I didn't mean for that entry to close out yesterday, but it did. We got to Toronto and decided to stop off at the airport to change our money for Canadian money and also to see if we could find a detailed street map of the city. The latter was not forthcoming, but we did get our money changed (and I am fascinated by Canadian money; I just wish I were more adept with the coinage) and we saw ... wait for it ... a RITAZZA. The same damn coffee shop that we thought was only native to UofL. And it's HERE. We all completely collapsed laughing. As Claire put it, "We drove ten hours to get away from stuff that reminds us of school, and we go to ANOTHER COUNTRY and find the same bad coffee shop." Funny funny funny.
So then we sought out our hostel. Lacking a full and detailed street map, Karen (who is TEH BETS NAVIGATOR EVAR) figured up a route to 76 Church Street. When we got there, the first thing we discovered was that there were no sleeping bags allowed. So we allocated a third of Claire's already-precious trunk space for nothing. Great. Then we paid for the four nights there and went up to our room. This place is ... to be perfectly honest, the word that keeps surfacing in my mind is "s**thole." I really wish we had put forth a little extra money for a hotel room with two double beds. Comfort, facilities, and privacy would all have gone up a billion points.
I said as much to Lindsay (at whose insistence we're staying here), and she replied that we wouldn't meet people at a hotel like we will here. I suppressed the urge to remind her that not everyone is as psychotically extroverted as she. Then again, our motives in coming here were very different to begin with; all I've heard Lindsay talking about is being able to drink in a bar (the legal age is 19 in Ontario). I just wanted to visit, to develop an appreciation for this country that is so frequently mistaken for my homeland and that is the homeland of the man I love. I am one who likes to fade into the background and watch; Lindsay wants center stage.
At any rate, Lindsay had all her drinking hopes punctured when we tried to go to C'est What?, which is a really awesome cafe/pub that I've heard a lot about on FTE. I was looking forward to food and atmosphere. Lindsay and Karen were looking forward to alcohol. Both are 18. We got carded instantly. That was the end of that. They pouted. I pouted, too, because I'd been looking forward to C'est What?.
Then we went out into the wind. My GODDESS, it is WINDY AS ALL HELL. So we tried to figure out where we were going to eat and at the same time, tried not to get blown over by this wind that was ripping banners from lampposts and picking up signs and flinging them all down the street. Super fun. So we found a place that wasn't fast food and wouldn't card us, The Upfront Bar & Grill. (Everyone had Cokes, though, to ward off the carding demons.) I had linguini with meatballs, and it was really good. Karen found out that they don't have Cherry Coke as commonly in Canada as in the US and she pouted some more. She also didn't like her fries. So Karen and Lindsay pouted together and Claire and I talked like civilized people.
And then I spotted the TV. I got to watch Hockey Night in Canada, let me repeat, HOCKEY NIGHT IN CANADA. d00d. SCORE! Wow. Another childhood dream fulfilled. Montreal and Toronto played to a 1-1 tie.
So then we braved the wind again to get back to the hostel. Lindsay decided to RUN back, and I was already rather breathing-impaired from the people who were smoking at the bar, and adding walking at top speed to that resulted in an asthma attack, my first in a while. And Lindsay and Karen wouldn't freaking stop. Claire waited for me, though, which makes her and official Nice Person. The inhaler makes me a little shaky, too, so I spent the rest of the evening trying to maneuver myself into a top bunk without waking the British girl in the bottom bunk. I looked at her luggage tag while I was trying to calm my hands down; her name was Donna something-that-started-with-T-and-was-very-British, and she was from Manchester.
Then I went to bed and had trouble sleeping for a while until I thought about Robert. Then I dropped right off to sleep. Oh, damn, I'm being a bit mushy again. Oh, well.
Then the morning ... well, it's the morning. Up, dressed, out. We're sitting at a Tim Horton's, which is sort of the Dunkin' Donuts of Canada. I had hot chocolate and a plain bagel that was totally slathered in cream cheese. Yum-a-rama. I like Canada. We're trying to plan our moves for the day. Seems like we're heading to the Hockey Hall of Fame next. Yay! More childhood dreams to be accomplished soon! w00t!
Lindsay and Karen are still trying to figure out alcohol schemes. I think they're kidding, but still -- ARGH. I'm really tired of hearing about it, and I can't understand the fixation. The moment's passed now, I hope. I expect it to come up again, though. *sigh*
But yeah, Hockey Hall of Fame. Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.
