by Layla
When Roz returned from yoga we decided to enjoy the temporary delight of having a big apartment with outside space and lounged, reading our books and watching the last bit of Fingersmith, before heading out to lunch at Cafe Seven, at Bloor and Yonge. Thereafter we strolled to Church Street, the gay part of town. So officially gay, in fact, that all the official street signs had rainbows on them. We pottered past rainbow flags galore, then crossed to Yonge Street where we decided to sample some shopping, Toronto style. Alas the Eaton Centre was rather unpleasant, busy, and sporting rubbish shops, so we eventually fled and spent the rest of the afternoon back on the balcony with our books, feeling so serene that it was impossible to believe our holiday might soon be over.
That evening we headed out for our most extravagant meal - a seven-course tasting menu at the George. And it was excellent. I had seven courses and Roz had a different seven, so by sharing, it was almost like a 14 course menu, and probably one of the best we've had (outside of Noma, of course!). Really interesting flavours, great textures, and imaginative concoctions. Nice. It took quite a while and we didn't get home til almost midnight.
The next day we had to pack up and clean a little in preparation for handing our apartment keys back to their rightful owners. Leaving our luggage there, we left with determination to be cheery, and headed down to the harbourfront, to visit the Toronto Music Garden, which is a special garden designed by Yo Yo Ma to show music in botanical form. As neither of us understand much about music, some of this may have been too esoteric, but it was a pretty garden. We wandered on along the waterfront until we stopped for a quick drink in a waterside pub and raindrops slowly started to fall. We'd intended to get the ferry back out to the Toronto Islands and rent a rowboat, but the sky remained cryptic and we couldn't decide if we had the nerve to get the ferry to an island with essentially nowhere to hide if it starts to rain. The ferry queues were huge with optimists, but after some deliberation, we decided to flee, and had a tasty lunch of vegetable and cheese wraps and salad in a harbourfront cafe.
After lunch we popped into the Power Plant art gallery, in the Harbourfront Centre, initially with the intention of hearing an artist talk. Though it turned out it was more of an exhibition tour, and after a quick wander around, we didn't feel the need to hear much more about the art, so we made a run for it, to a streetcar heading north on Spadina Avenue, destination Vladimir Theatre (aka a Ukrainian halls of residence next to the University of Toronto, and erstwhile Fringe venue), to see A Different Woman, a one-woman show about a Texan childhood. This play turned out to be marginally better than the other that we saw, but was essentially an overacted recounting of a misery memoir. For ninety minutes. In a hall so freezing with air conditioning that the ushers offered to rent us shawls and sweaters for $2, and we actually invested! But it was quite fun and good to see another Fringe event.
After that we went for final cocktails and a plate of chips at a cool little cocktail bar in Queen Street West called something beginning with Cz... We sat in the sun in their patio and tried not to know that we were about to return to the apartment, pick up our luggage and catch a taxi to the airport, for the plane back to London... A really nice holiday.
Monday 11 July 2011
Saturday 9 July 2011
In which Layla and Roz visit cool areas and drink cocktails in high places
by Layla
After breakfast in our flat, Roz and I splashed out on more day transit passes and hopped on a streetcar to St Lawrence's Market, a nice under-cover market not dissimilar to Borough in that it sells lots of delicious food. We wandered around the stalls, indulging in a little sampling and getting into conversation with stall owners, before heading slightly further east to the Distillery District, actually an arty complex developed from one of the world's largest previous distilleries. The architecture and vibe are lovely, and we drank lemonade in the sun and spent a while pottering around galleries and crafty shops and watching people hiring segways, and had a very pleasant time indeed. After a panini and gin lunch, we decided to head to the waterfront. A meander along the cycle path brought us to a very nice bar right next to the water, with comfy sofas and a view out to the islands. We promptly acquired more gin, and a large bowl of chips, and read our books in the sun for most of the rest of the afternoon.
Home on the streetcar, we again relaxed with our books, finally feeling in the holiday vibe, til we realised that we were meeting a friend of Roz's boss in the Hyatt rooftop bar, and I'd entirely misidentified its location on the map. We leapt to attention and changed for the evening, before hopping into what proved to be a poorly chosen streetcar, as I'd randomly assumed that when we needed to make a turn we could hop on another one. Alas no such joining streetcar existed so we marched several blocks along the road at some speed and made it to the rooftop bar just a few minutes late. The woman we met was delightful. A lifelong Toronto resident, she further persuaded us of the merits of the city. It's an odd city, in my opinion. It feels more like a town, or even perhaps a suburb, with its quiet residential streets of two-storey houses and picket fences and little local parks, and apparently low crime (an argument between a streetcar driver and a passenger made the front page of the local major newspaper, as did a collision between a cyclist and a pedestrian). But it also has fabulous restaurants, cool bars, and a great arts scene (the previous evening's ill-chosen play excluded... and on a side note, Roz posted a summary of our views of said play on Twitter, only for it to be immediately found by the play's cast, who must have been somewhat crushed - the guilt!) The view from the rooftop bar was fantastic - right over Toronto - and the mohitos and G&Ts weren't bad either. Nor the tasty snacks (oops more chips...). Afterwards we headed home with falafel to watch a film, streamed from the internet onto the wall of our flat via our laptop and a projector - very cool indeed.
