I’ve been in Toronto for four and a half months now. It’s a strange limbo existence much of the time and I’m tempted to say I’ve done nothing. I have, of course. There are far too many photos to share, things to say, so I’ll simply have to abbreviate the whole thing.
We moved to Bloordale into an Airbnb for two months in the middle of November. It’s not an area I have spent any time in so it was all new.
Bloordale – pink marks the spot where we stayed
We had two rooms upstairs – a kitchen and living room, and downstairs was a bedroom and bathroom. It was nicely done but we had some issues. Mostly with the downstairs – there was no rail and I often felt very unsafe and scared. Secondly, it was freezing down there. Krish’s parents gave us a little heater and a rug for the cold tiled bathroom. We had a washer and no dryer (we spent a while feeling sure it must be there but no) so all the washing had to be done and hung across some cleverly installed clotheslines that ran across both floors from wall to wall. I’d laugh at how that looked and would say, this is our luxurious accommodation!
We did have a bit of an oasis there for a while, though. It was nice to have our own space. There was a decent couch and a TV and I set about decorating a little for Christmas, not spending much but borrowing lights from my sister and a few dollar store items to round it out. I was actually looking forward to Christmas and having people over.
Then Covid hit me. It was out of the blue. I’d been careful but I had been on public transit more than usual and in more restaurants than usual and, of course, I was somewhat run down so that was that. And it hit on a Friday. There was no way to get to the doctor, and the walk-in clinics were all closing early. I was advised to take Paxlovid but again it would have to wait till Monday when a doctor could see me. I’d be out of commission until the 28th. Skipping over these details, of course I recovered, and I had my Christmas dinner with Robin and Jennifer – a meat pie, not turkey, that’s all – just a bit late.
Bloordale is in the west end of the city, a bit north of the centre. It’s six kilometres from the centre of town and it is a relatively easy journey to Robin’s place. Bloor Street, that gives Bloordale its name, has no bus or streetcar but is on one of the two main subway lines . It takes less than ten minutes to reach Yonge Street, the main Toronto street that divides Toronto east from west. They’ve called it the longest street in the world at 56 km. Toronto lays claim to a lot of ‘biggest,’ ‘longest,’ ‘first,’ etc. Who knows how many of these are real?
Bloordale, though, is an area that’s considered up and coming. These days every city seems to want to name its separate areas into village names. Bloordale a highly diverse, mixed-income community of Portuguese, Caribbean, Italian, Bangladeshi, Latin American, Pakistani, Sri Lankan, Burmese, Chinese, and Vietnamese people, many of whom speak a different native language than English. What we noticed most was Latin American and Portuguese. We could have tacos every night if we wanted and we liked getting the boulinhos de bacalhau and pada. We tried not to eat all the pasteis de nata, though. Many nights we would get the little $1 tacos of the day – five to eight of them – and I determined again to learn to make horchata. There were thrift stores and a vintage record store. There were two health food stores.
The health food store, The Nut House. We were in there a lotOne-dollar tacos. They were nice to grab on busy evenings
On our very first night we looked for something that was open and discovered Latin World. We shared a really large plate of something
What there wasn’t: a supermarket, a little grocery store. That made things hard. We also had Dufferin Mall, with two supermarkets – Walmart and No Frills. We didn’t like either but we’d go there sometimes, and my friend Leslie would drive me to the bigger store every couple of weeks so I didn’t have to struggle home in the snow.
And, yes, now we had cold temperatures with snow and ice. It made walking harder. I started to hate the subway which had no escalator or elevator in the entrance closest to us. I moaned about there being no seats on the platform as I waited for my train after navigating three sets of stairs with my winter clothing and cane.
We did find the neighbourhood colourful and quirky in its own way. The streets had those typical Toronto houses you find in Little Italy and Little Portugal. Semi-detached, two storeys with a basement and backyard, and little porches to the front door. Every now and again I’d come across some crazy Christmas illuminations. In typical Canadian fashion, the storekeepers were cheerful and friendly for the most part. We were quickly remembering that customer service here is a different level than we had become used to in London.
