactions with people in Toronto were much like speaking to a police investigator who's waiting on you to spill the beans and will remain reserved and tight lipped until you do.
But when you do, boy, they... well, pretty much remain reserved and tight lipped. Like you're there to steal something. Keep in mind, these are my reflections, not necessarily what you have or will experience. Chances are, you're likely a more palatable guest than I can be but they are pretty reserved. Until I got to Kingston Market, that is.
I was staying in a hotel that was hosting representatives from all over for the Rotary Club meeting being held that week downtown somewhere. The Iceland women's ice hockey team were also there, presumably to play hockey, they had all their pads and shit with them. They were very cool and pretty damn funny.
Like everywhere else, as soon as I get into town and check-in and put my bags down and shower, I look for the best local dive bar. Found it right off the bat. "Thirsty and Miserable" is in Kingston Market, the little hippy village near China/Koreatown. Little fruit and fish markets line the streets, near the obligatory bead and pipe stores, the dispensary was at the end of the street. The whole sunny Sunday afternoon looked like a street festival. I think it's because they actually had a street festival.
Thirsty and Miserable has a great local beer selection, with names like "Over My Dad Body." Note: Every single bar in Canada has a long-white-haired guy who wanders in for one beer at some point with an air of confidence one can only get from sailing a boat from the Caribbean to Africa. Very nautical in stature, always with a hooked nose and huge hands. Every time. Mark my words.
Tobin, the kid sitting next to me at the Thirsty and Miserable, strikes up a conversation, much like many people on my trip, he's interested to hear what I have to say about "President" Trump and gun control. I have quite a bit to say, just make sure you're prepared to hear it when you bring this shit up.
He holds his own, mostly because he's been living with the Canadian version of our news, which is non-biased, actually non-biased, like journalism and shit. We agree on a lot of things which surpised and frustrates me. Mostly because I've always distrusted Canadians, they all have a look in their eye like they heard someone is going to tase you later and they're the only one who knows about it. Also, like their listening to music no one else hears in their head.
But I liked so many people so far, I was already over that, plus Tobin was sharp as a tack and like many Canadians, I was surprised to find out, out of work. Lots of companies had lots of layoffs, their economy was in the shitter. Stuff you don't hear from most U.S. news outlets, oh, or any real news for that matter, but I read enough section B Times stuff and follow BBC enough to have a small clue at least. Though I didn't know they were suffering to the extent Tobin depicted.
After discussing this and more, Tobin asked if I'd ever had Korean food in Toronto. I said, no, I'd only been there for three hours. He insisted on taking me to a Korean joint with a ridiculous name and out of work kid paid for it. That's your average Canadian, I came to find out, especially the younger ones. You're a guest in my country and here's what's going to happen. After years of being both a terrible guest and a terrible host, driven by selfishness, in turn driven by insecurity, this one simple act made me rethink life. (Not the million times before when friends have done amazing things for me, no, this one out-of-work stranger)
Wise beyond his years, he splits for the evening. I head to Ronnie's Local 069, snicker. A true dive bar with Austin-type, dirty 6th street too cool for you bartenders, my kind of bar.
After getting some work done at the hotel, which is actually just the International Student dormitory on the campus of the University of Toronto, the African Rotary delegation and I get on the tram toward downtown. They were boisterous, friendly as all hell and just happy to be alive, I dug the Kenyan dudes in their flowing robes, striking.
Downtown is like most major cities, but a hell of a lot more polite and organized. You can buy tickets for the bus and tram via the machines at the stops, or, sometimes you can't. And they have transit cops that hop on and off the trams and buses to see if you have your pass. With my best "I'm a big, dumb American" expression, I held my ticket (which I picked up off the ground before I got on because the machine didn't work) up to the officer's face and he nodded and said thank you. Whew, international incident over $1.50 averted. Turns out they were more interested in the guy sleeping across an entire row behind me who was now wide awake and screaming profanity at everyone. It was 11am.