This morning Roz has been to hot yoga, in a studio right next to our apartment, while I devoured Annabel by Kathleen Winters, a great book. I refuse to believe it's our second last day in Toronto...
After breakfast in our flat, Roz and I splashed out on more day transit passes and hopped on a streetcar to St Lawrence's Market, a nice under-cover market not dissimilar to Borough in that it sells lots of delicious food. We wandered around the stalls, indulging in a little sampling and getting into conversation with stall owners, before heading slightly further east to the Distillery District, actually an arty complex developed from one of the world's largest previous distilleries. The architecture and vibe are lovely, and we drank lemonade in the sun and spent a while pottering around galleries and crafty shops and watching people hiring segways, and had a very pleasant time indeed. After a panini and gin lunch, we decided to head to the waterfront. A meander along the cycle path brought us to a very nice bar right next to the water, with comfy sofas and a view out to the islands. We promptly acquired more gin, and a large bowl of chips, and read our books in the sun for most of the rest of the afternoon.
Home on the streetcar, we again relaxed with our books, finally feeling in the holiday vibe, til we realised that we were meeting a friend of Roz's boss in the Hyatt rooftop bar, and I'd entirely misidentified its location on the map. We leapt to attention and changed for the evening, before hopping into what proved to be a poorly chosen streetcar, as I'd randomly assumed that when we needed to make a turn we could hop on another one. Alas no such joining streetcar existed so we marched several blocks along the road at some speed and made it to the rooftop bar just a few minutes late. The woman we met was delightful. A lifelong Toronto resident, she further persuaded us of the merits of the city. It's an odd city, in my opinion. It feels more like a town, or even perhaps a suburb, with its quiet residential streets of two-storey houses and picket fences and little local parks, and apparently low crime (an argument between a streetcar driver and a passenger made the front page of the local major newspaper, as did a collision between a cyclist and a pedestrian). But it also has fabulous restaurants, cool bars, and a great arts scene (the previous evening's ill-chosen play excluded... and on a side note, Roz posted a summary of our views of said play on Twitter, only for it to be immediately found by the play's cast, who must have been somewhat crushed - the guilt!) The view from the rooftop bar was fantastic - right over Toronto - and the mohitos and G&Ts weren't bad either. Nor the tasty snacks (oops more chips...). Afterwards we headed home with falafel to watch a film, streamed from the internet onto the wall of our flat via our laptop and a projector - very cool indeed.
This morning Roz has been to hot yoga, in a studio right next to our apartment, while I devoured Annabel by Kathleen Winters, a great book. I refuse to believe it's our second last day in Toronto...
Friday 8 July 2011
In which Roz and Layla see a lot of art and some rotten sci fi theatre
by Roz
The bus to Toronto turned out to be entirely pleasant and we had no difficulties in finding a taxi to hop into to take us to our new abode, a random flat that we are renting. The random flat turned out to be very pleasant, as did the young Dutch couple renting it (once we'd recovered from our bitterness that they own two flats in Toronto). Having settled in, admired the view (we're on the the 8th floor) we headed out towards the very centre of town, ostensibly to watch The Wizard of Oz, which was being screened outdoors, but - given Layla's presence - no-one will be surprised to learn that it also involved a snack en route (at TIFF, Toronto's equivalent of the NFT). We arrived in time to see Dorothy begin her journey down the yellow brick road, and left before the scary bit (when they are off to the witch's castle to get her broomstick). Walking home we argued over the best musicals of all time - without resolution. (But at least this is slightly less nerdy than our previous argument about favourite punctuation...)
The next morning, we contemplated our options. Without having entirely finalised them, I abandoned Layla (leaving her with strict instructions to have a plan on my return) and went for a short run down to the harbour and along it. This sounds a tad virtuous but really arises out of fear of a half marathon which I am to do later in the year - and my enthusiasm for listening to my current audiobook (My Cousin Rachel). I returned to hear Layla's plan, which I then immediately changed (what fun I must be to live with!) and we set off for the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art. It turned out to be a really sweet museum - at first sight entirely deserted (we were disconcerted to discover a gaggle of young people listening seemingly spellbound to a ?teacher / ?museum guide when we turned a corner). The current exhibition focuses on a 1980s collective based at the Cameron hotel. Interesting, though there wasn't a great deal I'd like to take home with me. But it was particularly nice to see a bit of history of an area we've been staying in (it's all near the Drake hotel). From there, we walked through a park to hop on a streetcar and head to the Church St area for lunch and a mooch. Till I spotted the Ontario Museum of Art and persuaded Layla to leap off the streetcar early (not least by mentioning there are good cafes there). Obviously, our first stop therefore was lunch, and we debated vigorously the merits of paying extra to go to the American Abstract Art Exhibition. We wavered, till Layla reminded me that we don't actually like the work of Jackson Pollock much (heresy though this be). We therefore just paid the fairly extortionate entrance fee and headed in. First we saw some modern Inuit art which we both liked, and then went on to look at the rest of the collection, and particularly the Group of 7 (a group of artists who were all of the view that Canada would never reach its full potential until it had its own distinctive art). I liked a lot of this, but I think Layla was of the view that it was a tad too chocolate box-ey. (I was mainly perturbed to find that the cover of The Welsh Girl, by Peter Ho Davies, seemed to sport a reproduction of one of the pictures - this seemed to go against logic.)
