Toronto Report #2: Perfect Stranger

I never thought my childhood fondness for Bronson Pinchot (a.k.a. the wide-eyed Balki Bartakamous from a tiny Greek island come to live with his long-lost cousin Larry in Chicago, in the 80s sitcom Perfect Strangers) would be relived. But then my cousin Summer threatened to hold up a big sign at the airport's arrival gate -- Kozin Yvana Van De Leon -- just to embarrass me. (She didn't; but I rehearsed the Dance of Joy in my head just in case.)

Sometimes I do feel like Balki -- naive and unsure in an unfamiliar city. Other times I'm confident I can go anywhere and do anything, having mastered the transportation system (with subway trains, buses, and streetcars interconnected in an efficient system) in days, with the help of my cousin's trusty transit map and my Metropass -- which, at $85 a month, allows me unlimited access to all transit vehicles. So far, I've gone around Kensington Market, Chinatown, two malls, and the row of stores and restaurants down Bloor and Spadina.

One thing I like about taking the subway is getting off at the Spadina station, and walking down the underground red-brick tunnel that connects to the other train line (sort of like Gateway Mall). During a day of apartment-hunting then drinking beer (my first since Monday with the bayaws) with Maita and her friend Paul, I had to pass this tunnel several times, and each time there was a different musician: an old bearded guy who played flamenco-style guitar, a couple of Europeans playing a polka on the violin and accordion, a bald black guy playing something jazzy on his keyboard, and a thin man playing a plaintive version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" -- I had to sit down and listen to this. And I remembered the mixed CD Vlad had made for me -- which had 2 versions of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", followed by another universal tune: "I'm Horny." I've made it a point to always carry coins (1- and 5-cent coins -- grabe, hindi ako sanay na may value uli ang mamera) in my pocket for these subway musicians.

Despite the great transit system, I still miss the luxury of (relatively cheap) taxi rides back home. I know, I'm spoiled. And flabby. My calves are still getting used to at least an hour of walking every day (15 minutes to and from the nearest subway stop, then minutes to hours of exploring). And I can't even wear my skirts anymore. The temperature today is 17 degrees Celsius, and it's been showering since there was a tropical storm from New York over the weekend. It would be familiar monsoon weather to me, if not for the cold. I either have to keep wearing pants, or buy tights. (Brown tights with denim and camouflage-print skirts? I don't know...)

The other day, I met up and had coffee with B, who took me on a tour of the sprawling U of T campus. Grabe. Most departments have their own buildings, which either look like quaint, brick houses, or tiny adobe cathedrals, like the ones in old Manila. I love the English department, which is housed in this Gothic, Victorian-style building with ivy and moss growing on the walls. (I've taken pictures, but haven't figured out how to upload them yet.) The Robarts library has 14 -- fourteen! -- stories, five of them dedicated to humanities-related stuff. The campus also seems to have an unusual number of squirrel residents, some of which we saw humping romantically under trees.

B seems to have lost all traces of being Filipino -- not that he was traditionally Pinoy to begin with. I feel like I'm beginning a friendship again with a stranger.

Next: Toronto report #3:The search for a roof over our heads