Bloordale’s typical houses
There was a huge concentration of pot shops in Bloordale. I’ve forgotten how many – should I say cannabis dispensaries?I loved this little Italian shop. The owner was very friendly and we bought jams and panetttoneThere were two Latin World stores and in this bigger one I found this door and flowers. Like a shrine.On our first trip to Dufferin Mall Krish found this table hockey game and it’s now ours
A little street art. Never very clever but definitely colourful. Lots of it seemed Innuit-inspiredDuring our stay a sinkhole opened just south of us. It closed the road for some timeCanadiana at the local Tim Horton’s
Colourful doors all along Bloor Street
We made a little trip a few streets north and finally saw some buses. It was such a cold and snowy dayThis restaurant Sugo is probably the most popular Italian in Toronto – at least the trendiest. We didn’t eat there but I did buy some eggplant parmigiana. It was dry and awful so I didn’t bother going back
We decided not to renew our contract in Bloordale. The rent had been expensive and those stairs were a problem. So mid January we moved to our next destination, Parkdale. That’s another blog entry.
What does home mean? Easy question – until now, for me. Moving from Hackney was hard. Physically, there was so much to do and I’m not as strong or stable as I want to be. I’m also short, which has limited me all my life in a way other short people will understand – attitude and adaptability counts, but if you’re short you’re short and that’s that. Emotionally was probably harder. More than likely, once the work is finished the physicality of the thing will end. The emotional stuff heals only as quickly as you allow it to.
London was my first home. I loved it from the earliest days of my memory. It wasn’t just about my family or the people around me, it was a solid feeling of belonging. I remember events from around the age of two or earlier, just snippets. It’s true that photographs have helped this. Perhaps I have created my own memories from them, but I sincerely believe they are real, or as real as they can be considering how much time has passed. At any rate, I didn’t just exist within the space but embraced it, inhaled it, became it. I’ve always been an explorer and so I discovered many things along the way about this space. When I was old enough, I would walk great distances including the eight miles from my teenage home in West Dulwich into central London, often joining up with my friend in Herne Hill at the two mile mark. At 17 I’d sometimes go in by train and sleep overnight on a bench in Trafalgar Square so I could spend another day there.
Photos were so tiny in those days and so was I. It’s my second birthday, mum and nana dressed me all in white, and I’m standing on the windowsill of my first home.
Until I was 18 I lived in greater London (Bethnal Green, Essex, Bromley by Bow, West Dulwich) and Woking. We moved to Toronto – another long story – and my parents moved to the greater Los Angeles area after a couple of years. I contemplated where home was when they left. I’d not been mature enough to live alone in London when they’d left, but now I was more independent. Should I stay in Toronto, should I follow them to L.A, or was this my chance to go back to London. I flew to London (my first flight ever) but quickly discovered that I just couldn’t afford it. Toronto wasn’t really holding me and my two-year boyfriend wasn’t clinging, so L.A. it was. I lived there and in San Francisco for two years. Despite my aversion to the U.S. lifestyle, Id count those years as the most carefree of my life.
Then I left and went back to Toronto – I meant it to be a holiday really but I stayed. I had another boyfriend then and eventually we got married. After nine years together my son, Robin, came along. Toronto was sticking and he was the glue.
In my thirties, in Toronto. The only time I ever had a whole house (rented) and this is where I was when Robin was born
All this time I never lost my longing for London. My marriage ended, a new boyfriend came along – Krish – and somehow he too was from London and we formed our plan to some day be there. And then we were. How we made it happen still amazes me. I did, however, leave Robin in Toronto and this is the only reason I do believe home is as much about the who as the where. No matter where I was something was missing. In Toronto, I missed Krish. In London, I missed Robin. I used to, and still do, think about this quadrangle – Me, Krish, Robin, and London. This is in no way to make Krish less, but if life forced me to make a Sophie’s (Jan’s) choice it would be me with Robin and London. But me, London, that’s a no-brainer. Why can’t I make my life about me? Being a mother is hard. And wonderful.