After the museum, we felt hot, and decided to head home to get our swimming gear and go for a swim in one of the city's outdoor pools. We were briefly distracted en route by a very lovely chocolate shop (where I had coffee and Layla the most delicious almond ice cream). Having collected our stuff, we were disconcerted to find that the pool we'd picked (for proximity to our flat) was entirely empty, the size of a postage stamp, and had no less than 5 lifeguards. We got changed and self-consciously made our way to the side of the pool. Two of the lifeguards came out and positioned themselves at either end of the postage stamp, prepared to leap in to what was clearly a deathly pool. I put my foot in the water. And then removed it very quickly. The water was freezing, and we were thus left in something of a quandary. It seemed a shame to give up so easily (and to disappoint the lifeguards) but... We sat on the side and dangled our legs in, hoping it would suddenly seem warmer. It didn't and after a while Layla mentioned that she no longer had any feeling left in her toes. So I'm afraid to say that we grinned at the lifeguards somewhat shamefacedly and then made a swift exit. Canadians must be a hardy race, if they are able to swim in that temperature...
We headed back to the flat, and lazed around reading and sipping some white wine. Alas, we lazed to long and then found ourselves running late for the Toronto Fringe Festival Show we'd booked for 6.30. We arrived, breathlessly, two minutes late, to find some very determined door staff who were clear that latecomers - however far they'd come - could not be admitted. We begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Sat despondently on a bench, we realised another show would be starting shortly. We bitterly decided to go and see it, and randomly got a bit of a discount (due to a kindly passing lady). I suppose that it should have been entirely guessable that a show about Star Trek (called Brother Andre's Heart) wouldn't be entirely to Layla's taste, but I doubt either of us could have guessed exactly how dreadful the whole thing would be. Dodgy, over-long script. Painful metaphors. Not great acting. And really, really chilly. Still, we enjoyed ourselves afterwards, bitching about the dreadfulness of the show.
From there, we headed to L.A.B. (Live and Breathe) for dinner. It's a restaurant in Little Italy that gets great reviews, and allegedly takes a molecular approach to its cooking. It was no Noma, but the food was nice (my parmesan croquettes were a particular highlight and Layla's carrot risotto may inspire me in the future). The wine wasn't great, but you can't have everything...
We contemplated our post-dinner options carefully (our jetlag is long gone, hurrah!). Though College Street, where we were, had hundreds of restaurants, there seemed to be few bars. Consulting my Lonely Planet iPhone app, the only option to be found there was the Bovine Sex Club (the review illuminated that the venue was not, in fact, a sex club, but rather a heavy metal rock music venue - even worse, in our view!). Eschewing this option, we hopped on a streetcar, and made our way to the Factory Theatre Bar patio, which turned out to have a profusion of over enthusiastic fringe festival people milling around. This lent it a jolly air, and we enjoyed our drink before heading home.
The bus to Toronto turned out to be entirely pleasant and we had no difficulties in finding a taxi to hop into to take us to our new abode, a random flat that we are renting. The random flat turned out to be very pleasant, as did the young Dutch couple renting it (once we'd recovered from our bitterness that they own two flats in Toronto). Having settled in, admired the view (we're on the the 8th floor) we headed out towards the very centre of town, ostensibly to watch The Wizard of Oz, which was being screened outdoors, but - given Layla's presence - no-one will be surprised to learn that it also involved a snack en route (at TIFF, Toronto's equivalent of the NFT). We arrived in time to see Dorothy begin her journey down the yellow brick road, and left before the scary bit (when they are off to the witch's castle to get her broomstick). Walking home we argued over the best musicals of all time - without resolution. (But at least this is slightly less nerdy than our previous argument about favourite punctuation...)
The next morning, we contemplated our options. Without having entirely finalised them, I abandoned Layla (leaving her with strict instructions to have a plan on my return) and went for a short run down to the harbour and along it. This sounds a tad virtuous but really arises out of fear of a half marathon which I am to do later in the year - and my enthusiasm for listening to my current audiobook (My Cousin Rachel). I returned to hear Layla's plan, which I then immediately changed (what fun I must be to live with!) and we set off for the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art. It turned out to be a really sweet museum - at first sight entirely deserted (we were disconcerted to discover a gaggle of young people listening seemingly spellbound to a ?teacher / ?museum guide when we turned a corner). The current exhibition focuses on a 1980s collective based at the Cameron hotel. Interesting, though there wasn't a great deal I'd like to take home with me. But it was particularly nice to see a bit of history of an area we've been staying in (it's all near the Drake hotel). From there, we walked through a park to hop on a streetcar and head to the Church St area for lunch and a mooch. Till I spotted the Ontario Museum of Art and persuaded Layla to leap off the streetcar early (not least by mentioning there are good cafes there). Obviously, our first stop therefore was lunch, and we debated vigorously the merits of paying extra to go to the American Abstract Art Exhibition. We wavered, till Layla reminded me that we don't actually like the work of Jackson Pollock much (heresy though this be). We therefore just paid the fairly extortionate entrance fee and headed in. First we saw some modern Inuit art which we both liked, and then went on to look at the rest of the collection, and particularly the Group of 7 (a group of artists who were all of the view that Canada would never reach its full potential until it had its own distinctive art). I liked a lot of this, but I think Layla was of the view that it was a tad too chocolate box-ey. (I was mainly perturbed to find that the cover of The Welsh Girl, by Peter Ho Davies, seemed to sport a reproduction of one of the pictures - this seemed to go against logic.)
