April 30: Urban oases

I visit High Line, the newest urban green space in Manhattan. This old elevated railway which functioned as such until 1980 is now an oasis--short but certainly pleasant diversion from New York’s bustle. I wander through Chelsea Market in search of food. I spy an outpost of Jacques Torres’ chocolaterie. JT’s thick rich hot chocolate is very good, but Toronto’s Soma still gets my vote for North America’s top hot chocolate. I wander around Rockefeller Center with its imposing art deco friezes and golden Prometheus.

I welcome my cousin Kenneth from Baltimore. We zip up to Central Park. We see the Dakota Mansion where John Lennon lived, then walk past Strawberry Fields and its unofficial shrine to John Lennon, ‘Imagine’ embedded in the pavement.

A glorious day for a stroll through Central Park. Buskers and boaters abound. We have 45 minutes to visit the Frick Collection. I point out the star tableaux.

French seems to be the second language of Upper East Side. I translate for a family during a medical emergency on the bus.

We make our way to Greenwich, slowly with various subway detours. Note to NYC subway users: there are two Spring Street subway stations. Finally, we locate La Esquina. The food is superb: the quesadilla de huitlacoche, chockful of Mexican truffles, corn, mushrooms, and cheese followed by a quinoa, pumpkin, and almond stuffed chile relleno. The short ‘35 minute’ wait for the table is well worth its while.

April 29: Tea and sympathy with cake

Wedding watchers are decked out in frilly hats and fancy frocks at the unofficial home of the expat British in New York, Tea & Sympathy. I wander to Washington Square. Barricaded lines form to spot Glee Club cast members. I would have expected that in New York where celebrities are aplenty, crowds do not go ga-ga over well known personalities. I continue on through Greenwich to the New Museum. George Condo’s exhibition has a sense of old world familiarity: grotesque figures are presented in colours and poses of old masters. I make my way back uptown juxtaposing my day viewing the wild conceptual works at New Museum with rich hued Klimt’s and Schiele’s at the Neue Galerie. I stop at the Viennese styled Cafe Sabarsky for more richness--a multilayered hazelnut chocolate torte.

I meet with Dominik, whom I had met along with his friends in Monteverde, Costa Rica a few months back (November 20 blog entry). He introduces me to a Flatiron District roof top garden for a stunning view of the lighted Empire State Building. Chrysler building shines in the distance. I get a good taste of a New Yorker’s life.

April 28: All that glitters

Tornadoes and thunderstorms throughout eastern U.S. delay my flight from Billy Bishop to Newark. My seatmate has a fear of flying, which she demonstrates quite convincingly on much of this turbulent flight. Luckily, her nail marks are beginning to fade.

I drop off my bags (I am very lucky to have a friend with a huge apartment in midtown NYC--thank you Carolyn!) and zip up to Columbus Circle for some lunch. Wealth is displayed so unabashedly here. I find Bouchon bakery and am happily surprised by the mastery of takeout beet soup with perfectly chewy epi rolls.

New York City is very much an insider’s city. It runs on its own rules. Outsiders stand out with their lost looks. Signage in the airport are minimal. Which baggage carousel? How do I get into Manhattan? I have many travel miles behind me (including several visits to NYC), yet am still quite lost here. The subway also runs on its own set of rules. I give up a dry ride in the subway to walk crosstown in the steady rain.

The current exhibition of Van Cleef & Arpels jewels at the Cooper Hewitt Design Museum, an outpost of the Smithsonian, are stunning. Now I know why I always find the VC&A windows in Paris' Place Vendome so alluring.

The area is chockful of museums. I walk around the Guggenheim’s shuttered doors (my 3rd major Frank Lloyd Wright building in 12 months) to the Frick. I have just under an hour to wander around this small but stunning art collection, arguably the best private European collection in the Americas. Some of the best works of well-known European artists are on display: a grand Bellini, not one but 3 Vermeers, the larger than life Rembrandt self portrait, the three (or is it four?) El Grecos. The Renoir, while beautiful, stand out incongruously with the other European masters. I spend a few minutes sketching in the covered central courtyard, oblivious to the bustling late afternoon rush outside.

