People City
part two
part two
"I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it's like I'm someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around I swear I'll leave
Won't take nothin' but a memory
From the house that built me"
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could walk around I swear I'll leave
Won't take nothin' but a memory
From the house that built me"
(The House that Built Me, Miranda Lambert 2010)
Toronto is so much more than its darkness, in fact, there is no place like home. I long to engage it once again. Covid-19 has seen to it that the city itself is out of bounds. It has been well over a year since I had cause to travel from Paris (Ontario) to the heart of the big city. Whether personally or professionally, Toronto still calls to me. It has lingered there from my beginning. It may be the place of my birth but the life blood of it runs through my existence. I yearn for the decadence and I yearn for the cityscape. The metropolis is one of my oldest friends. It's not just the people or the place that draw me to it but also the overall atmosphere and the sense of belonging and safety. Toronto is shiny bling, the Big Smoke, an adventure that is sleeping, lying in wait. It is the house that built me.
Toronto is the most populous city in Canada and the fourth largest city in North America. The Greater Toronto Area (GTA) is the most densely populated metropolitan area in Canada . The GTA includes the City of Toronto and regional municipalities, extending along Lake Ontario from the Burlington area through to Newcastle in the east. According to the 2016 Census, the Greater Toronto Area has a total population of 6,417,516. If one extends the boundary to include the "Golden Horseshoe," (an urban amalgam surrounding the most western end of Lake Ontario) the population comes in as 9,245,438. Toronto (and area) are well known agents of diversity and immigration. We are the melting pot. The population is as unique and varied as the skyline that houses them. It is normally a very busy place. It also has some of the worst traffic in North America (before and despite Covid).
I have been to almost every major urban centre in North America. Most places south of Tijuana and including Alaska (and Hawaii) I have yet to experience. I don't really have a bucket list anymore, I have been there and seen that. Of all the cities and all the cityscapes (including New York), Toronto stands out to me. Yes, this Torontian is biased but rightly so. Outside of certain Nordic cities/countries there are few rivals to Toronto's cohesion and community. You can see it on the street and you can watch it on the news. Everywhere there is a story to behold. Every stranger holds a face that blends into the mosaic. Some people we never forget. Some places we never forget. Toronto has both.
Circle of Friends
Our intention that day was to be at play in the fields of the Lord. Toronto was a frequent destination but most visits were short and just part of the job. It is always a treat to explore my hometown. First thing, first. A quick stop at the medical marijuana dispensary found a few weeks stock and two (edibles) Ginger Snap cookies, one for each of us. This day occurred long before weed was legalized in Canada. You had to hide your stash and medical pot was the only outlet for a consistent feed. We meant to spend the entire afternoon floating, shopping, and then dinner for two. Downtown Toronto has everything you could ever want to partake in, all on one side of Younge Street or the other. We headed into the core and parked where we always do. We had decided to purchase the edibles to avoid any awkward displays of ingestion. We waited until we had parked before we consumed. It's not often I go out of my normal routine, particularly with marijuana. I have to be careful not to consume too much for fear of hypomania or different degrees of panic. We both ate the entire cookie and they went down real good. It was just a matter of time. By the time we reached the upper concourse, we were fried out of our minds. This was a virgin trip for both of us. I had no idea just how hard the rush would hit me. We exited the safety of a concrete shelter and walked out onto a concrete circle. It seemed fascinating to me, at the time, but I have always assumed my interest had more to do with my buzz than any profound revelation. The entire area was lumped in between high rise after high rise The only way out were walkways that dangled you over metal grate after metal grate. It was a shelter, with benches for sitting and a non-working fountain for extra consideration. I have to admit I had not experienced the high that consumed me that day. I was crippled, unable to function. My comrade became a kindred spirit. The ride was wicked. We both sat down to rest for awhile (not that we had much choice). We sat for hours trying to recuperate. It lasted and lasted. The entire time we sat there, we did nothing but observe. For awhile, it was all hazy but eventually there was zilch left but to notice. There were people everywhere. Toronto is a mix of every nation, every color, every lifestyle. There was a disabled woman, sitting in her electric go-cart feeding pigeons. There was a mixed couple, holding hands while stopping to drink their coffee. There were yellow people, dark people and a few light skinned people thrown in for good measure. Despite any disenchantment, I could not help but recognize the fluidity of the place. Every minority, every majority, every gay person (me) blended together in some easy harmony. T he area was alive with the very driving force behind the city. This was the Toronto that I love. One person after another strolled through my new circle of friends. It was obvious, in Toronto there is always the option to fit in, to blend, regardless of your identity or any other causes or movements you hold to. I suppose that's why, north of the USA, all lives matter. It was a strange day but once I was okay to drive my friend and I headed home.