After the museum, we felt hot, and decided to head home to get our swimming gear and go for a swim in one of the city's outdoor pools. We were briefly distracted en route by a very lovely chocolate shop (where I had coffee and Layla the most delicious almond ice cream). Having collected our stuff, we were disconcerted to find that the pool we'd picked (for proximity to our flat) was entirely empty, the size of a postage stamp, and had no less than 5 lifeguards. We got changed and self-consciously made our way to the side of the pool. Two of the lifeguards came out and positioned themselves at either end of the postage stamp, prepared to leap in to what was clearly a deathly pool. I put my foot in the water. And then removed it very quickly. The water was freezing, and we were thus left in something of a quandary. It seemed a shame to give up so easily (and to disappoint the lifeguards) but... We sat on the side and dangled our legs in, hoping it would suddenly seem warmer. It didn't and after a while Layla mentioned that she no longer had any feeling left in her toes. So I'm afraid to say that we grinned at the lifeguards somewhat shamefacedly and then made a swift exit. Canadians must be a hardy race, if they are able to swim in that temperature...
We headed back to the flat, and lazed around reading and sipping some white wine. Alas, we lazed to long and then found ourselves running late for the Toronto Fringe Festival Show we'd booked for 6.30. We arrived, breathlessly, two minutes late, to find some very determined door staff who were clear that latecomers - however far they'd come - could not be admitted. We begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Sat despondently on a bench, we realised another show would be starting shortly. We bitterly decided to go and see it, and randomly got a bit of a discount (due to a kindly passing lady). I suppose that it should have been entirely guessable that a show about Star Trek (called Brother Andre's Heart) wouldn't be entirely to Layla's taste, but I doubt either of us could have guessed exactly how dreadful the whole thing would be. Dodgy, over-long script. Painful metaphors. Not great acting. And really, really chilly. Still, we enjoyed ourselves afterwards, bitching about the dreadfulness of the show.
From there, we headed to L.A.B. (Live and Breathe) for dinner. It's a restaurant in Little Italy that gets great reviews, and allegedly takes a molecular approach to its cooking. It was no Noma, but the food was nice (my parmesan croquettes were a particular highlight and Layla's carrot risotto may inspire me in the future). The wine wasn't great, but you can't have everything...
We contemplated our post-dinner options carefully (our jetlag is long gone, hurrah!). Though College Street, where we were, had hundreds of restaurants, there seemed to be few bars. Consulting my Lonely Planet iPhone app, the only option to be found there was the Bovine Sex Club (the review illuminated that the venue was not, in fact, a sex club, but rather a heavy metal rock music venue - even worse, in our view!). Eschewing this option, we hopped on a streetcar, and made our way to the Factory Theatre Bar patio, which turned out to have a profusion of over enthusiastic fringe festival people milling around. This lent it a jolly air, and we enjoyed our drink before heading home.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
In which Layla and Roz cycle and taste wine, look at a big waterfall, and watch two plays
by Layla
We arrived in St Catharine and took a taxi to our B&B at Niagara on the Lake. What an odd place. The B&B itself was very nice, and the owner friendly and helpful. But the map's description of a few blocks from the main street translated as deepest suburbia, with houses lined up on long, pavement-less roads (people in Canada apparently do not walk). We went out for dinner at the Old Winery, a pleasant restaurant with outside patio where we enjoyed a vegetarian pizza and salad to share, along with some local wine. And then a 15 minute walk home in the deserted, pitch black, pavement-less streets, with nothing but an occasional speeding car, and the coloured hum of televisions within houses to keep us company. In some ways, not dissimilar to Cambodia, and a rather odd experience. We were thankful when we eventually reached the safety of our B&B.
The next morning, up bright and early, we suffered the bizarre B&B experience of dining with another family at one cozy table, and ate strawberries with balsamic vinegar and chocolate (random) and apple pancake cake before zooming out to Zoom, a bike tour place where we'd booked an all-day cycle tour of the local vineyards, or as they're known, 'wineries'. A really fun experience. We started with a tour of the town, being regaled with historical facts by our guide John - Niagara on the Lake was once the capital of Canada, and subject to all sorts of US invasions from just across the water. Less than a mile away we could see the US fort. Quite interesting. The town itself is pretty and twee and apparently the oldest in Canada. And they have a long tradition of theatrical festivals dating back to the evangelicals whose annual visits and performances were the highlight of the year; this tradition is now continued in the Shaw Festival, which we were to attend that evening.
Out of town, we sped on through parkland cycle paths by Lake Ontario, to our first vineyard, Lalley. Which was small and very sweet and had the best wine of the day - after tasting six, we bought a bottle of some excellent Vidal (2010) and the region's specialty, ice wine (very sweet wine due to grapes being squeezed very late, when they've been frozen by the chilly Canadian climate). That day we tried Riesling and Cabernet Franc ice wine, but Vidal was the most delicious. After a picnic lunch of sandwiches and cake and cherries by the roadside, we proceeded on to more wineries whose names I fear I've forgotten... We didn't like Reif, which was big and brash, but did like Pondview, where we bought a bottle of wine and another of ice wine. We didn't like the pretentious Iniskillen, which had ice wine for $150 (though it did taste nice), and we also tried Marynissen, popular with the government, but with the need for the wine to 'sit' for several more years, the reds were tannin-y. We finished off with a tour at the very modern operation of Jackson Triggs.