Skip ahead to late last year. Leaving London was heartbreaking but necessary at the time. We arrived to stay at my friend Judy’s home near the lake but after only one day I woke in the night to sense something wasn’t right. Krish had a fever. He’s prone to them when he’s sick and burns hot and fast for a short time before recovering. ‘You’re burning up,’ I said – what a cliche. He needs to test, I thought. ‘I’ll do a test,’ he said next morning, surprising me. He’s usually unconventional about such things. Positive.
Inside Judy’s kitchenJudy’s neighbourhood at Bathurst and Lakeshore. A far cry from HackneyJudy walking Annie on Bishop Tutu Boulevard, HarboursideWalking in Judy’s neighbourhood near Lake OntarioOur room at Judy’s, We were in chaos from travellingMy test on the left, Krish’s on the right
Judy considered this but mostly considered how she couldn’t stay in the same space. She offered to go elsewhere and I insisted that we needed to go elsewhere. I remembered that Krish’s parents were on holiday and suggested we stay in their apartment. They agreed and so we gathered what we could for our ten-day stay and took an Uber to where they lived.
Driving up to Krish’s parents. This was nice, seeing all the Fall colours from the Don Valley Parkway (DVP)
Krish’s sister in law – I suppose mine too – met us there. She gave us some fruit, some leftover take away noodles, a huge sack of potatoes (that was weird!), and two packs of disinfectant wipes. And she left. Judy had pushed a bag into my hand earlier – she’d packed butter, cheese, milk, orange juice, bread…but we were on our own.
Where Krish’s parents live is in the suburbs about 18km from central Toronto. It’s a condo they’ve been in for a couple of years and we’d never seen it before. I actually loved the space. It wasn’t ours but it was bright and large and I mentally refurnished it. It was, however, isolated – too far from everything.
Nice Fall view from the long balcony
Halloween night arrived and Krish was feeling up to a walk so we had fun cruising down the street we could see from our balcony. I had looked forward to seeing the festivities and we took the scenes in.
After five days Krish complained about chest pains and off we went to the closest Emergency department. He had pneumonia. We were on our own, took buses and mostly walked to the hospital, to the drugstore the next day feeling the weight of it all. I’d hoped that help might be offered. We could do it alone but it was hard. And then his brother told us we had to go, that we were endangering his parents by staying. We despaired – his brothers hadn’t offered any help during our isolation, we felt very alone, and his parents hadn’t stepped in to defend us.
Things got foggier in more ways than one
Luckily, Judy agreed that we could return now that all tests were negative and my nephew in law (is that a thing?) voluntered to drive us back down to the lake. The temporary home was gone and so was the trust that Krish had hoped to rebuild with his family. I’ve deliberately skipped details out of respect for them, but I don’t suppose I will ever be able to forget the feeling of betrayal, abandonment, and lack of caring. In all our travel plans we had held tight to the idea of family support. We let go as best we could now.
Back at Judy’s house, Krish struggled. We’d always known that his psoriasis would be a problem wherever we went, but he wasn’t coping. So we looked for somewhere else to be. We found it in a new area of Bloordale, booked two months and packed our things once again.
Our third temporary home gave us a haven. It had issues – our bathroom and bedroom were in the basement, down some steepish stairs with no handrail. It was scary and sometimes I’d lose my nerve and bump down on my bum like a child. We knew we didn’t want to stay too long – it was expensive and the basement was getting very cold (with no heat) as the winter progressed.
Just before Christmas I went to a pantomime with my niece and felt ill during the show. I’ll never know how I sat through the performance but I made it. We took a cab home afterwards and I vomited on the steps outside in the cold. The next morning it was my turn to test positive for Covid. Now those stairs were a bigger problem. I could either stay in the cold basement near the bathroom but without kitchen access or entertainment, or I could stay in the warm living room, with the distraction of Netflix and food close by, but no bathroom. I muddled through.
