Yesterday, I braved the “extreme cold alert” to travel to the Center of the Universe and the capital of our Great Salt Republic otherwise known as Ontario. Though the -11C temperature and occasionally biting wind made it a bit miserable at times, the people in my new part of the world can’t possibly understand the true meaning of “cold.” Tomorrow, for example, back in the Old Country, the high will be -28 with a wind chill of -41. As a friend of mine said the other day, “You can have it.”
Though it really wasn’t that bad outside, I might normally have waited for another day to make such an excursion, except that December 15 is a special day. No, it’s not because it’s the day the Indianapolis Racers folded or the day John Ferguson fired Rudy Pilous, but because it’s the nine-year anniversary of Carli Ward’s passing. My memories of that day at Grace Hospice remains as fresh as ever, and given her love of trains, riding the rails to Toronto was a fitting way to honor her.
First, however, there was the bus ride to Burlington. I went up to the top deck hoping to get the front seat, only to have it occupied by a couple of guys who must have boarded in Niagara Falls, one of whom was busy counting sheep.
The ride was otherwise uneventful, aside from the thickening traffic entering Burlington, except for when the heat came on, giving us a blast of not only heat but of a special fragrance. Eau de fart, I believe it’s called.
I wish I had been able to get a picture, but at a construction site in Hamilton we passed by, there was a big bin with “Earth Boring” in big letters painted on it. Hey, if it’s so boring here, try another planet.
Also en route, I must have spotted about five or six salt trucks dispensing generous quantities of the essence of Ontario. I understand there was a quite a blizzard that ripped through the area after I got home, but when I was out, the streets were bone dry. But you can never put down enough salt, I suppose. There are times I wonder why they don’t mix up salt with the concrete when they pave the roads around these parts.
Following a nice train ride, after which our customer service ambassador warned us to bundle up before venturing outside, I proceeded east along Front Street.
I couldn’t help but stop and take a shot of this Metro box. In Toronto, these boxes are used for “newspapers,” but in Winnipeg, they’re used as public urinals. When the indigents need to take a dump, they use planters inside Winnipeg Square. Someone once captured the details on video, which you can see here.
Much like the Forks in the Old Country, except much bigger, the market is spread out over two levels, and filled with all sorts of eclectic smells that you may or may not enjoy. Unfortunately, proper food handling practices are not always followed as one vendor was spotted sneezing into his bagels, then wiping his nose with his hands. I also noticed a few sparrows flying around inside. Perhaps they’re the “catch of the day” at one or more of the meat markets.
Worn out from another full day of exploration, it was then time to return to Union Station and board the Lakeshore West train to head back to St. Catharines. I don’t foresee a need to return to St. Lawrence Market, but no doubt, I’ll be back to the universe’s center at a future date to cover another corner of the metropolis.