After quite a delightful day, we returned home and tried out the B&B's outdoor hot tub before getting changed and heading out on the town. We walked for 20 minutes into the main street and found a restaurant called Bistro One where we had more pizza and salad and tried the Megalomaniac winery's Riesling before heading along to the Festival Theatre to see an obscure but fab play by JM Barrie, The Admirable Crichton. A lovely theatre and a lovely play - very cheery indeed. After it we walked back in the pitch black weirdness to our B&B and headed straight to sleep.
The next day we awoke early and after a speedy breakfast of egg baked in a bread pastry shell, caught a taxi to what Oscar Wilde terms 'a bride's second disappointment', Niagara Falls. I'd been there once before on the Chinese bus tour saga, but Roz never had and it seemed mean to deprive her. After a 20 minute taxi ride (there is absolutely no public transport in Niagara on the Lake) we were deposited on a street corner. We rounded the corner and there it was - Niagara falls. It's quite an impressive sight, though one imagines it might be more impressive encountering it in the wild than framed by a thousand tacky tourist attractions, but still very cool. There are actually two falls - one on the Canada side, and a larger one on the US side. We bought tickets for the famous Maid of the Mist boat that took us to both of them, clad in matching bright blue ponchos as there was a lot of water - and so much water mist we could barely see the falls. Quite fun, if rather wet, and after it we strolled along the walkway for a mile or so, looking at the falls from above and imagining going over them in a barrel!
After the Niagara Falls excitement we took another taxi back to Niagara on the Lake and had an underwhelming lunch at the Epicurean where Rpz and I spent most of the meal weeping due to an unfortunate reminiscence of the book Rilla of Ingleside, set in Canada, which we'd both read as children and which has a particularly sad bit (Dog Monday, for those kindred spirits)... After lunch we walked back up the road to the Festival Theatre for an unplanned My Fair Lady indulgence. It had great reviews, and we were delighted to have gone as it lived nicely up to them. Beautifully performed, and a delightful musical. We have some envy of Niagara on the Lake for its Shaw Festival though in fact none of the locals we encountered had actually been to any of this year's shows!
After the play we had a taxi waiting outside the theatre to dash us back to the B&B, pick up our bags, and drive us to St Catharine's where we were to catch the 6:08 train back to Toronto. Which I can tell you was even more expensive than the taxi. So it was with much consternation that we received the news from the stationmaster that the train had derailed and would not be turning up. Thankfully our taxi driver hadn't yet gone. He conveyed us to the bus station and we grudgingly sloped onto a Megabus, eventual destination Toronto. This may not be very helpful for our evening plans!
We arrived in St Catharine and took a taxi to our B&B at Niagara on the Lake. What an odd place. The B&B itself was very nice, and the owner friendly and helpful. But the map's description of a few blocks from the main street translated as deepest suburbia, with houses lined up on long, pavement-less roads (people in Canada apparently do not walk). We went out for dinner at the Old Winery, a pleasant restaurant with outside patio where we enjoyed a vegetarian pizza and salad to share, along with some local wine. And then a 15 minute walk home in the deserted, pitch black, pavement-less streets, with nothing but an occasional speeding car, and the coloured hum of televisions within houses to keep us company. In some ways, not dissimilar to Cambodia, and a rather odd experience. We were thankful when we eventually reached the safety of our B&B.
The next morning, up bright and early, we suffered the bizarre B&B experience of dining with another family at one cozy table, and ate strawberries with balsamic vinegar and chocolate (random) and apple pancake cake before zooming out to Zoom, a bike tour place where we'd booked an all-day cycle tour of the local vineyards, or as they're known, 'wineries'. A really fun experience. We started with a tour of the town, being regaled with historical facts by our guide John - Niagara on the Lake was once the capital of Canada, and subject to all sorts of US invasions from just across the water. Less than a mile away we could see the US fort. Quite interesting. The town itself is pretty and twee and apparently the oldest in Canada. And they have a long tradition of theatrical festivals dating back to the evangelicals whose annual visits and performances were the highlight of the year; this tradition is now continued in the Shaw Festival, which we were to attend that evening.
Out of town, we sped on through parkland cycle paths by Lake Ontario, to our first vineyard, Lalley. Which was small and very sweet and had the best wine of the day - after tasting six, we bought a bottle of some excellent Vidal (2010) and the region's specialty, ice wine (very sweet wine due to grapes being squeezed very late, when they've been frozen by the chilly Canadian climate). That day we tried Riesling and Cabernet Franc ice wine, but Vidal was the most delicious. After a picnic lunch of sandwiches and cake and cherries by the roadside, we proceeded on to more wineries whose names I fear I've forgotten... We didn't like Reif, which was big and brash, but did like Pondview, where we bought a bottle of wine and another of ice wine. We didn't like the pretentious Iniskillen, which had ice wine for $150 (though it did taste nice), and we also tried Marynissen, popular with the government, but with the need for the wine to 'sit' for several more years, the reds were tannin-y. We finished off with a tour at the very modern operation of Jackson Triggs.