After a bit more work and some research, it was time for a beer. I searched for "dive bar" in the Google machine and it spat out "Alfie's on Queen St." Holy shit. "Dive" doesn't serve its purpose here. This, as it turned out, was about 50 feet from Moss Park, where people go to get clean needles. Not kidding. It was a nice day out as I strolled down Queen Street, a long walk to Alfie's from a place called McQueen's in Leslieville. Lovely place, McQueen's. As I got closer to Alfie's I notice that most of the people on the street had gone from walking somewhere briskly to just kind of ambling to just teetering to and fro'.
Alfie's was staffed by two very short, very bitter, very ornery Chinese women. Beer was $1.50, a shot was $2.50. So I'd tolerate whatever happened for at least one round. In fifteen minutes at Alfie's, I'd already been f-cked with by one of the bartenders in a way I appreciated, seen a man with no legs dance in a chair to Rush, who else? (they really do love Rush). Two pretty old women get in a fight over this gross-looking alcohol drink that looks like neon malt liquor. A man mimic playing pool on a table that didn't exist. (There was an actual pool table five feet away from him)
Then "Wayne" walked in and struck up a conversation about international politics and Trudeau. He was VERY animated, opinionated, mildly intelligible and reasonably correct on most matters he touched on. Turns out Wayne's profession is meth and he devolved from making some interesting political points to telling me the word Newfoundland is based on a racial slur. Luckily the police arrived to handle something going on just outside and I was able to squeeze out without Wayne following. Though several more Waynes got me about a block away to inquire about my financial holdings.
One interesting fact I noticed across Canada, they respect beer. If there's a style of glass a beer was meant to be served in, they honor that. They go so far as to brand most of the glasses and will only serve that beer in that glass. I can get behind this attitude.
The next day, after getting some work done, I wanted to buy a friend a gift. If you like pretension, pretentious people and outright elitist and entitled horseshit, then Bloor-Yonge and its shops and malls is for you! Holy jumping Christ and his buddies, this place sucks seven kinds of ass. Anyway, I got the gift and mailed some post cards, so that was okay.
Now it was time for a beer, and after trekking down to Thirsty and Miserable to find they were closed, I circled the block and found Lola's. Which was just an outstanding little dive bar. And I mean little, there's barely enough room for seven people near the bar. And you can't smoke on the patio, you have to stand outside the patio, but that's where I met the fellas. The four guys who come every day. One of whom filled me with beer and whiskey and that is my kind of guy.
Mind you, this is World Cup time so there's always a game on, albeit at 10am. So sometimes folks are a tad more jubilant than they normally would be at noon on a weekday, but the regulars at Lola's were happy to be alive and very welcoming. I would return to Lola's each evening during my stay to enjoy their company and "movie night." This Tuesday was a TERRIBLE remake of an Australian film called, "Long Weekend" - holy shit it's bad. But then, the evening edition was "Meatballs" and all was right with the world.
It's a friendly, walk-able city, they don't really care where you're from, they just want you to enjoy yourself and be a nice addition to their neighborhood and culture. As many international restaurants as Montreal had, Toronto has more. I think there's even a Latvian joint.
You must eat at:
Seur Ak San - Tobin's joint, ridiculous dim sum. Just amazing.
Yummy Yummy Dumplings - stupid name, but apt.
Pho Pasteur - you want the raw beef pho. Yes, yes you do. (I think it's item #1)
Brew Pubs:
The Only
Left Field
Godspeed
Bar Hop
Dive Bars:
Thirsty and Miserable
Ronnie's 069
Lola's - Tuesday is movie night.
(all in Kingston Market)
Night of the Living Dead Bar:
Alfie's
TORONTO IN PICTURES:
They've embraced their stereotypes, you'll
see the Canadian lumberjack shirt everywhere.
I think his name's Stan, his face is EVERYWHERE.
You're going to want a bowl of that Pho.
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