Business first: There’s an update on Live! if you’re following my breast cancer journey.
Moving is a strenuous thing. It taxes your body, your brain and your emotions. I didn’t have to do much physical work, but one week later, I am not back to my pre-move state of mind or body. I’m waiting for that feeling to pass, while grappling with all the clinging thoughts about ‘will i ever’ and ‘can I ever’ Probably yes, I will and can, but there are moments…There’s an overlap here with the BCJ, but someone in my group, when I asked if I’ve regressed, answered ‘recovery isn’t linear.’ Well stated.
The chaos of moving is slowly being tamed
The new place is also an old place, so there’s a ‘fitting back in’ feeling. There’s no strangeness to very much. It’s all familiar if slightly faded. There aren’t that many boxes and bags to unpack now, but where is my heating pad? I must have developed an addiction to getting up on any cold morning to that lovely heat source. This space is large, and down the long staircase to the outside is a glass door that lets in light but also the cold. And it’s been a very cold and snowy winter. We’re still working on how to keep the temperature pleasant. We had never been here in a cold month before. I imagine a little electric fire, the one I grew up with. To imagine a roaring fireplace would make me too sad. (Going to fill my hot water bottle now.)
Joy looks a little different hereLong view from the couchView from the couch. The grey days are receding
Our space expanded from toytown to mansion proportions – well, not quite, but it feels like it. I’ve filled closets and drawers, and there’s still space. It feels weird to walk across two or three metres of wooden flooring to grab the salt – I’ve started creating an island on the island, where such things can sit within reach. Interestingly, the pantry filled up quickly. Where on earth did we put it all before (Answer – in boxes packed into a spare wardrobe). The luxury of space.
How can our pantry be this full already? The bigger question is where did we put it all before? i
The snow and ice outside, the body pain and fatigue is keepign me indoors, but I can see ‘out there’ out there. Krish stands at the kitchen window looking out, moan-wailing ‘dead zone.’ He says the man opposite (occasionally joined by a woman) stands outside smoking in the cold, ‘waiting to die.’ Ouch, I think. Thanks, I say.
The corner. The house in the dead zone.
However, I was here in the Spring and Summer before, and I think about the flower-filled walks and hope to do them again. Only three months to go. There’s a coffee shop one block over and two up. It’s quiet there, maybe too quiet, but it’s ‘out.’ The restaurant downstairs is a reminder we’re not alone. It’s winter so they’re eating inside. Sunday through Tuesday, all is quiet. On Wednesday morning staff show up. They’re a friendly, chatty bunch, getting on with the preparation for the restaurant opening days ahead The bread person shows up with five or six sourdough loaves, placed on a metal shelf outside. People start arriving to eat, and music and chatter drift up through our floorboards. It’s not loud or rowdy, but like a cocktail party being held by neighbours. By 10pm there’s close to silence again except for the quiet clanking of cleaning up. I know that on Saturday night the staff sit down and eat and drink together. That can get noisier, and tonight we’ll find out. In the warmer months, the woodfire lights up, and everything moves outdoors to the back. It seems to bustle more. As I told someone yesterday, It can feel like I’m in the middle of a Bear episode. I do love the energy.
This is the last day of February, 2026. The world is out there, some of it more out there than others. Enough said. (Or not?)
I won’t say that we are happy here in Toronto. I will say that it’s brought its blessings. It feels stable compared to other places right now. It’s safe, polite, ‘nice,’ of course, the government is reasonable, people live somewhat without hate – debatable, always. Nice, safe, and reasonable can also feel dull. A friend told me, bloom where you’re planted, and it’s a bit harder to do that during the Toronto hibernation phase. Things tone down. Krish was rhapsodises yesterday about what he would eat if he were in the UK – go to Ambala almost every day for samosas, drink an Aspall at least once a week, buy chocolate eclairs a few times a week, gorge on sticky toffee pudding with cream, have a plate with cheese, pork pie and picallili, walk along the street with some chips and cod bites, eat LAMB. I could only smile. Here, there are smiles rather than excitement, that’s for sure. I have a couple of weeks of appointments coming up. I won’t feel like doing much else, but most of the year is ahead, so I’ll seek out some adventure, no matter how subdued.