After quite a delightful day, we returned home and tried out the B&B's outdoor hot tub before getting changed and heading out on the town. We walked for 20 minutes into the main street and found a restaurant called Bistro One where we had more pizza and salad and tried the Megalomaniac winery's Riesling before heading along to the Festival Theatre to see an obscure but fab play by JM Barrie, The Admirable Crichton. A lovely theatre and a lovely play - very cheery indeed. After it we walked back in the pitch black weirdness to our B&B and headed straight to sleep.
The next day we awoke early and after a speedy breakfast of egg baked in a bread pastry shell, caught a taxi to what Oscar Wilde terms 'a bride's second disappointment', Niagara Falls. I'd been there once before on the Chinese bus tour saga, but Roz never had and it seemed mean to deprive her. After a 20 minute taxi ride (there is absolutely no public transport in Niagara on the Lake) we were deposited on a street corner. We rounded the corner and there it was - Niagara falls. It's quite an impressive sight, though one imagines it might be more impressive encountering it in the wild than framed by a thousand tacky tourist attractions, but still very cool. There are actually two falls - one on the Canada side, and a larger one on the US side. We bought tickets for the famous Maid of the Mist boat that took us to both of them, clad in matching bright blue ponchos as there was a lot of water - and so much water mist we could barely see the falls. Quite fun, if rather wet, and after it we strolled along the walkway for a mile or so, looking at the falls from above and imagining going over them in a barrel!
After the Niagara Falls excitement we took another taxi back to Niagara on the Lake and had an underwhelming lunch at the Epicurean where Rpz and I spent most of the meal weeping due to an unfortunate reminiscence of the book Rilla of Ingleside, set in Canada, which we'd both read as children and which has a particularly sad bit (Dog Monday, for those kindred spirits)... After lunch we walked back up the road to the Festival Theatre for an unplanned My Fair Lady indulgence. It had great reviews, and we were delighted to have gone as it lived nicely up to them. Beautifully performed, and a delightful musical. We have some envy of Niagara on the Lake for its Shaw Festival though in fact none of the locals we encountered had actually been to any of this year's shows!
After the play we had a taxi waiting outside the theatre to dash us back to the B&B, pick up our bags, and drive us to St Catharine's where we were to catch the 6:08 train back to Toronto. Which I can tell you was even more expensive than the taxi. So it was with much consternation that we received the news from the stationmaster that the train had derailed and would not be turning up. Thankfully our taxi driver hadn't yet gone. He conveyed us to the bus station and we grudgingly sloped onto a Megabus, eventual destination Toronto. This may not be very helpful for our evening plans!
Monday 4 July 2011
In which Layla and Roz sample the food, drink, bikes and parades of sunny Toronto... and battle jetlag
by Layla
As you may recall, our final day in Lisbon had us feeling dismal about the prospect of returning home, so to alleviate the misery, we rather randomly booked Toronto. Some weeks later, almost having forgotten our plan, we stepped aboard the plane for an 8 day holiday in Toronto.
We arrived pleasingly in the evening and checked into the Drake Hotel, the occasion for such fanciness and trendiness being Roz’s birthday the following day. Indeed we realised it was far too trendy for us when the reception desk let us know that the downstairs club was open til 4am but sadly the bar closed at 2am. Our eyes already stinging from jetlag, we nodded weakly and climbed the stairs to an achingly trendy designer room and prodded each other awake to prevent immediate succumbing to the sleepy lure of bed. Instead we got changed and went to the hotel bar, Sky Bar, which was outside, elevated above the arty Queen Street West, and bustling with clearly trendy locals. We ordered cocktails and nachos and sipped, trying to prompt each other into scintillating conversation to cover our yawns.
After a couple of cocktails we decided to go for a walk in the hot evening, along Queen Street West past little boutiques and galleries til our legs gave way into a bar opposite the hotel where we had more drinks and shared a veggieburger and observed that every woman in Toronto wears hotpants. This not being a fashion trend ideally suited to flattering either of us, we mused over our holiday wardrobes with some amusement. And then, finally, we allowed ourselves to go to bed.
I went unrewarded for my restraint and awoke at 4am. Roz managed a more respectable 7am, and we had a cheery morning of her opening her birthday presents (including the cool new MacBook Pro on which I’m typing this) and coffee and a muffin from the hotel’s café. We then proceeded to another little diner for our proper breakfast, of pancakes and fruit and Canadian maple syrup. My plan for Roz’s birthday had been to take her to the Toronto Islands, beautiful islands of grass, flowers and beaches just a 15 minute ferry from Toronto itself. Sadly I’d decided to walk there, which took an hour in the blazing sun through what started as interesting streets with cool shops, which rapidly turned into non-beautiful streets. We then hit the harbour and wandered along by the marina with Lake Ontario glinting in the sunlight, and popped into the Harbourfront Centre which seems to have some cool arty events going on (and watched a little glass blowing). This meant that by the time we reached the ferry terminal we were exhausted and hot and about a million tourists were waiting in line. Caught in indecision, Roz determined we’d postpone the trip to the islands, and took control of the situation with her Lonely Planet iPhone app, located a cool Italian restaurant in Little Italy, and we jumped in a cab and headed for its shady patio. Soon we were tucking into a tasty lunch of bruschetta and frittatas and a bottle of prosecco in a sweet little neighbourhood restaurant (St John’s Café, I think) and speculated about why the Italian area had bilingual Mandarin signs all over it.