Christmas was cancelled! It would have been my first Christmas with Robin in six years. It felt like we couldn’t catch a break. We justified it all by saying how lucky we were overall. We had means, although they were gradually dwindling, we had a roof over our heads, we were eating regularly, we had friends, although not 100% we were relatively well. Blah blah blah.Of course I recovered – Paxlovid helped – we had a Christmas get together with Jenn and Robin, and we started looking for somewhere else to be.
I found a place being sublet until May. We’d save money and have a breathing space. We interviewed and got clearance to be here. We packed our bags again and slowly moved over in the first week of January. And here we are. Our fourth temporary home.
Is everything OK now? Well, the place is crammed with the owner’s belongings so we are living from cases and bags. We scattered our things around and Krish is part way through his usual cleaning and disinfecting frenzy. We will need to start thinking ahead to our next move in another four or five weeks and we still don’t know where that will be. Can we stick it out in Toronto, can we return to the UK. If so, where?
Our street in Parkdale. Winter has set in
The fourth temporary home will do for now. We are OK. Except for the bedbugs… Talking about them makes me itch so I won’t but…damn!
Our fourth temporary home in Parkdale
You can consider all of that. I feel too old to do this, certainly too tired and disheartened. I feel the years ahead are limited in more ways than one. I feel this pull and need for home again very strongly. So I keep coming back to the question – what is, where is home?
I’ll confess to daydreaming. In my daydream I am not somewhere new. I am sitting on the couch in Hackney and my TV is over there, my window is over there, all the artwork is on the wall, the sun is coming through the leaves of that wonderful tree and through the tissue paper tree on the window. Outside people are walking, traffic is passing, daily life goes on. But now it’s going on without me. I try to remember that I was lucky to have had it and that losing it means I had it in the first place. I philosophise and I rationalise, but I am also angry and heartbroken. Can I reconcile this? I have to.
Winter is hard. We tend to forget but it’s out there so it becomes top of mind very quickly
Our mutual love of food has helped us. Toronto is a wonderful cultural mix of people and customs. I want to blog about the food, but for now I’ll just add a cheerful note. Grocery shopping is horrible – more about that in time – but going to restaurants is fun and worthwhile, almost always. We’ve had good meals out and good meals in, helped along by that multiculture. I don’t want all our bright spots to be fattening but for now I’ll take it.
There’s so much else to say. As far as writing goes, I’ll talk about Bloordale, and I’ll talk about Parkdale, where we are now. I’ll talk about our explorations here. I’ll do all that. I want to minimise the misery but I also want to speak the truth. And with any luck, it won’t be too difficult or boring to write or to read.
Kangan is also considered the ‘farewell’ but is traditionally the day the couple removes the amulet tied around their wrists. The amulet is used to protect the bride and groom so that they can enter married life ‘void of any evils.’ The religious part of the whole thing is over and now it’s time to celebrate before beginning normal, married life. From what I’ve read this is often done separately by the bride and groom’s families but in Moh and Sharon’s case, the two families came together for a back yard party at Moh’s.
Since Moh and Krish’s time as children at the house, the back yard has changed quite a bit. From the kitchen, there’s a generous porch-landing with stairs leading down. And from the basement, you can step straight out to the yard itself. There are paving stones where there once was grass and a vegetable garden. And there’s a bar, a firepit, and lots of seating. A grand place for a party!
Front of the houseThe patio leading from the kitchenThe seating area, bar, and barbecue
Guests arrived steadily through the night. I helped with food preparation and serving in the kitchen. By now the family members were no longer strangers to me, although some still suspicious. Moh went to China Cottage to pick up appetiser dishes to begin the evening, and this was followed by the usual array of meat and vegetable curries and a table of desserts.
Activity in the basement kitchen and food tableAppetisers from China Cottage
Tulsi’s best friend and his wife are going to Barcelona in October and their visit overlaps mine by a few days so we made plans to meet. That should be fun!