I’m going to do Friday photos. Shots from the window to see the season changing. I’ll start here with the ones from yesterday.
From the front window. Beneath here the bus arrives, announcing the destination. We can’t hear much with the window closed but spring is comingThe oak tree at the window. It will be fun to watch itransform. It will fill with chirping birds and plump acornsThe side entrance. In the warmer months we’ll see diners down here. Meanwhile, it’s just one of our entrancesOn the left, the awning over the back garden dining area. They put in that awning the last time we were here. On the right, the garden next door. It was really fun watching the neighbour tend to his garden every day. We hope he is still there.
We are moving again. It’s the way things have been since we got here. I’ve actualy lost count of the number of places. Let’s see – Stadium Road, Kingston Road (briefly) back to Stadium Road,, Margueretta (I;m going to lose the order now), Dowling, Ossington, Roxton downstairs, Roxton upstairs, Shanley, Cabdy Faciory, Euclid, Brock, Dufferin, St Clarens, King West. Fifeen! We’ve made thirteen moves in about three years. Being nomadic has pros and cons. What we haven’t liked – the packing and unpacking, the actual moving, the places that we wanted to leave but couldn’t, the bad landlords, the smelly places, the too-cold places, the poor selection of kitchenware, the places with no storage, no counter space, the noisy places, the two-steep staircases, the owner’s belongings encroaching everywhere, the too-small fridges or stoves, the ‘creatures,’ the list goes on.
In case you wondered, there have been good things. It’s quite exciting to be in different places, it can give you a taste of different decor, different architecture, different room arrangements, even different dishes can be interesting. You learn something from each place. What you like, what you don’t., and what you don’t is sometimes more important than what you do. We keep learning.
We’ve had our favourites. Three, in fact. This place has been one of them. The space is small but so economically designed. I’m a fan of that. We’ll also miss this view, which connected us to the world outside.
It was easy to be messy in a confined space, but it’s worked here. I’ll miss itI’ll miss this even more than the indoor space. The windows opposite with their individual, imagined stories were inspiring
There were two others. When we saw the ad for a place in The Candy Factory, Toronto’s first loft-condominium. The pictures were amazing and the price lower than we’d have imagined for such a place. We went over within the hour and were greeted by the current nomad-renter. Quite honestly, the apartment was stunning, the kitchen and living room wowed. We said yes, and within a day or so, we were approved and had it booked.
I can’t believe I didn’t blog while at the Candy Factory. It was a stunning place and the photos don’t show it well. We were there for two months and would have gone back – the owner goes away during the winter and again in the summer – but she raised the price by over $1,000 when she got some shelves affixed to the exposed brick wall.
The space was gorgeous, and the view was fantastic. It was a dream. And that kitchen…
The Candy Factory loft apartment was eye-wateringly gorgeous right from the start. That kitchen! The city view was opulent
Another place was an apartment above a restaurant, Actinolite (and how we named the apartment). We booked it on Airbnb. From the pictures Krish shared with me, I wasn’t keen, but with days to spare on our current rental, it was the only choice, so we took it. When we walked up the stairs from the backyard, I was shocked to see the space. I wasn’t expecting how large and well-furnished it was. The kitchen was a dream – the owner was the restaurateur downstairs. After the first month, we made a private arrangement, lowered the rent, and settled in until we had to move again.
One of the best things about the apartment was living upstairs from a busy restaurant. We couldn’t quite bring ourselves to eat there. It was a pricey menu.
Photos from the Actinolite apartment – and our next one. Captions are from our last stay. The living space was ‘grown up,’ as Krish said.