Established as the town of York in 1793, then renamed Toronto and incorporated as a city in 1834, Toronto was designated as the capital of the province of Ontario
Take a Picture
In the fall of 2019, Toronto hosted its annual Comic Con convention at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre, located a short walking distance from the lake and the CN Tower. The world had changed long before Covid. On October 17th, 2018, Canada legalized marijuana and its medical benefits. Smoking a joint became like smoking a cigarette. The entire scope of that event diffused the legal authorities view of a once taboo product. Although the rules had shifted, it was an adjustment for users here and there and most places it would seem. The protocol for public consumption was awkward to say the least. Rather than smoking in the car, we walked over to Comic Con with the intent to smoke before we entered. The large and very modern walking path that ran parallel to the Centre gave invitation after invitation to us to stop for a puff or two It was an uneasy feeling picking a spot but, apparently, any issue only remained in our heads.
For me, legalizing weed felt much like when Canada legalized gay marriage. I celebrated but in reserve. On June 20, 2005 the Civil Marriage Act passed, giving rights where they should have been in the first place. As a gay man I just wasn't used to such public expressions. It took me a while to adjust. Standing smoking a big one on the "side of the road" was just as interesting. I do not believe I have ever been stared at so much. I kept thinking that someone should take a picture. It was more of a mosaic than anything else. So many people, so many faces all secretly judging us they travelled on their way.
The spot was like a mini-roundabout, divided by a planter and some lovely grasses. After years of rules we felt defensive but we lit up anyway. I got nothing. I was so busy hiding out of instinct that I forget to inhale for the most part. I felt exposed and so did my friend. I believe that most Canadians really don't give a shit whether you smoke a joint or love other men. Canucks still do not understand the appeal of Trump nor do they agree with whomever sells the best morning coffee. We have better things to do, well some of us do. As we finished, we folded gently into the flock as if nothing had happened at all. Apparently, it takes time to adjust to new freedoms.
I did not come out of the closet until just before my 30th birthday. Despite having a partner for years, it wasn't until his death that my sexuality became a topic of choice. Apparently, no one had a clue which suited me just fine. I was raised in a quasi-religious family, studied theology and served as a member of the Untied Church of Canada. I was engaged twice. In retrospect, it was a great way to hide yourself. The brief time I spent at the Strathroy Pentecostal Church of Canada cemented for me that it was the right thing to do. Moving to Toronto changed my perspective. In a sense, I was an innocent, despite my sexual proclivities. I had yet to be exposed. It started slow then it started to grow.
Fuck Toto
The walk home through Toronto (by night) was always an interesting experiment in social interaction. The pathway home started near the Bloor and Jarvis Street intersection which sits on the fringe of the gay village. I would then walk to Church Street and follow it to College Street and eventually to home. Although not a overly short journey, I travelled into "The Village," spying on the night life as a form of entertainment and great interest. It always seemed to me that the most interesting and unique characters came out to play with the dark. I often found myself standing, watching some bitch slap contest or drunken leather daddy battling civility and the coming dawn. I deeply appreciated spotting men clearly in love. Its was sexy and strange and enchanting. The heart of gay Toronto is made for sublime viewing and even the occasional offbeat adventure. I absolutely loved every minute of it and could not wait for more. .
While most other parts of Toronto seem to rest after midnight, at least from a populace point of view, Church Street festivities carry on through the night (at least they did pre-Covid). As the morning approached, the sidewalks and alleyways would slowly empty of huddled masses and stragglers back from where they had been. There was always some drama afoot until hints of light seemed to chase away the strangest and most distinctive citizens. A few carried on into the sunrise. Walking home at around 5 A.M. usually meant for quieter streets. The rays of light seemed to banish these nocturnal dwellers into hiding as if they were vampires, denied their feeding. Come the break of day, somewhere between the night and the morning, I always found myself walking this way back home. Each encounter was enlightening and helped move along my understanding of what it means to be gay. .
