Speaking of apartments and odd, I’m still in the desperate throes of house hunting. I’ve lost count of how many places we’ve seen at this stage, three weeks in. It’s about twelve, or maybe fifteen or even seventeen. It’s not twenty though, definitely not twenty. Whichever number it is, all endeavours have been fruitless.
We saw one place that failed to advertise its 5’10” ceiling, or its complete lack of windows for that matter. And then of course there was the elderly Asian couple with their fourty year old son who hid in the shadows. They just wanted house mates I imagine, as there was no form of separation between their living quarters and the upstairs suite they were trying to rent to us. Needless to say, we made a swift exit before they thrust the application forms in our hands. Of course we left the Hello Kitty slippers they made us wear in a neat pile at the door. Shortly following this encounter, we viewed a lovely little number just a short street car journey away. Lovely hard wood floor, a bathroom with a window, and just what every bedroom needs, a kitchen where there was once a closet. How nice it would be to have the milk within arms reach while you sleep, or to be woken by the spatters of fat flying from bacon sizzling on a Sunday morning. But alas, this style of ever-convenient living was not for us. I know, we’re being too picky.
Which is why last night I nearly signed a year lease on a one-bed off Queen West, which was literally the size of a living room. Our queen bed wouldn’t have fit in the bedroom, but we nearly convinced ourselves that this wouldn’t be an issue and that hammocks were more comfortable anyways. After a good night’s sleep on a real bed, we released it would be difficult to part with the coils and opted not to sign the lease. So back to square one, fifteen apartments later.
There is a bonus that comes with viewing so many apartments though. You get to see parts of the city that you probably wouldn’t visit in your first month. Although Toronto is hugenormous, I feel like we’ve covered a good bit of ground. We’ve trekked to Parkdale, Ossington, Bloor West, High Park, Leslieville, Pape and Danforth, Queen East, Little Italy, Cabbage Town. Yes, I said Cabbage Town. So I feel like we at least have a good grasp of where we do, and don’t, want to situate our selves.
Another good indicator of where to live is the caliber of brunch establishments which grace said area. And if there’s one thing Toronto does well, its brunch. Even when asking friends’ advice on an area, they’re instant response is in relation to the bruncheries (no, its not a word) near by, or the lack there of. I’ve found that after yet another disappointing viewing, nothing lifts the spirit like an eggs benny or huevos rancheros in a modestly priced, mid-century style diner. I’ve yet to be disappointed and am finding it hard to pick a favorite spot so far. The Hen House on our first visit was a success after we saw a dump in Leslieville. Then we stumbled across the Swan after viewing a dank box off Queen West, my god it was tasty. And the original 1930’s finishings were stunning. So much polished mahogany. Oh the polished mahogany.
If you like polished mahogany as much as you love eggs, then you’d love the Lakeview Restaurant. We stumbled in there after spending 45 minutes in the snow searching for a house that didn’t exist. One can only last so long trying to find a house by using the picture from Craigslist you saved on your phone as a guide. I was on the brink of outrage when in the distance we saw a glorious beacon of hashbrowns and hollandaise sauce. Anyone familiar with Toronto will know the Lakeview just off Ossington. It’s open 24 hours and puts cilantro in the tuna sandwiches. Enough said. Then of course there was Sneaky Dee's on College for some huevos sexos on a Sunday post-yet-another-crap-apartment viewing. A lot like Bon's off Broadway in Vancouver, except the food is actually good. Oh, controversial.
House hunting and brunches aside, T.Dot is getting more and more pleasant. The bus drivers are meaner than those in Vancouver, but I’m pretty sure the drivers in Vancouver have mental problems that lead them to have eerily positive dispositions. The weather here is still quite painful, but I’ve mastered the art of wrapping a scarf around my face so that only my eyes are subjected to the cutting winds. See example below, as modeled by Cormac.
The pubs are always full though. And people like to dance, whether or not other people are looking. For the first time in ages, I danced until 5am with great people and ended the night with said great people in a harshly lit but deliciously tasty Chinese restaurant. No bouncer kicked us out for flailing our arms wildly while dancing to the Cure, no passers by looked at us oddly while we sang a group rendition of Whitney Huston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’ from start to finish, at insane decibels outside the bar. And we were in fact not the only people roaming the streets aimlessly at 4:30 looking for a bit more fun. Coming from Vancouver, where everything shuts down and ceases to exits at 10pm, this was a welcome and well needed change.
So there you have it. A slightly more optimistic review from the Eastern front. Let's hope next time I can say amazing things including but not limited to: 'We found a place to live' and 'It was only -5 today so we went to the beach' or 'Today I found a floofy kitten in the snow who needed a home and Cormac suddenly wasn't allergic anymore so the kitten is now my love child and he sleeps on my face all of the night'. We shall see.
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