Carolyn and I head to Blossom, a vegetarian restaurant that serves up fine American fare: Cape Cod cakes, black pea cakes, seitan scallopini. A long day. I head straight for bed, skipping jazz at Lincoln Center on my agenda.

April 27: Deconstructivism

I explore in search of a venue for my meetup’s May event. I check out Zocalo with D, a casual spot that has been getting rave reviews since its opening. I am impressed with the delicately balanced flavours in the deconstructed sandwiches--intriguing spreads and accompaniments. Yet, the spot does not seem ideal. I’ll have to eat some more.

April 26: Shunning Wagner

Last minute planning for my upcoming trip to New York City. The Met has no opera of interest to me. The Valkyries? Not a fan of Richard Wagner. Maybe I am just too much of an opera neophyte to enjoy his work. My itinerary is filled with art sightings. Reciprocal benefits with AGO membership is giving me big time value in NYC. I now have free access to big hitters such as the Frick Collection, Guggenheim, Whitney, Cooper Hewitt.

I return to Woodlot. My mouth has been drooling each time I think of their tempeh, shiitake, and sunchoke stew. The polenta base is even better second time around--perfect silken texture. Woodlot’s tables are a hot commodity. We have to vacate our table after 2 hours. We continue conversations at Art Square where Leyla has set a table for us among the art.

April 25: Road rage

Is the cyclist in front of me having a bad day? Or is this just his usual? Two jay walkers walk right into his path, then glare at him. A mere 50 feet further, a van turns right without signalling, almost knocking him down. He seems unfazed. Even for my short commute today, a woman decides suddenly to signal and turn right, not seeing me abreast with her car. Another car makes a fast right turn on a ‘blushing yellow’ light while I cross the street. Don’t they know that they can turn right on a red light anyways--they need not rush to run the light? These encounters are not limited to cycling victims. Sometimes the cyclist is the perpetrator. Yesterday, a cyclist ran a red light and almost ran in the pedestrian ahead of me.

Statistics support the danger lurking on Toronto’s roads: last year, 14 pedestrians were killed on its streets within a 2 week period.

I am sometimes pedestrian, sometimes driver, and sometimes cyclist. I see vying for supremacy on Toronto’s streets daily. Can we just have a bit more respect for each other and live more symbiotically?

Here are Christine’s road safety guidelines (This is by no means an exhaustive list):

1. Ensure that new immigrants learn Canadian road laws, stressing courtesy. I am all gung-ho about cultural diversity in Toronto. However, new immigrants importing different rules and practices make for chaotic and unsafe road behaviour.

1. Have respect and courtesy for others. The extra few seconds to let someone cross the road safely will not make a big difference in most lives. Think of the psychological impact if, as a driver, you seriously maim a pedestrian. One exception when seconds matter is when emergency vehicles are rushing to a destination. I see so many drivers who opt to speed ahead of these vehicles instead of pulling over. What if your mother’s home is the destination of that ambulance?

1. For all users of the road, be vigilant of your surroundings. Is there a cyclist beside you? Are you opening your car door into the path of a cyclist? Is there a pedestrian about to cross into your path?

1. Cyclists: obey your signals--you are using the road too. Bicycle speed can cause major damage. I myself have learnt a valuable lesson when I erred on this point. Streetcars in Toronto run in the middle of the road whereas most stops are by the side. Cars are required by law to stop when the streetcar stops to pick up passengers. Once, while cycling, I pulled ahead when the door was about to close. I almost ran into a wayward toddler who lost hold of dad’s hand and darted back out on the street. I almost ran into her.

1. Pedestrians, obey your signals. I have a rule: no jaywalking. My friends think I am nuts waiting for a signal when there are no cars around. I do this not because I am a stickler of rules, but because of a practical safety issue. As a sometimes driver in a busy downtown core, I recognize how distracting movement can be, even behind me. Pedestrians crossing behind a car can detract drivers’ attention from other more serious needs of his attention.

I try to stay awake through another live drama theatre piece. Luckily, the story is riveting: “Our Class” follows the lives of a class set in early 20th century Poland. It explores issues between Jews and Catholics.