After lunch we walked through the University of Toronto to Pride, an event we hadn’t been particularly excited by, but had come to realise that rather than being the niche interest of the gay community as in most other places, the citizens of Toronto embrace absolutely. They go for a full week of events and parades, with all the shops sporting rainbows and selling gay-related garments, and every mainstream newspaper and magazine full of it. We thought we’d go and check it out. And so we squeezed into the six-layered crowd lining the parade route (and then ducked when the parade participants used supersoaker waterguns) and watched a bit of it. In fact, it turend out to be very cheery and touching, particularly the parents of gay kids (‘we love our lesbian daughter’), and the schools and universities (‘we support our gay students’). Roz sniggered at me as I shed a sentimental tear.
Next, the Batu Shoe Museum. I must note that this was Roz’s choice, but to be fair, it was her birthday. It also turned out to be very nice (though like everything else in Toronto, unfeasibly expensive). We travelled by subway, which was efficient and cheery. Public transport people here are very different to their UK counterparts – you’d have thought the ticket salesman’s main dream in life was to make sure I got the right train… After a quick drink, the Shoe Museum was much fun, admiring the history of shoes and having a sneaky ‘wedding dance’ to the 1920s music playing in one room where there were no other visitors.
We caught an extortionate taxi back to the hotel, changed, and after a lovely 45 minutes drinking cocktails and reading our books in the Sky bar, we braved the streetcar system (essentially trams) and caught two to our evening destination, Woodlot. Roz, having done lots of research, had identified it as a glorious combination between cool and trendy in an understated way, and really excellent food. We were disappointed on neither front. The food was fantastic. From the halloumi bruschetta to the tofu steaks with white beans, it was inventive, flavoursome, pretty and hearty. An absolute delight.
That 4am start started to show in my eyes and Roz, while rather more perky, was also beset by jetlag. After we polished off every last delicious morsel, we staggered into a taxi and headed straight for bed. Where our 10pm bedtime punished me again, though this time I managed to sleep til almost 5:30. Roz slumbered til 8 while I looked on bitterly.
Having failed to go to the islands yesterday, we decided to do it today. We started with granola, yoghurt, coffee and juice in bed, then packed up and took a streetcar most of the way. This made us rather more amenable to the queue for the ferry – which was also far more bearable than it had been at the weekend. After a speedy cruise through Lake Ontario, we found ourselves disembarking in a strange world of no cars, beautifully manicured lawns, and water on all sides. The millions of children who had accompanied us on the ferry mercifully decanted into the old fashioned fairground, while we proceeded through fountains and flowers to a bicycle rental place.
We had a rather idyllic hour cycling round the multiple islands that are connected by a quaint boardwalk and car-free roads. We stopped at pretty beaches and to take photos of the Toronto skyline, and peered into people’s homes, wondering at what life would be like living on such islands. We passed kids at summer camp, and marinas full of boats. And then, having deposited our bicycles, we walked back up to the Old Rectory and eventually secured a table in a sunny patio that has been apparently voted the most scenic patio in Toronto. The food was also rather good. I had a tofu tikka panini and Roz had a tasty chickpea dish. We shared a salad of leaves, brie and strawberries and toasted the incoming news from our lawyer that we had eventually managed to extend the leasehold of our flat, and both of our names graced a brand new mortgage. And then we strolled in the rather-too-hot sun back to the ferry terminal, via the ice cream stand…
We took the ferry back to the mainland, and spend a pleasant time whiling away the afternoon with books under a tree on the grass overlooking the lake. Til I noticed we’d whiled away a bit too much of it! We sped up the hill, stopping at the rather convoluted Union Station to buy tickets to our evening destination. Again, unfeasibly expensive (says the mean Scot). And then a mad dash to the Drake (including streetcar and two taxis) to pick up our bags and return to the station, just in time to catch the train. Destination St Catharine (to transfer to Niagara on the Lake), for a couple of days of exploring Canada’s wine country by bike, attending the annual Shaw theatre festival, and looking at some rather big waterfalls…
As you may recall, our final day in Lisbon had us feeling dismal about the prospect of returning home, so to alleviate the misery, we rather randomly booked Toronto. Some weeks later, almost having forgotten our plan, we stepped aboard the plane for an 8 day holiday in Toronto.
We arrived pleasingly in the evening and checked into the Drake Hotel, the occasion for such fanciness and trendiness being Roz’s birthday the following day. Indeed we realised it was far too trendy for us when the reception desk let us know that the downstairs club was open til 4am but sadly the bar closed at 2am. Our eyes already stinging from jetlag, we nodded weakly and climbed the stairs to an achingly trendy designer room and prodded each other awake to prevent immediate succumbing to the sleepy lure of bed. Instead we got changed and went to the hotel bar, Sky Bar, which was outside, elevated above the arty Queen Street West, and bustling with clearly trendy locals. We ordered cocktails and nachos and sipped, trying to prompt each other into scintillating conversation to cover our yawns.
After a couple of cocktails we decided to go for a walk in the hot evening, along Queen Street West past little boutiques and galleries til our legs gave way into a bar opposite the hotel where we had more drinks and shared a veggieburger and observed that every woman in Toronto wears hotpants. This not being a fashion trend ideally suited to flattering either of us, we mused over our holiday wardrobes with some amusement. And then, finally, we allowed ourselves to go to bed.
