A recent visit to the ‘new’ downtown Toronto unveiled marvels of major changes as well as some uptown that didn’t.
My son Brett and I stayed at the Renaissance Hotel for two nights. It is merged into Rogers Place, home of the Blue Jays. We didn’t get a window overlooking the baseball field and who cares, the Jays were playing out of town. One bonus was being a stone’s throw from the CN Tower and Ripley’s Aquarium.
I could never have comprehended so many buildings in one area, in the hundreds I’m sure. The sheer number of skyscrapers were like bedpost notches to signify Toronto’s rise in prowess. They were like a seamless pattern – and architecturally appealing too. And there are still many cranes placed in every nook and cranny for ones in progress. I wonder if the construction crane will replace the Blue Jay as a city mascot.
Back then you could count the high-rises on two or three hands, mostly large banks and finance head offices. Bay Street was the marvel then, causing many a stiff neck from craning to see the tops of them. Today you just accept the mass of buildings and not fret about which one is taller.
I lived in the Big Smoke from 1975 to 2000. As I recall then, the Eaton’s Centre was the big draw and in a way was considered downtown. One evening I went there to purchase something. On leaving this massive flagship, some guy on the corner asked if wanted to buy magic mushrooms. Not in the mood for mushrooms, I said no. At work the next morning I mentioned it to some of the guys and they laughed their heads off. I guess it wasn’t the mushrooms I was thinking of.
We walked along the lake shore Sunday evening. When I left Toronto in 2000, there was basically a few ferry boats over to Centre Island. Now there are dozens of smaller crafts transporting passengers and crisscrossing to the Island constantly. Located on Toronto Island, the novel Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport handles over 2 million travellers each year. Last year a new pedestrian tunnel opened, connecting the mainland to the airport; less than a six-minute walk.
Returning to the hotel lobby, three of the staff were waiting for me. “What is wrong with your car,” the manager asked. I explained about the back doors not working.
She said, “Not that, there is a strong smell of gas coming from your car. We are worried about our hotel and the stadium being blown up.”
“Hell, what can we do,” I quizzed. “If it’s okay with you, we’d like to move it above ground.”
With much relief I replied, “Be my guest.” It was a gas leak and I had it repaired in Westmeath when I got back.
Monday morning, we began interfacing with the CN Tower features. The EdgeWalk on the roof of the restaurant was priority. While filling out the waivers to be signed, my hand was shaking like a leaf. Then Brett was pulled back because of limited use in his arm. His disappointment was palpable and no amount of persuasion could change management’s mind. For myself it was bittersweet; in fact, I was so relieved that on the observation deck, I bravely walked to the centre of the Glass Floor, looked straight down and stood on one foot, not giving a hoot if I looked like an idiot.
Monday evening, we walked up to the Eaton’s Centre. As we left the new Downtown the disconnect was obvious. People on the streets were more assertive, talked bolder and more animated in their ungraceful struts. Before reaching Queen Street, the first of many beggars were out in full force. I hadn’t given them a thought until now. These ‘lone wolves’, such as the bag ladies and druggies, were absolutely out of sync with the people in the CN Tower region. Really disgusting were three young adults sprawled over Yonge street and over each other, beseeching passers for change but too dam lazy to stretch out even one hand among them to collect. There was a highlight though. In a vacant lot, a youth was playing a haunting song on a wooden harmonica from the movie Titanic. I couldn’t break myself away until I walked across Yonge Street and placed a five-dollar bill in his collection pot. After returning to our domain, the congestion of structures and the focus on heights was unexpectedly comforting to me.
As we strolled about here and there, we were attracted to the smiling faces of others; mostly thrilled tourists from all reaches of the globe. I only perceived a handful of smokers all the time I was there, another shift in our culture. Nevertheless, the majority of people carried cell-phones, many conversing into them while in motion. At one point on the sidewalk I stood dead still and waited to see if a lady on her phone would notice me. She did at the last split second but still brushed up against me, scaring the wits out of her.
Then there was late Monday afternoon when a throng of Pokemon gamers, young and old, gathered at the base of the CN Tower, probably more than the entire population of Whitewater Township and neighbouring Laurentian Valley combined. Here at Toronto’s most notable landmark, the smartphone app had come to town. Pokemon Go players used their smart phones to capture virtual creatures hidden in real locations across the city. The Hospital for Sick Kids was not pleased about being one of them.
The final tour was the Science Centre on the way out of The Big Smoke. Before we got there the radio was blaring about the transport that overturned on the Don Valley Parkway and the 401 ramp, spilling its contents of salad dressing all over and snarling traffic for hours. That’s my town!
After dropping Brett in Oshawa, I couldn’t help recollecting my stay in the Renaissance versus my very first hotel in Toronto. It was the infamous Ford Hotel, dirt-cheap but in the roughest part of the city back then – Jarvis Street. I was about 20 and had accompanied a friend who had to stay overnight. There was no sleep in this dump; fighting and screaming went on all night on the street below, in many of the rooms and there was even someone trying to break into ours.
How far The Big Smoke, and me too, have come in our journeys.