April 24: Riding the rails

Hanging out at Dark Horse is my new Sunday ritual. Elaine joins me. We could have been twins separated at birth. Her life parallels mine in so many ways: two single professional women from Vancouver with a yearning for overseas humanitarian work. We both studied in London, development economics at LSE for her and public health nutrition at LSHTM for me. The similarities go on and on, including the same muscle causing woes.

I am banned from a long walk on this warm Easter Sunday. Instead, I explore the city riding the 501 Queen Street streetcar. This route had been designated by National Geographic as one of the top 10 streetcar rides in the world, an honour shared with some illustrious routes.

http://travel.nationalgeographic.com/travel/top-10/trolley-rides/

I have experienced all but Seattle’s--happy memories riding San Francisco F cable car up and down steep hills, twisting and turning on Lisbon’s route 28 through narrow bustling streets, watching street life on the upper deck of Hong Kong’s tram through Central.

Today, I ride the western half of the route. This link was built decades ago to bring city folk to the western beaches along Lake Ontario.

Bag laden shoppers stroll along Queen West. Hipper shoppers swarm along West Queen West with its independent shops and art galleries. Trinity Bellwoods Park is replete with local life. I spot the CAMH construction site--mental health care is taking a bold new direction in this city. I pass under the Dufferin new bridge that will be home to an outdoor art gallery. Drake and Gladstone stand out, both hotels resurrected from derelict rooming houses to be part of the vibrant art scene. The Tibetan community is establishing itself in Parkdale. The recently developed interactive map of popular baby names by neighbourhood indicates that Tenzin is the most popular name here.

http://toronto.openfile.ca/babyfile

I continue on past Roncesvalles, glimpses of the lake and the photogenic Summerside bathing pavilion as we speed alongside the Queensway. I spot the architecturally acclaimed Humber River Pedestrian Bridge, leading to the West Humber River Park marshes, a touch of the country within the city. We reach Lakeshore, “Vote for Ignatieff” signs dotting the lawns. We continue past the grand manors bordering the lake. A Orthodox church’s onion dome loom in the sky. Mimico’s architecture is reminiscent of 50’s beach storefronts, a pastel coloured 2 story clapboarded strip. I reach Long Branch, end of the line.

April 23: Sodium toxicity

Nish invites some of his friends to a vegetarian Ethiopian feast at M&B Yummy. Besides the usual pulse based vegetarian options, we try vegetarian versions of Ethiopian style beef, fish, and chicken dishes. The food was oversalted though. When Nish mentions this to the chef, she says that reviews say that her food is too bland so she has to put lots of salt. She doesn’t get it, poor woman. How can she succeed in the Toronto restaurant scene with such ideas? Salt enhances flavouring but one can get lots of flavour without salt. My mother, still one of the best vegetarian cooks I know, has been producing tasty ultra low sodium meals for decades. With my father’s longterm hypertension, and now with his congestive heart, liver failure, and compromised kidney, the low salt intake is crucial.

April 22: Church vs. State: the lite version

I mix politics and religion. I vote at the advance polls, then head to the Good Friday procession on College Street. I will be in New York City for Election Day but am a firm believer in exercising my right to vote. A few years ago, I had just moved and was not registered to vote, I searched for my polling station, went through the lengthy registration process, then purposefully spoiled my vote.

The neighbourhood is quiet but for the huge gathering of basket toting kids in pastels. The largest egg hunt in the city takes place on Centre Island. This is only Good Friday, but the lines are long. I assume that the hunt organizers cashes in running the event throughout the weekend. I only observe from afar. Instead, I head for the other, slightly less pagan, Good Friday gathering.

More prominent people are doing likewise--mixing politics and religion: Jack Layton, the leader of the national NDP party and his MP wife, Olivia Chow, are marching among the devout, along with local Liberal MP, Mario Silva. Inadvertently, I appear as an Olivia Chow supporter with my orange glasses and orange gloves.