The living room never looks as spacious in a photo. Here we’ve already started to make ourselves at home (euphemism)The massive kitchen island overlooks the living room. oChef-owners get my vote. Also note – gas stove
We had come very close to booking a place for seven months, but weren’t happy at the prospect. The upsides were a good size, a bright living space, and a good long stay. The downsides were that the owners weren’t very warm and the location was problematic. On the very last few days before we needed to commit, I saw a new listing on Facebook. The location was good and the price cheaper than the one we were considering. We agreed to go over within a few hours. We liked the space, although we thought it a bit small, but the owners were warm and positive. We had a good feeling but took the weekend to think about it. Then we sealed the deal. We’ve loved being here. It isn’t too small at all. The location has been perfect. We’re close to a small supermarket (with a Starbucks counter) – so good for me when I’ve not been able to go very far, a large drugstore, hardware store, furniture store, and a bargain fashion store. I’ve even gone to the McDonalds a couple of times – I’m no fan. Just across the street, I’m in a neighbourhood with retail I can visit on my ‘good days.’ The streetcar stop is at the bottom of the road, just steps away. Perfect if I want to be independent.
But every place comes to an end when you’re a nomad. Telling the story of this rental’s ending will be cathartic.
We liked it here enough to want to stay in this building, if not in the actual apartment. We started looking at a few rentals here and even some in the next building. One was available too early to take advantage of, one of them was rented before I could view it, and then I saw one that might work. The problem was that it was in bad shape and needed some work before it could be released for rent. After a bit of thinking, I said that as long as I could see the place before signing, to make sure the work was done, I would make an offer, less than asking. There was some back and forth, the owners wouldn’t cave to a lower price, and I agreed to pay the asking rent. An agreement form arrived at 8:30 pm (how I wish I hadn’t opened or acknowledged it, but it said Congratulations, they’ve chosen you over another offer), and I was told I had until midnight to sign and return the form, after which I’d have 24 hours to go to the bank and get a bank draft for the deposit amount. I signed. We had a blizzard, and the city shut down. I let the real estate know that I couldn’t get to the bank, and it wasn’t open on a weekend anyway. Then Krish read what I signed and let me know I’d signed things that we should never have agreed to. Again, I asked to see if the repairs had been done before agreeing to anything else and was told, ‘it will be.’ Not good enough. I got an extension due to the weather, and the real estate agent said that Krish should decide what he wanted to change, but reminded us that we’d already agreed. I felt the blame and the shame. We never got to see the apartment with its work finished, we never got to change the agreement, and we never went to the bank. We let it fall through and the agent fell silent. The apartment was gone.
I enquired about a different apartment through a website. An agent called and spoke to Krish. We saw a few and liked one. It was the same brokerage, and we feared trouble. This agent heard our story and felt the first agent had let us down by not drawing our attention to the clauses we didn’t like or letting us have proof that the work was done. ‘Never take their word for it.’ The apartment we wanted had the same broker. We anticipated problems, but our new agent ran interference and felt positive. He said that our agent had thrown us under the bus. I was only slightly surprised. She remained silent, anyway. After signing a new offer, with this new agent vetting the wording, we waited. Silence. We asked about the one with the repairs and the agent said it wouldn’t hurt to ask, and he would. After two days, the agent let us know they ‘weren’t going forward with us.’ It hurt.
We decided not to try for anything else. If it was the same broker for this building and the one next door, it would be a useless exercise. It was 10 February, and we wanted to move on the 21st. Despair set in. I couldn’t move. I got in touch with Claudia, who owned the flat above the restaurants. We’d had to move out because they were moving in while their new house was being renovated. The 3-6 month renovation turned into a year, and then they had promised to rent the place to a friend for a while. Claudia had messaged me in the fall to ask if we were interested in renting for the new year. At that time I said I’d had a tough year and was not sure if I could manage the stairs again and would have to revisit it. So I revisited on the spot.
Chat with Claudia:
Jan: Hi Claudia, what’s the status now? We are looking for a stopgap rental.
Claudia  Hi Janice. It’s vacant- I was going to post it tomorrow.
Jan: Can you show me the posting first? We can’t commit long-term. We want a one-year option, but our budget is XXX for the long-term option.
Claudia: If you would like to be there long term, we would be willing to have you and Krishna return and can accept XXX. You took such good care of the place and were a pleasure to have around.
Jan: Would you consider short-term at all? Â A few months…Â Â And maybe stretch it. I’m not as able as I was.