I hit Church Street where it meets Isabella Street, and turned southward in the direction I followed each night. I journeyed along the west side of the thoroughfare, hoping to avoid any problem that might arise. Once I passed Wellesley Street, I always believed that the coast was clear. I forgot that strange creatures often dwell beneath the waters off this coastline. As I headed south, I saw her coming north, across the road from me. I wondered to myself why such a sharply dressed and pretty woman would be walking alone at this hour, near daybreak. I could tell she spotted me. She cut right across the street in my direction. Her three inch stilettos calmed any fear I might have had of impending doom. She smiled, took a smoke from her dainty ebon handbag, and then stopped dead, right in front of me. Raising it to her mouth, she proceeded to ask me for a light.
She must have stood only five and a half feet tall, although those heels added nicely to her persona. Her hair was deep black, rather short and seemed frozen in place, lying tightly to her head. Beneath her silver beaded dinner jacket was a tuxedo shirt, unbuttoned to just above her naval. A small cross hung carefully around her neck, the metal makeup of the chain and ornament disguised by the shadows of approaching dawn. Somewhere on her person was a very short skirt, although for the life of me I couldn't spot it. Her coat dropped past it to just above mid-thigh. Her earrings were modest, although they may have been diamond studs. Black velvet shoes and her purse matched perfectly, accenting her look and suiting her to a tee. She was beautiful. For a moment I thought she was Judy Garland, then I realized that was exactly who she was supposed to be. Politely, I lit her cigarette, then reached into my back pocket, grabbing one for me as well. I wished her a good morning and tried to go about my business.
I had never met a drag queen in person before. I had seen a few on television and spied on a few from across the street, but I had never met person to person, face to face. When the option of going home together played its card I nicely informed her that I was gay. The quick reply was "me, too." I felt like an idiot. I really had no idea. At one point, I found myself looking for toto but he never showed. I hope that by believing his Judy was a real woman, I paid him the highest compliment. I still feel stupid but I never assume anything anymore. You never know. Unfortunately for Dorothy, my partner waited for me in Kansas. I had no interest in anyone but him. The real Ms. Garland had a better chance than this guy of getting into my pants. Don't get me wrong but I was not going to follow down the yellow-brick road even if it was over the rainbow.
While most other parts of Toronto seem to rest after midnight, at least from a populace point of view, Church Street festivities carry on through the night (at least they did pre-Covid). As the morning approached, the sidewalks and alleyways would slowly empty of huddled masses and stragglers back from where they had been. There was always some drama afoot until hints of light seemed to chase away the strangest and most distinctive citizens. A few carried on into the sunrise. Walking home at around 5 A.M. usually meant for quieter streets. The rays of light seemed to banish these nocturnal dwellers into hiding as if they were vampires, denied their feeding. Come the break of day, somewhere between the night and the morning, I always found myself walking this way back home. Each encounter was enlightening and helped move along my understanding of what it means to be gay. .
I hit Church Street where it meets Isabella Street, and turned southward in the direction I followed each night. I journeyed along the west side of the thoroughfare, hoping to avoid any problem that might arise. Once I passed Wellesley Street, I always believed that the coast was clear. I forgot that strange creatures often dwell beneath the waters off this coastline. As I headed south, I saw her coming north, across the road from me. I wondered to myself why such a sharply dressed and pretty woman would be walking alone at this hour, near daybreak. I could tell she spotted me. She cut right across the street in my direction. Her three inch stilettos calmed any fear I might have had of impending doom. She smiled, took a smoke from her dainty ebon handbag, and then stopped dead, right in front of me. Raising it to her mouth, she proceeded to ask me for a light.