Rosemary comes over to make frozen yogurt--quick, fun, tasty. I am tempted to get an ice cream maker now, but only if renovations afford me more cupboard space. Yummy: home made frozen yogurt/ice cream with waffles (my waffle iron being the other appliance that I refuse to give up). I could give up one of my 10 cutting boards... okay, maybe I do have a problem with too much kitchen ware.

We reorganize the few pieces of furniture left. I now have a makeshift dining table. I like the new arrangement. Given how my life revolves around food, we toy with the idea of just putting a large dining table and not having a couch. Some food for thought (no pun intended...). My dining table does get much use.

April 21: Walking out

I live without my computer for over 24 hours. My computer is undergoing diagnostic testing at the Apple Shop. The misalignment of routine does send me akilter. I joke about computer addiction, but this is proving truer than I thought. I find other creative outlets--I sketch, I play the piano, I cook. But despite these other activities, I feel an emptiness associated with a break from my morning writing. I could pick up pen and paper--words are swirling in my mind-- but that takes effort. The call finally comes at noon. The computer passed all tests and is ready.

I visit Bobette & Belle, a new patisserie in town. This charming spot sells mostly trendy cupcakes with a few tarts and macarons. As pretty as the red velvet cupcake appears, the taste misses: too much baking soda renders it inedible. Do they taste their own products?

Dad calls. He tells me excitedly, “I walked out of the hospital today!” This was unthinkable eleven weeks ago. My father and his physiotherapist hugged and cried with joy. His discharge date is announced: Thursday. Easter weekend home, a couple more days at rehab, then home for good.

April 20: Traumatized tresses

I get a haircut--a somewhat traumatic experience today. Let me explain...

My first visit to a real life salon was one of those indelible happy life experiences at age 5: the hair washing, the rollers, the ammonia filled air. I emerge with wavy tresses, just slightly shorter than my waist length braids. Not until age 10 did I have another professional stylist touch my head. I went from waist length to shoulder length--a dramatic change that led to a plethora of compliments. My hair got shorter with subsequent cuts and the experiences more traumatic. My tears flowed after most cuts until 17 years ago with my first visit to Vidal Sassoon. In time, I became a VS demo model. I’d get beautiful geometric cuts and colour (better than if I had paid!)--Ricardo’s ‘firefly’ and ‘orbit’ cuts and John Beeson’s yin yang and flare colouring sessions--all for free. In fact, my last paid haircut was in 2005 when my schedule did not coincide with demo model needs. Even when in England, Ricardo made arrangements with his colleagues in London. The only foray outside of VS salons since 1993 was the two cuts during my 9 month stint in Cambodia. A few years ago, Ricardo left--he moved to Spain, a bit too far to travel for a haircut (though I am tempted). Ricardo had been cutting my hair for about 7 years. Other stylists have been working on my hair. The results have been mixed since then. I call to book a session this week--nothing until end of May. My hair is starting to get unruly--it has been 13 weeks since my last cut. This is a great opportunity to try a new salon.

I step into Toni & Guy. I discover that Paul was partially trained by Ricardo. I start to relax. He likes my current cut and suggests the same style but just shorter.

I gulped, “Okay, let’s go for it.”

The verdict: the cut is quite nice but I end up with the pixie cut that I specifically said that I did not want. The cut may be a bit too short for someone with hair as fine as mine. This is not the worst cut. It should grow out quite nicely in a couple of weeks. I did not cry. Maybe because I am a big girl now.

(Note: no photo--I’m not quite ready to out my haircut.)

April 19: Psychology of colour

I conclude that there are not enough Tuesdays to cash in on the Telus Taste of Tuesday deals. I am tempted to return to Local for some more fresh mozzarella. Instead, I invite some of my foodie friends, Ieva, Jacquilynne, and Kathy to join me at Harbord Room. The pink walls is akin to my erstwhile bathroom colours. I physically felt ill when I walked into my bathroom for the few months before repainting. That colours have such a strong impact on one’s well-being surprises me. Wall colours aside, the food is well executed, but does not shine above Local’s mozzarella experience (see blog April 5). I am so spoiled.