Claudia: Yes, we’re good with that. I remember you sharing that you had a tough year. Is there anything offhand that could help you in the apartment- besides an elevator!
Jan: Ha. I think it’s a wait-and-see to see how IÂ cope.
Claudia : You can move in on the 21st. [I’ll touch base with you on Tuesday. Either way – you have a place. Yay! I’m so happy it finally all worked out!
Jan: You have no idea
Claudia:Â I was literally opening my laptop and starting to link photos for the post to rent.
I call this Serendipity.
Krish has doubts. Things he’s not happy about: The location – not near the stores he visits and he’ll need to take transit. The windows – they face west and ‘there’s no sky.’ The neighbourhood – it’s quiet, no people traffic to speak of and very residential. He knows the pluses. He really didn’t want to move out when we did. He does that thing before we move out of anywhere. He moan-wails the name of the place we’re living in, many times a year. Back then, he moan-wailed, Oh, Actinolite (the name of the restaurant) many times a day. This time, he’s moan-wailing, Oh, Joe Shuster. It’s pointless to stop him. It’s part of the ritual of moving. Are we making the right choice? he asks. Help me decide, he says. What are the bad things, he asks. He agonises. I tell him we’re moving, we have a place, and we will decide when we get there. I persevere. Oh, Joe Shuster.
Krish is obsessive about moving too. Once he starts, even a minute away is a crime. But I have to take a minute pr ten away. My fatigue level demands it. Yesterday I heard a shout from the bedroom, ‘There are still clothes in your drawers.’ ‘Yes, there are still days in the week.’
(There’s more to this, but as I tell Krish, I’ll wait to get into that when we’re there. I’m sad to leave here. It gave me such independence. But I see the advantages and serendipity has saved me once again.)
Familiar sight – the moving boxes. Oh, Joe Shuster
A note about serendipity. In 1990, I separated from my husband. It was an awful time, but the best decision. I was a single parent with a part-time job and nowhere to go. I had hoped that my friends would have reached out to me offering help. They knew I was in a bad position. No one did. Then I remembered something they taught us at my work at the hospital when we were being acquired by a bigger hospital and were told a third of us would be gone in a year. The lesson was this: you have to jump before your parachute will open. So I jumped, and my parachute opened. Two friends offered me places to stay and made sure Robin could get to school, and we were safe. Then a friend of a friend needed a summer housesitter, no charge. Then a friend of another friend was going away to study and offered their house at a low rent. With only a few weeks left in my short lease, a friend told me she had a letter for me. The letter said that if I called, I would be offered a new apartment on a rent-geared-to-income basis. I had been on the list for eight years, the letter had reached my friend just days before my mail forwarding service expired, and I’d received the letter just days before the housing offer expired. The apartment was fantastic in the best neighbourhood possible. Serendipity became my friend.)
There’s a LIVE update to my Breast Cancer journey here *This is how I’ll handle updates to my Live, putting them at the top of any new publications. If you love me that much (awww) you can bookmark that page and visit it every few weeks if you see nothing here. This feels like a vanity post. No excuses, although I’m longing to make a few.
(That’s that done.)
We had a lot of snow. The most recorded. That isn’t to say there weren’t larger, deeper snowfalls before, but we didn’t record them back then. Things shut down. I didn’t hear any traffic- none! Schools, universities, and community centres closed their doors. Some of the bus routes couldn’t run – too hilly – or were diverted. Sections of the subway system that were above ground just stopped. Our north-south highway, the Don Valley Parkway (DVP) wasn’t accessible. We’re used to it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy or that everything carries on as normal. There’s a modestly grumbling, politely Canadian. acceptance and that’s it.
The snow kept me indoors and, when I did go out, it was ‘interesting.’ Not easy to get through the snow with a walker, even when paths had been dug through the deepest areas. I had definitely been feeling housebound and fidgety, so it was worth the trip.