She must have stood only five and a half feet tall, although those heels added nicely to her persona. Her hair was deep black, rather short and seemed frozen in place, lying tightly to her head. Beneath her silver beaded dinner jacket was a tuxedo shirt, unbuttoned to just above her naval. A small cross hung carefully around her neck, the metal makeup of the chain and ornament disguised by the shadows of approaching dawn. Somewhere on her person was a very short skirt, although for the life of me I couldn't spot it. Her coat dropped past it to just above mid-thigh. Her earrings were modest, although they may have been diamond studs. Black velvet shoes and her purse matched perfectly, accenting her look and suiting her to a tee. She was beautiful. For a moment I thought she was Judy Garland, then I realized that was exactly who she was supposed to be. Politely, I lit her cigarette, then reached into my back pocket, grabbing one for me as well. I wished her a good morning and tried to go about my business.
I had never met a drag queen in person before. I had seen a few on television and spied on a few from across the street, but I had never met person to person, face to face. When the option of going home together played its card I nicely informed her that I was gay. The quick reply was "me, too." I felt like an idiot. I really had no idea. At one point, I found myself looking for toto but he never showed. I hope that by believing his Judy was a real woman, I paid him the highest compliment. I still feel stupid but I never assume anything anymore. You never know. Unfortunately for Dorothy, my partner waited for me in Kansas. I had no interest in anyone but him. The real Ms. Garland had a better chance than this guy of getting into my pants. Don't get me wrong but I was not going to follow down the yellow-brick road even if it was over the rainbow.
The Toronto skyline is one of the most beautiful cityscapes in the world. It is best viewed by night and from a distance (like crossing over to the Toronto Islands by ferry). The city is cradled by Toronto Bay, a naturally occurring harbour, located on the north shore of Lake Ontario. Toronto is protected from the fury of this Great Lake by those islands. Billy Bishop Airport welcomes gawkers and travelers alike. The harbour acts as both a recreational area and a commercial port. Everything that Toronto is began in this haven. The earliest pioneers were drawn to areas off the lakes and did more than just thrive. Toronto is breathtaking, not only for its beauty but for the beauty of its people. The two entwine every time you walk down Younge Street or swim at Woodbine beach.
The Same Boat
The view from the Toronto harbour is stunning during sunlight hours. It is even more pleasing come night. The CN Tower, Skydome (The Rogers Centre) and the entire skyline light up the bay as if painted by Van Gogh himself. Runners and dog owners have miles of boardwalk and trails to journey on daily. Wharves and piers are scattered all about the beachfront and rock climbers fall over the bluffs located east of the harbour. Considered a relatively shallow lake, the swimming conditions in
The harbour is a busy place. Heavily travelled shipping lanes make for active waters. The Rochester Ferry service from Pier 52 to Rochester, New York only adds to the traffic. Day and night cruises, yacht clubs and recreational sports like sailing, waterskiing and jetting, all blend together with many personal boats and business craft. On a warm summer day, a nautical mosaic of shapes and sizes litters the harbour. Each mode of transportation is unique unto itself. Some vessels are small and some are gigantic. Some are maintained and pretty, while others show their age. Each mode has a path it must follow in the water. Deviations from the lanes may result in casualties. More often than not, these ships just pass each other by. Regardless, each one is part of the whole; they make all the waves. Even the most disheveled boat adds its movement to the roll. I can see all the blue and feel the whispers of the wind and the sun and yet, in its darkness, I am mesmerized. I am aware that everything works together to make a productive and efficient way for travelling, a microcosm of floatation devices.
Toronto is a lot like its harbour. To see the resemblance we must first recognize that everything on land is as interconnected as anything out on the waves. The city flows through co-operation and an unconscious agreement to be civilized. We are bound to social expectations. There are exceptions to every rule and they usually interfere with this collective stream. Sometimes we have to look outside our own little voyage to understand how someone else might have gotten so far off course. This should not automatically disregard their right to go sailing. We may come to the city on different ships. We may even pass in the harbour, only aware by sight of each other's journey. We should be careful the direction we steer. In the end, we might find ourselves in the same boat.
Photos
https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/why-is-toronto-the-big-smoke.html
https://globalnews.ca/news/5225169/anti-lgbtq2-protesters-fight-toronto-village/
https://www.narcity.com/toronto/here-are-all-the-celebrities-coming-to-torontos-comicon-this-week
http://blog.waterfrontoronto.ca/nbe/portal/wt/home/blog-home/posts/four+reasons+to+stop+comparing+torontos+waterfront+to+chicago+01
Sources
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toronto_Harbour
http://www.torontoharbour.com/harbour-info.php
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