April 18: Inspiring authors are people too

I get the back story of two authors who have influenced me greatly these past couple of years. Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote the bestsellers Eat, Pray, Love and Committed, is interviewed by Gian Ghomeshi. Her voiced thoughts reaffirms some of my recent life decisions. Greg Mortenson’s Three Cups of Tea and Stones into Schools are inspiring reads, but a ‘60 Minutes’ exposé paints a man who exaggerated his claims. I find this sad. Why did he feel a need to embellish, if that is what he did? If only one school is built, his work would still be a great accomplishment. The books are still worthwhile: one does not need the drama of a man nursed back to life in the Himilayas to realize the value of education of girls in remote Pakistan and Afghanistan.

D and I lunch on Ethiopian spiced dishes with injera. Our conversations weave through multiple topics. I like our talks--at the end, I always learn something new and gain some insight. The incense served up with Ethiopian coffee is an experience of its own. The finishing touch to lunch is a visit to Xococava for chocolates and ice cream. I savour the passion fruit saffron ice cream.

I join Florence with her friends for 4 hours of French immersion. I am excited: I finally tap into the French subculture here. These conversations are not as deep but certainly enjoyable. We talk about films, cultures, food. I learn some argot (French slang). Curious observation: Toronto is a city of neighbourhoods--the Portuguese, Greek, Italian, Chinese, Indian, Korean, Ethiopian, to name a few--yet there is no French neighbourhood in Toronto.

April 17: Royalty

I sneak into the PATH to evade the wet snow and icy gusts. I take a detour into the Royal York Hotel, one of the original Canadian Pacific hotels along the railway that (along with the Trans-Canada Highway) connects this vast country. Others include the Banff Springs Hotel in the Rockies and Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City. Often, they were “destinations” in their own right, to encourage train travel. This hotel, once the largest in the British Empire, is also the royals’ home away from home. In July, I saw Queen Libby and Prince Phil here. It will not, however, host Will and Kate’s Canadian tour in July. Their itinerary will not include Toronto. Maybe I should head to Ottawa to see the newlyweds? And maybe head to Montreal for the Jazz Festival afterwards?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_Pacific_Hotels

April 16: Luxury is sometimes necessary

A wisp of white blows by my window. Indeed, light snow is falling steadily--already about 6 inches blankets my car. Splurging for the fancy sport-ute no longer seems a luxury. I switch on the 4WD and immediately feel the extra traction.

I had originally plan to stop by Kakabeka Falls. Spring melts bring torrents over what is dubbed the Niagara of the North. With the slippery road conditions, I drive slowly, aiming for the shortest distance home.

I pick up some very decent sushi from Sushi Bowl’s new location in Port Arthur. The food is as good as I remember. The prices, however, have gone northward--justly so, as the prices were too low to be sustainable. I’ll happily pay the extra few dollars to ensure the longevity of this spot. I share a lovely lunch with Louise and Jason. I check out all the quilted goods that wheelchair bound Louise has prepared for her upcoming quilt fair.

April 15: Paying the taxman

I do my part for the environment by avoiding the fuel pumps. I listen with interest to Metro Morning’s heated discussion on whether we get our tax’s worth in services. Often I am on the other side of taxes. My wheels and gas and salary are paid from the tax kitty One of my nurses, who is seldom one for idle compliments, commented this week that I am worth the cost of gas and fancy wheels. That is such a nice compliment!

On the flip side, as a taxpayer, I do think we get our money’s worth. Maintaining traversable roads through winter storms is not cheap. Being able to receive (and offer) quality health care without considering affordability is so integral to civilization. The plethora or services supported by tax dollars: library access, lawmakers and law enforcers to keep peace, social and welfare programs. I received quality education at minimal cost, including 12 years of post-secondary education without mounting considerable debt. My first year's tuition at McGill University was $796! One exception to wise governmental expenditures is the G20 summit held in Toronto last year. What behooves a government to shut down the centre of the largest city in Canada to host the G20 is beyond me. Losses to private businesses, huge security costs to isolate the attendees, disruption of lives to many who live in the area.

We in Canada are heading to the election polls in a couple of weeks--can we hope for a government who will take fiscal responsibility seriously?