Holy God. I touched the Stanley Cup. I TOUCHED THE STANLEY CUP. Holy loving God. I saw Jaromir Jagr's Czech Republic jersey from the 1998 Olympics. I saw all the trophies, the Vezina, the Conn Smythe, the Lady Byng ... I found Jagr's name five times on the Ross Trophy. Wow. Wow. Wow. I almost cried three times from the sheer awesomeness of it.
Then we went to the CN Tower. Except that it was insanely hard to walk there because the wind was insane. I realize I said insane twice there ... but there are just not words for wind that almost literally knocked us over. It was incredible. I was caught in it, leaning sharply forward but still unable to move, and laughing hysterically for reasons I don't understand. Even with the horrific cold, I love this country! I love this city!
My purchases today have included a Team Canada beret, a Hockey Hall of Fame T-shirt, some Pittsburgh Penguins stickers, a Canadian flag decal and patch, a Zamboni for Dennis, some animal postcards for Cosette, and a New York Rangers hat for my dad. I really hope he likes it; I'm worried that he won't. Money running low. Should change more.
The CN Tower has this part called the Glass Floor where you can stand and look straight down on the city beneath you. Having remembered on the elevator ride up (glass elevator -- you can see the ground dropping away *gulp*) that I don't like heights very much, I didn't spend very much time standing on it. Plus there was this maladjusted little boy who kept jumping on the glass, chanting, "I'm going to break it, I'm going to break it." Lindsay told him, "Okay, go ahead, but you'll be the first one to fall." Lindsay really rules sometimes. I still stayed mostly on the concrete, though.
I really liked the more conventional observation deck. Toronto is so beautiful (and very clean) and enormous -- on this foggy day, the city stretches further than the eye can see. I watched the way the water rippled with all the wind for a little while, and then I tried to find the end of the city again and failed. It's like Old Louisville stretched across an amazing distance. I love it. I love it more when I'm indoors and thus not freezing and trying not to be blown away), but I even love it when I am being blown about.
My camera died. The batteries died, and when I was trying to figure out what had happened, I dropped it. The batteries fell out then, and when I put them back in, the film rewound. CRAP. So that roll is now done with only eight pictures on it, and with so little film remaining and money beginning to become a problem, as well as without assurance that the camera won't devour another roll of film, I have given up on the Canada In Pictures project. I will probably end up stealing pictures from everyone else's collections, but if that photo of me with the Stanley Cup is lost, I will be really upset. At least I know I was there and found the Penguins' championships on the Cup. My Goddess, I touched the Stanley Cup.
We inquired at the Air Canada Centre about getting Maple Leafs tickets for Tuesday night's game, but they were sold out. (It was actually Lindsay's idea to try to get the tickets. Go her!) They said to ask again on game day after 2 PM, but I'm sure that tickets would cost an obscene amount of money, and we've instead made plans to go to Niagara Falls on Tuesday and stay the night at the Hostelling International location there. (Speaking of, the guy at the desk of the hostel here looks like my friend Ben with an earring and a really Canadian accent. The resemblance is uncanny.) Then we'll come home on Wednesday as planned. So we won't get to go see Dayna Manning perform, but that's okay, as it was doubtful whether we could have found Blues on Bellair anyway, let alone get in.
I love my Team Canada beret. I look disgustingly cute in it. Go me! Am considering holding Karen out the window until she tells me that I'm the prettiest pseudo-Canadian in the Fellowship, but she's taller than me and she might punch me.
We're discussing dinner right now. Claire keeps talking about a place we saw called Hernando's Hideaway because she likes to say the name. Karen keeps saying it sounds like a gay restaurant. Lindsay wants to go to Brazil for Uncle Habib's, which she says is Middle Eastern fast-food, which is inherently funny. I'd rather just boot across the street to the Wendy's/Tim Horton's combo.
There's a church right across the street whose bells are tolling the hour. It reminds us of home; we're used to the Student Activities Center's bell tower.
There's also this crazy guy whom we've seen three times so far: once as we were leaving C'est What?, when he hit us up for money and also talked some other nonsense I don't remember. Then we saw him when we left the Upfront and he yelled more random things across the street at us. Today we saw him as we were leaving the Air Canada Centre, but he was busy talking to some other man about how he didn't want to go to jail. Creepy. Further sightings of Crazy Man will be duly noted.
We never have gotten up and gone to eat. It's getting dark -- probably too dark to write. But there's interesting conversation, such as, "I only listen to people who call me 'b*tch'," which Claire said during a discussion of her hate mail (she's a columnist for the school paper).