I got as far as Longo’s, the local supermarket. We managed by buying markdowns in the otherwise pricey store. It’s a habit we acquired in the early London days when we had little money, heading straight for the ‘on offer’ stickers and often amassing really great buys at very low prices. It’s not as much fun here, the reductions not nearly as generous, the selection not as ‘exotic,’ but we still do it. At Longo’s I check the ready meals first (rarely find anything) then head to the meat counter for anything best by today or tomorrow, then off to the bakery mark-downs. That’s almost a story of its own, so I won’t. Food shopping is very expensive in Toronto and we’ve found our pattern to survive it and try not to think too hard about the adventure which is M&S Food Hall shopping. To be fair, we now think longingly about Tesco, Sainsburys, Waitrose, Morrisons, and yes, Co-Op. (We never had an Asda close by, or we might have considered it.)Â I did appreciate them when I was in London, but of course would sometimes weary of them, and now they’ve moved into the nostalgia pile. Last week, trying to watch Whitechapel (we didn’t last) the scene shifted to the Turkish store on Ridley Road. We recognised it right away. Our jaws dropped as we remembered the shelves full of treasures.
The little piece of cambazola was $10. We have had it once or twice, at someone else’s house, and can’t figure out why it lacks flavour if it’s the same as we had in London. Krish has pointed out that unpasteurised milk can’t be sold here, and that may be part of why there really isn’t any ‘stinky’ cheese. Or is it the travel time, etc? It took us a couple of years to discover a cheddar worth eating so the search for another variety that we can enjoy continues.
Piece of soft cheese 3.5x5cn at how much? (It’s around $7. Welcome to Canada.
It made for lots of snowmageddon posts. It always does when it really snows. I imagine all those souls in the snowier parts laughing at us, pretty much the way we laugh at the UK when they come to a standstill with what we’d consider ‘nothing.’ It’s all what you’re used to and set up for, of course. This isn’t Iqualuit and the UK isn’t Toronto, let alone Montreal, Edmonton or Winnipeg (it’s much worse there). We sort of have fun with it even if we aren’t the sporty type who owns snowshoes, skis or skates. We curse and feel weirdly a little proud and heroic. I wasn’t on public transport to hear the gossip, but the WheelTrans drivers had a few stories.
There seemed to be ‘nothing’ on our streaming services. We watched what we could. We just finished Black Bird. Powerful stuff that gave me one sleepless night and a creepy feeling of finding such empathy for the serial killer at the centre of the story. It was hard to sleep that first night.
The light in the winter can make everything goldenAfter days and days of pearly white cloud cover and grey days that made me sleepy, the sky turned blueBack again to what I call Hospital Row in Toronto. Discovery District is its actual name. I was there to talk about my knee and pick up medication. It will be a good day when I’m not there anymore. A visit to get my knee examined and pick up some medication
After the hospital, I had them drop me at Churrasqueira do Sardinha – Portuguese chicken shop just to buy some potatoes and bread. It felt decadent, like I was back to normal. Then I planned to get a streetcar over to the next major street, but the wait was too long. I walked. The cold was incredible, and even though I didn’t have far to go (400m) I had to stop halfway for a hot drink. When I got to the store I needed to visit to pick up my blackening spices, it was gated and closed for ‘vacation.’ Oh no! I’d have to come back another day and pray the set-aside spices were still there. My ride home wasn’t for at least an hour, and it was freezing. I looked around for somewhere warm to wait and decided it would have to be where I could buy a quick snack. So there I was in a burger place (A&W) with a bag of French fries and a coffee. OK, I was seduced by the Pret name. $8.99 for this. I noticed a sign in the window that promised a burger, fries and a large soft drink for the same price. Duped. The coffee wasn’t good. I saw my ride arriving across the street, and I dumped everything and hurried towards it. Temperatures were heading lower, the lowest so far, minus 29. The only way is up.
Have you been catching yourself typing 2025? I don’t think I have yet but… Anyway here it is another new year. I keep thinking back to 2020 where I reasoned (and prayed) that 20/20 was perfect vision so I was ready for a good one. Instead, it was the beginning of a downslide. Hasn’t stopped yet. Hope is eternal, right?