April 14: De-hibernating bears

I awaken to sunlight streaming through the window. Luckily, the adrenalin inducing pace slowed to a trickle by midnight. I take a detour to Little Falls, which is now bigger falls during the Spring melt.

Rounds, clinic--a nicely paced work day. I am not rushed--I have time to chat and counsel.

At the end of the day, I stop by to chat with one of my diminutive yet spunky octogenarian patients. She gives me some of her homemade cheese and potato perogies. What a lovely gesture. They will taste great with fried onions.

Post call: I am allowed to leave town. I take my flashy yellow Jeep out for a spin. Perch Lake, 15 minutes down the road, is a good sunset-watching spot. Beaver lodges rise out of icy ponds. Naked birch branches reach into the sky--I rather like them bare.

I see paw prints--dog, I think...or hope. Certainly not bear. Just in case, I return to the protective confines of my Jeep. Bears are pretty hungry in the Spring.

April 13: It should be a full moon

Busy day at work: ER is full with cases requiring my urgent attention: chest pain, asthma exacerbation, possible stroke, pneumonia.

N is an adorable patient whose smile and antics brightens my day. He is taking his mask to school for show and tell. He and his mother happily gives me permission to post his photo.

A full clinic day is followed by an evening as crazy as the day: hip fracture, medivac transfer arrangement, life-threatening pneumonia, congestive heart failure.

I, very much a city girl, do take a moment to rush out to see deer roaming by the hospital. I gaze into the night--clear crisp night with gibbous moon. With this kind of patient flow, it should be a full moon.

April 12: Clairvoyant cat

I multi-task during the many hours of long distance driving covering literally hundreds of audiobooks in the past 6 1/2 years while working in northern Ontario. Admittedly, not all of them are erudite tomes--I do have to stay awake for the long drive! Some memorable favourites: The Google Story, Lovely Bones, The Year of Magical Thinking, I Claudius. My current “read” is Making Rounds with Oscar, a true story of a cat in a nursing home facility who has the uncanny ability to predict death within hours. This cat would come in handy at work. Maybe we should adopt a cat or two for the extended care wing. The pets would be so therapeutic, even without clairvoyant capabilities.

April 11: Let sleeping giants lie

I wake up to sunlight silhouetting the Sleeping Giant, lying in Lake Superior. I have a bit more time than usual-- I work in the next time zone. Even crippled by a broken ankle, Louise is as gracious a host as ever. Instead of eating one of her legendary breakfasts, I make scrambled eggs for the both of us. She cuts up my grapefruit supreme style and bake cheesy scones without exiting her wheelchair. I pick up a few groceries and head out on a 2 hour commute to Atikokan. My temporary vehicle is a spunky yellow Jeep Wrangler. I will have fun with my rented wheels this week.

April 10: Going up the road

I am at the start of what the Guinness Book of World Records dubbed the longest street, Yonge Street, at 1896 km. This is no longer true: now the street officially ends a mere 89 kilometres up the road. The original follows the path of Highway 11 to Rainy River. By nightfall, I will be at KM 1444 in Thunder Bay. Instead of the 19 hours of driving, I take the fast way. Turbulence on the flight--no refreshments, no bathroom privileges, no relief from the seatbelt confines. Thunder Bay gets the brunt of the storm with marble sized hail.

Toronto has built structures with superlatives attached: the tallest freestanding structure (CN Tower, which was eclipsed by the Burj Khalifa in Dubai last year), the world’s biggest bookstore (by shelf space), the widest highway (Hwy 401), and the longest street. Ironically, the Trans-Canada Highway, longest in the world, threads together this expansive country without passing through the largest city in Canada. While Toronto tries to build its reputation by these structures, one realizes that “these biggest and best’s” do not make cities great.

Years ago, I was being a bit of a jerk, living in Toronto but bemoaning the fact that I was a displaced Vancouverite, away from " the best place on Earth". I had an 'aha' moment seven years ago while spending some time at home in Vancouver: I love Toronto a lot more than I thought. This turning point has made me a happy part-time Toronto resident. I revel in this city, the most culturally diverse (one of the few superlatives of this city that does enrich it).