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.