People came and went. Some people arrived long after most had left. It was mostly the smaller family unit – the brothers, the nieces – Ariya and Annabelle, Naomi and Rana, and Tulsi and Karne sitting together, chatting and relaxing. We lit the firepit and dodged mosquitoes. Krish had bought Annabelle some gifts throughout the months and this was probably the time that reticent little girl tore down her barriers and bonded with her ‘chacha’ (uncle). We thought it might never happen. I’ll confess that the gifts Krish had bought for her weren’t my taste. I’d wondered what Annabelle would think of them – but I’d reckoned without him having a clue about his family’s personality. Every gift was a hit, every single one.
Sitting around the firepit late at night – Gop, Ariya, and Sharon
It was getting late and the remaining guests had eaten and drunk their fill. Everyone was invited to stay overnight and so we fell asleep with a house full.
We slept in a little late. The house was quiet. When everyone was up, we kept it simple after such a big day. But Sunday was another big day so we found things to do to make the next morning easier, and the day slid by.
Naomi and Rana had a date with one of Rana’s Toronto family so we let them know we would make our own way to Ajax, where a bus was booked to take us all to the reception.
But first there was some drama. When I went to get the black pants Moh was lending Krish, the door to that room was locked. There followed a frenzied conversation with Moh, who blamed himself, through me from Krish, who also blamed himself. It mostly went something like this abbreviated version:
Moh: Break the door down
Krish: I can’t do that
Moh: BREAK IT!
In the end, we broke it.
Dress, shirt, and pants ironed. Uber ordered, ready to leave.
On the way out, Krish discovered he didn’t have the front door key. More panic! Then Krish remembered he had put the key in his jeans, which he was resorting to when we thought the black pants were out of reach. The Uber arrived and off we went with a talkative Sri Lankan man. He’d lived all over the world, even cooked in Paris, but was now living in the eastern suburbs of Toronto, finding it ‘the best place in the world.’
We were the first to arrive for the bus. Then everyone arrived and piled in and off we went. Another drama! The bus driver, having cruised along with no problem started to make some weird turns. He turned North instead of South, then west instead of East and I had no idea what he was up to. The cry took hold. ‘Do you know where you’re going, young man?’ asked Tulsi patiently but firmly. No response. Eventually though, he did tell us that there were problems ahead. Yet still we seemed to be meandering until we all had to collaborate on a map and direct the driver. We should have known things weren’t that smooth when we read the signs in the van.
In contrast to the other days, today it was all formal Western wear. Everyone was dressed in evening gowns and formal suit and tie. At the front foyer there was an open bar – people flocked to it.
Me in my tuxedo dress, Krish with Sharon’s brothers, Ken and SeanEveryone in their formal wear in the foyer- there were 400 of us
When they opened the doors, it looked like a fairyland, all silvery and glittery. Very pretty!
I seem to have not taken so many pictures so I might pad this out a little when I see Naomi’s. In the centre of the hall amidst the tables was an island filled with an appetiser selection. The food was now far from Italian – it was Mediterranean, mostly Italian. There were meats, cheeses, marinated vegetables, salads, different sorts of bruschetta. I filled a plate and could have eaten this all evening.
We were sitting at Table 7 with some of Krish’s cousins, including Naomi and Sean. Also Gop, Ariya, and Annabelle, as well as cousin Sham. I hadn’t seen him for about twenty years. He looked very prosperous and sombre. We tried to joke with him about the shenanigans from the old days, but he had no more than a slight, indulgent smile on his face. The other cousins teased him mercilessly about his choice of the name Sean, which he insisted was his name. I’d heard this story before but kept quiet. Sean was his middle name, his first being Sham – the name of his estranged father. While others tiptoed around the subject, the cousins jovially reminded him ‘You’ll always be Sham!’
Then dinner. First a huge portion of both tomatoey pasta and risotto (I took just the risotto), and then the main course – salmon and chicken. This was followed by a trio of desserts. Despite having been very hungry when I arrived, I left a lot on all of my plates.