I’ve been writing up my Cancer Journey stuff but not ready to publish anything. As usual, lots of writing in my head and difficulty getting photos to cooperate. My eyesight is terrible and I haven’t yet got back to scheduling my eye surgery. Waiting for that call. And, honestly, 2025 was the Year of Waiting. It’s just a spillover. I’m very reluctant to post without my photos. They remind me of what to say and add context. Taking photos is still a big deal for me, a great companion when I’m out, and I find myself wishing I’d been documenting more of my life. The past is done with. On to the future and enjoying the present as much as I can with all the nonsense I’ve been going through. The truth is I’m far from feeling well and hoping that as time passes, I’ll feel more myself — better! Meanwhile, welcome to my melancholia – no excuses.
Christmas was quiet. I had many quiet Christmases in London but then everything seemed serene and pretty. I got used to having no one around and having no transport to go anywhere. We’d stock up on M&S treat-like foods and turn on all the lights, candles everywhere, snug if alone. There are family around now but I can’t decorate in the same way (not yet) and we don’t see anyone anyway. On the 27th there was the usual family get together. Krish had asked not to stay too long then asked to delay our departure so that was nice. There was plenty of food at my niece’s. Everyone was smiling. It was nice and I’d like more.
I wanted to make little gingerbread houses but didn’t want to go the graham cracker route again. Ikea, for the second year, let me down on mini house kits. Instead they had tree kits. I bought two boxes meaning to assemble four sets as gifts. Wrong! My energy level just wasn’t there, my icing skills – as poor as they are – were even worse than usual. I soldiered on. I struggled with the decorations but in the end made a decision to finish just one set for now. They could fight over it – or fight because no one would want it. However, the finished result was OK – I mean in a Gaudi-esque way. I have three sets left to finish and suspect they will be a project for next year.
My decorations were all I could manage this year. A little cheering up for sure but not at previous levels! The first photo is from Hackney Christmases — my Christmas advent treehouse from Roger LaBorde. I wanted to buy one for my brother but only the small non-advent one. I really want to unpack my things…
The next picutre is this year. We miss the whimsy of what we were used to but it will come back. Hopefully this Christmas. We each have a toy that isn’t packed and that’s the best of us.
Truth told, the colours of winter now are grey and white. (I read that on Instagram!) I haven’t seen much in the way of decoration anywhere. I would have explored had I had the energy. As well, it’s been a very snowy winter so far. Not an easy slog. The renamed Dundas (now Sankofa* Square had a small Christmas market. I swung by after a hospital visit. It wasn’t open yet.
Talking of hospitals, some of it is actually fun. Every third Thursday at Toronto General, they run a wellness kitchen. It’s set up like a TV show. The chef, Jeremy, makes three courses of healthy and simple meals and at the end we get to sample it. A few of the recipes are regulars for us now. You can watch it yourself at home – recorded or live on the third Thursday at noon EST. Maybe you’ll see me there. Pictured is Jeremy, and the Moroccan style chickpea stew I made at home.
We have to move soon. We like it here. More than like it. I hope we can find something soon and that it’s not far away, if not right here in the building. Every night I watch the windows opposite. It’s a guilty pleasure. I can’t see into the places, my eyesight isn’t that good, but I do think about the individual stories that are going on every day behind those windows.
Meanwhile, it continues snowy and cold. At night in the lights of the stadium opposite we watch the rain or snow falling thick and fast. These are good days for winter naps.
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Are we a city of idiots, hibernating in the Toronto way of things?
I hope your Christmas was merry and your new year will be splendid, all year long.
I love pickles. Almost anything — I don’t see the point of pickled eggs. My mum used to say I was weaned on a pickle. Until I was five, we lived with my dad’s mum – Nana. Nana is a whole story of her own, and I think I’ve told it, but one thing she was known for was pickles. Somewhere I have the handwritten (not by her) recipe, ‘Pickels.’ I don’t remember if they were new or fully sour pickles anymore, but they were amazing. I remember the smell, or I think I do, and I can see the container they were fermented in, filled with the cucumbers, the brine and the generous amount of dillweed. It’s not so easy to find today. I’ve spent my whole life looking for a pickle that compares, even if I know a taste today may prove I’ve already found or even surpassed it. It’s just been too long.