I officially can no longer see what I'm writing. I suspect it's time to close the book and talk. Or go eat.
SIGHTS: Dark.
SOUNDS: Claire and Karen singing a snatch of "Bittersweet Symphony", Lindsay saying, "Let's go somewhere," music leaking from the headphones of the creepy androgynous possibly British person asleep in the next bed. A nocturnal type, she. Or he. We're not quite sure.
Claire just kicked me in the shoulder as she was climbing over me. She apologized. Good move.
Downstairs in the lounge. I fed a dollar coin to an Internet machine with a very cantankerous mouse thing; it didn't want to click things. Still, I managed to get an address for Sarah Slean's parents' chocolate shop. It's on Yonge Street, just like everything else in this city. Seriously. According to the locals, Yonge Street is the longest street in Canada.
Here's the address: The Nutty Chocolatier -- 144 Yonge Street. And Lindsay says it's within walking distance! Yay! Happy happy day!
We ended up eating dinner at the Hard Rock Café. I had a bacon cheeseburger (to which I added my accompanying pickle, Karen's accompanying pickle, and my accompanying tomato). Lindsay had a pig sandwich, which I think is a really gruesome name for a pork sandwich. I saw Joni Mitchell's guitar, Sheryl Crow's guitar, Stevie Nicks' tambourine, Bo Diddley's ukulele, Depeche Mode's keyboard-thingy-that-Markus-would-know-more-about-than-I, James Brown's shirt (ugly), Madonna's bondage-wear black leather undies (uglier), and Shania Twain's hat and gloves (ugliest). And John Lennon's hat. w00t.
The guy who was working in the Hard Rock gift shop was such an ingratiating used-car salesman type who was thoroughly convinced of his own cleverness. I wanted to beat him about the head and shoulders with Jessica's two-by-four. (Jessica is Claire's roommate who is smaller than I am, and skinny, too. She keeps jokingly threatening to hit Claire, who is twice her size, with a two-by-four. Go her!)
I bought Jennifer a Hard Rock Café Toronto Beanie Baby-type white bear. I think she'll like it, and I hope Cosette doesn't steal it. I see the purchase of another stuffed animal in my future.
Hee. The second Internet terminal from the left has had the L removed from "A Public Internet." Very high school humor, but amusing all the same.
Aieeeeeeee these Australian people just came in from being outside and one of them said, "Crikey, it's cold!" Accents yay rule rule rule. And now one of them is taking theSpark.com's Slut Test out loud with the guy at the desk (not "Ben" anymore); he's reading the questions and she's providing the answers aloud. My goddess, she was 13 when she lost her virginity. Yeesh. I'm actually going to hang around to see what her score is, but I have to keep writing in here to keep Claire from dragging me upstairs by my hair.
This British guy put a coin in the Internet machine and then decided not to use it, so he asked us if we wanted to use it. Yay for British accents. Yay for all the accents I've heard here. It is as diverse as I've read.
The Australian girl's name is Lisa. She has a tattoo on her back, apparently, and she has indeed had sex just to make someone else jealous. She is 44% slutty. She insists that Ben Affleck has small teeth, too. She is very vehement about this.
Claire and I have been talking about just about everything. And now she's tired. I'm getting rather tired, too, and the foul air in my nose and the water in my eyes tell me that someone is smoking close enough by to irritate me. Best go back to the dark dank hole that constitutes our room for tonight and Monday night. Tuesday night we will be in a different Hostelling International locale, the one in Niagara Falls (on the Ontario side). It will probably be just as high-quality (taste the sarcasm) as this one, but we'll live.
The guys next to us were speaking German. It was rather cool. I love Toronto. If it weren't for the cold, I'd live here in an instant. As it is, I'd have to think for a few minutes.
On the Book Exchange bookshelf, I found a DragonLance book "with poetry by Michael Williams." (Dragons of Autumn Twilight, Chronicles Trilogy, Volume I.) A book to which my Fantasy Literature professor contributed. On a shelf in a hostel in Toronto. Amazing.
And there was a hockey game on three of the TV screens at the Hard Rock Café, the Maple Leafs versus the Philadelphia Flyers. When we left, it was tied 1-1. Oh, and they kept letting little kids get up and dance on the bar. Nice. People clapped, too. Odd. Heh.
Everyone smoking. Cannot cope. Off to bed.
Ahead to Day Four.
Back to Stuff I Wrote.
© Cynthia 2002.