I went unrewarded for my restraint and awoke at 4am. Roz managed a more respectable 7am, and we had a cheery morning of her opening her birthday presents (including the cool new MacBook Pro on which I’m typing this) and coffee and a muffin from the hotel’s café. We then proceeded to another little diner for our proper breakfast, of pancakes and fruit and Canadian maple syrup. My plan for Roz’s birthday had been to take her to the Toronto Islands, beautiful islands of grass, flowers and beaches just a 15 minute ferry from Toronto itself. Sadly I’d decided to walk there, which took an hour in the blazing sun through what started as interesting streets with cool shops, which rapidly turned into non-beautiful streets. We then hit the harbour and wandered along by the marina with Lake Ontario glinting in the sunlight, and popped into the Harbourfront Centre which seems to have some cool arty events going on (and watched a little glass blowing). This meant that by the time we reached the ferry terminal we were exhausted and hot and about a million tourists were waiting in line. Caught in indecision, Roz determined we’d postpone the trip to the islands, and took control of the situation with her Lonely Planet iPhone app, located a cool Italian restaurant in Little Italy, and we jumped in a cab and headed for its shady patio. Soon we were tucking into a tasty lunch of bruschetta and frittatas and a bottle of prosecco in a sweet little neighbourhood restaurant (St John’s Café, I think) and speculated about why the Italian area had bilingual Mandarin signs all over it.
After lunch we walked through the University of Toronto to Pride, an event we hadn’t been particularly excited by, but had come to realise that rather than being the niche interest of the gay community as in most other places, the citizens of Toronto embrace absolutely. They go for a full week of events and parades, with all the shops sporting rainbows and selling gay-related garments, and every mainstream newspaper and magazine full of it. We thought we’d go and check it out. And so we squeezed into the six-layered crowd lining the parade route (and then ducked when the parade participants used supersoaker waterguns) and watched a bit of it. In fact, it turend out to be very cheery and touching, particularly the parents of gay kids (‘we love our lesbian daughter’), and the schools and universities (‘we support our gay students’). Roz sniggered at me as I shed a sentimental tear.
Next, the Batu Shoe Museum. I must note that this was Roz’s choice, but to be fair, it was her birthday. It also turned out to be very nice (though like everything else in Toronto, unfeasibly expensive). We travelled by subway, which was efficient and cheery. Public transport people here are very different to their UK counterparts – you’d have thought the ticket salesman’s main dream in life was to make sure I got the right train… After a quick drink, the Shoe Museum was much fun, admiring the history of shoes and having a sneaky ‘wedding dance’ to the 1920s music playing in one room where there were no other visitors.
We caught an extortionate taxi back to the hotel, changed, and after a lovely 45 minutes drinking cocktails and reading our books in the Sky bar, we braved the streetcar system (essentially trams) and caught two to our evening destination, Woodlot. Roz, having done lots of research, had identified it as a glorious combination between cool and trendy in an understated way, and really excellent food. We were disappointed on neither front. The food was fantastic. From the halloumi bruschetta to the tofu steaks with white beans, it was inventive, flavoursome, pretty and hearty. An absolute delight.
That 4am start started to show in my eyes and Roz, while rather more perky, was also beset by jetlag. After we polished off every last delicious morsel, we staggered into a taxi and headed straight for bed. Where our 10pm bedtime punished me again, though this time I managed to sleep til almost 5:30. Roz slumbered til 8 while I looked on bitterly.
Having failed to go to the islands yesterday, we decided to do it today. We started with granola, yoghurt, coffee and juice in bed, then packed up and took a streetcar most of the way. This made us rather more amenable to the queue for the ferry – which was also far more bearable than it had been at the weekend. After a speedy cruise through Lake Ontario, we found ourselves disembarking in a strange world of no cars, beautifully manicured lawns, and water on all sides. The millions of children who had accompanied us on the ferry mercifully decanted into the old fashioned fairground, while we proceeded through fountains and flowers to a bicycle rental place.
We had a rather idyllic hour cycling round the multiple islands that are connected by a quaint boardwalk and car-free roads. We stopped at pretty beaches and to take photos of the Toronto skyline, and peered into people’s homes, wondering at what life would be like living on such islands. We passed kids at summer camp, and marinas full of boats. And then, having deposited our bicycles, we walked back up to the Old Rectory and eventually secured a table in a sunny patio that has been apparently voted the most scenic patio in Toronto. The food was also rather good. I had a tofu tikka panini and Roz had a tasty chickpea dish. We shared a salad of leaves, brie and strawberries and toasted the incoming news from our lawyer that we had eventually managed to extend the leasehold of our flat, and both of our names graced a brand new mortgage. And then we strolled in the rather-too-hot sun back to the ferry terminal, via the ice cream stand…
We took the ferry back to the mainland, and spend a pleasant time whiling away the afternoon with books under a tree on the grass overlooking the lake. Til I noticed we’d whiled away a bit too much of it! We sped up the hill, stopping at the rather convoluted Union Station to buy tickets to our evening destination. Again, unfeasibly expensive (says the mean Scot). And then a mad dash to the Drake (including streetcar and two taxis) to pick up our bags and return to the station, just in time to catch the train. Destination St Catharine (to transfer to Niagara on the Lake), for a couple of days of exploring Canada’s wine country by bike, attending the annual Shaw theatre festival, and looking at some rather big waterfalls…
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