In Canada, the taste for pickles is similar to the USA. A crisp and vinegary pickle with a slight sweetness. The UK gherkin from a chippy has the same sweetness but a different flavour. I see Canadians and Americans who live in Britain yearning for the Bicks or Clausen taste. It’s not for me. A brined kosher pickle is my style. There are a few jarred ones that I will eat but perhaps a Jewish deli is the best place to find the right one. If I ever find Nana’s pickel recipe, perhaps I’ll give it a go.
Toronto has a Polish neighbourhood in the west end, near High Park, its biggest park. Once upon a time it was filled with Polish restaurants, delis and other businesses, as well as Polish churches. When the pope was Polish, his photo was everywhere! Robin and I spent a summer on Roncesvalles in the early 90s. I woke every night thinking there was a fire. It was the smoke from the converted garages behind us, where they smoked sausages and hams. The air in the neighbourhood was always smoky. Luckily, I liked it. You had your pick of where to pick up sauerkraut, bigos, pierogies, pickles, smoked fish, cabbage rolls, and sweet doughnuts and pastries, When I left Toronto and visited again, they were almost all gone. Things had started to look smart and trendy. Now there are only two Polish delis left, although the restaurants and a couple of take-out counters for cooked food remain.
Benches beside the planters along the sidewalkNeighbourhood muralTwo long-standing Polish restaurants in the area
The main street is Roncesvalles Avenue. It gets its name from the  Battle of Roncesvalles, which took place in the Roncesvalles Pass in Spain in 1813. An early Irish settler,  Colonel Walter O’Hara—an early 19th-century Irish settler in the area—played a significant role in the establishment of the neighbourhood. He’d led a regiment that fought against the retreating army of Napoleon at the battle.
Old apartment buildings and Polish churchesUrban mounties, shall we say?
The name means ‘valley of thorns’ in Spanish.) In Spanish it’s pronounced Ron-sess-vie-yes (or with the alternate ‘th’ sound). In Toronto, we call it Ron-sess-vales. When it was first constructed, this was a primarily agricultural area with market gardens.  In 1904 many of the estate homes in the area were sold and the east side of the street became mixed-use. Today, at least at the lower end, the west side stays residential, while the east is shops. The homes in the area still seem quite grand but most are now split up into flats.
This was once a gated community off the main road. The houses are grand
Roncesvalles is where you’ll find many greengrocers with vegetables and fruits overflowing wooden display counters. You go for the Polish deli, Benna’s, the restaurants like Chopin or Polonez, the trendy boutiques, European toys and other goods. I like that they do decorate for the holidays and I must go back closer to Christmas when it will be quite cheerful. Besides, I covered only a third of the street.
Greengrocers (not as lush as in the warm months) and the European style boutiques ready for Christmas
I took the plunge to travel by public transport on Monday. I had a false start when I took the wrong streetcar and ended up needing to backtrack and almost start again – my eyes aren’t functioning too well and the driver was reluctant to help! On Roncesvalles, the right streetcar pulled away too hastily from my stop and I ended up further up the street, when I’d had no intention of walking very far. Walk I did, pausing to inhale the scent of Christmas trees on some of the lots. I’d had a few other false starts to buy pickles, and those times I’d not managed it for one reason and another. I ended up buying my pickles from the supermarket instead of from the familiar “barrels” at Benna’s. Benna’s does stock the double-smoked garlic sausage I like, though. That was my only goal.
There are a lot of Polish customers in Benna’s. They chat happily with the (mostly) women behind the counters. The English speakers just may be at a disadvantage since some of the servers’ English isn’t fluent. Sometimes I get cheerful service, this time I got a grumpy reception. But I got my sausage. Job done. I also visited the hot counter for a small amount of potatoes and some pork stew, which I ate outside since the weather was mild. I skipped the sauerkraut, the pastries, and the herring that I always buy. This was a light shop.
A quick snack lunch from the hot counter, sitting on the bench outside Benna’s
I got the streetcar straight back, this time without any problems. This driver, unlike the first two, was a gem. I’m going to make borscht and use some of the sausage. Crossing my fingers.
I fear I’ve made lots of mistakes and doubled up on photos. Bring on the editors!
 