Finally the wedding day arrived. It felt a bit unreal. Krish and Rana were supposed to arrive early at the temple to help Moh so we all got dressed and set off. Only we went to the wrong temple – Krish had directed us to the Vishnu Mandir, where his family attended, but the wedding was taking place closer to home in Markham. We had to backtrack and, when we arrived in the parking lot of the Vedic Cultural Centre, Moh called us over to the car he was sitting in. We were late! It was fine, though – plenty of time before everything started.
Rana and Krish in the parking lot – best buddies all decked out!
My wedding outfit choice gave me a ton of headaches before it actually happened. It was the only day of the week that Indian attire was requested and, although I considered ignoring this, I also felt it was a good idea to do my best and at least find clothes that would ‘work.’ I searched and searched and it wasn’t as easy as I thought…always something that stopped me from buying. Finally I decided that I’d have to have something made and the best choice was a top and a skirt and shawl. Choli, lehenga, and dupatta! I wanted bright colours – lime green and fuschia came to mind. What I finally settled on was a long readymade skirt that was on sale in one fabric store – a dusty pink with gold brocade, a top that I had made – fuschia with gold and pink trim since I wouldn’t be wearing a necklace, and a pretty light pink and gold net shawl to pull the two together. I’d also bought some pale pink with rhinestone sandals in London. Ruth lent me a gold clutch bag and earrings and then Naomi offered me some with more bling so I went to it. I felt ridiculous when I saw it on the hangers ready to go but on the day it pulled together amazingly well.
My wedding outfit
There was the usual astounding amount of bling among the wedding guests. Meet and greet in the foyer! Downstairs there were snacks- the wedding would be long – samosas and something I forget now, or maybe the ‘something’ wasn’t there any more.
Quite honestly, I’m not sure of the order of events – the order for me, anyway. The wedding program spells it out but somehow it’s blurred for me – a good lesson in blogging promptly! Krish had disappeared and I was on my own. We’d seen from the program he had a big part to play in the ceremony, backstage and on. I’d not really counted on losing sight of him completely. Strange feeling to be in an unknown environment with so many people and not have a clue what to do next. When in doubt, just copy everyone else! So I parked my shoes in a locker and waited.
Everyone rushed outside and the sound of the tassa drums started up. I couldn’t see too well from where I was but there was a procession with Moh, Krish, Gopaul, Rana, and Tulsi in the centre of it and then after that they were gone again. Now it all gets blurry but at some point we went into the temple. Someone grabbed me and sent me to a seat but I couldn’t see much from there. What I could see was a very brightly decorated stage.
Down the aisle came Sharon dressed in a beautiful bright yellow gown. Her close and extended family came with her, dancing as they went. I need to get a better photo of the gown from someone – it was stunning. Up on the stage she went, with Krish and Gopaul at the side. There was a long puja with music and chanting. I had a terrible view, blocked by a large column and I slowly made my way to the side, around the back of the seats and down to a seat on the other side about three rows back. Much better. Then Sharon was gone.
As far as I remember, at this point I saw Moh’s family start to file out of the temple so I edged my way over to join them – my big chance! We waited out in the foyer until Moh appeared, with more drumming and then it was Moh’s turn to come down the aisle. I’m not that much of an extrovert to be in the spotlight and dancing but I had a feeling that this procession was one I was meant to part of. I was right! Back in the front of the temple I got my seat with the closer family, who were saying ‘Where were you? We wondered where you were.’ That was a nice feeling but curious at the same time. I’m yet to feel completely included and I suppose that’s normal when this family is so huge, and so culturally different
Now Moh went up on stage with Krish, Gopaul, Rana, Tulsi and Karna attending him. The puja began. The pundit was especially pleased to tell the congregation that the brothers were special and auspicious, having three names of Vishnu.
Christmas was cancelled! It would have been my first Christmas with Robin in six years. It felt like we couldn’t catch a break. We justified it all by saying how lucky we were overall. We had means, although they were gradually dwindling, we had a roof over our heads, we were eating regularly, we had friends, although not 100% we were relatively well. Blah blah blah.Of course I recovered – Paxlovid helped – we had a Christmas get together with Jenn and Robin, and we started looking for somewhere else to be.
