Ten hours on a train, wearing a mask, listening to other peoples’ conversations and not being allowed to stand up unless its for an essential toilet break can give you severe cabin fever.
The train arrives in Toronto, we grab our bags and hurl ourselves onto the platform, knocking elderly people and Madonnas to the side. We sprint up the stairs towards the exit and only pause fleetingly to snap a photo of the amazing 1920’s Central Hall of the station, before dashing across the road into yet another example of opulent 1920’s construction- the Fairmont Royal York Hotel.
We stop and patiently wait in line to check in. We’re next to be called forward when a man wanders up to the newly vacated check in desk, we pounce forward, “there’s a line!” Our cabin-fever-train-ravished-mouths spurt out.
Safely checked in we shower and sprint through a thunder storm back to the Pink Sky Restaurant of a couple of weeks ago for what we plan to be our last big outing. We don’t want to be on a plane for 7 hours full of alcohol and rich food so are treating tonight as our last big hurrah!
The restaurant sit us in a corner with a great view over the room. It’s packed, full of life and very animated and playing a great selection of 1980’s UK music. A couple of cocktails, a bottle of wine, twelve oysters and some superb food later and we waddle from the restaurant and take a leisurely walk back to the hotel for a night-cap and bed.
Friday dawn’s with the sun breaking through the forecast cloudy sky. It’s our final full day, the so called ‘Down to the border with Mexico…’ day. Every last day needs a focus, (a previous US trip gave it its moniker,) and today we are heading to the CN tower.
We’ve booked the first slot and arrive early so are first in the queue, in fact we are so early that the taped lines to control the queue haven’t been put out yet so we stand on the pavement as 5 people create a maze around us.
Eventually we’re let in and traverse yet more space and taped lines probably there to control the masses in pre-covid times but eerily redundant these days. We reach the elevators and are on our way up, watching the sunny distant horizon of where the lake meets the sky rise up the towers in the foreground and eventually flood over them as we climb higher than any other building in the city in just under a minute.
We reach the top. We are the only visitors there. The views are spectacular and the actual space is really quite well done, not the horrible tacky space that are so often associated with places like this. We spend a good hour up top, have a coffee and take in the view before heading back down to the biggest tat selling shop on the planet and for lunch and a wander through the shops.
We return to the hotel later and ask the concierge to recommend a simple Italian style restaurant so we can have a salad and some simple pasta in readiness for our flight. “I’m not drinking tonight,” says Mark and I agree. “Last night was our real last night” he adds.
We reach Restaurant Carisma and Michalangelo, the owner greets us at his door. He recognises our accents and tells us he was in England a couple of months ago. He speaks with a thick Italian accent, unshielded by his mask that he pulls down so we can properly hear him: “I went to see my brother – maybe you know him? – he’s in Woking, he has a restaurant and a barbers.” Mark says we live near Woking, the two of them immediately hit it off.
At the table, a swathe of Michaelangelo’s family bring us bread, cutlery and water before Carlos appears, a short white haired waiter with thick rimmed round glasses. He talks us through the specials, suggests a cocktail and gives us the wine list. It all sounds lovely and I fear our resolve weakening. Mark asks him where in Italy he’s from, “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint but I’m not from Italy…” he replies. “Spain?” Says Mark, now sure he’s onto something. “Well I’m sorry to disappoint but I’m not from Spain… Sud America, Uruguay!” Mark suddenly launches into Spanish and the two chat like old friends. I see our resolve running from the building.
One Last hurrah indeed, and it was the best steak and best fish we’d eaten all holiday. The Negronis weren’t half bad either! As the meal draws to a close Carlos and Mark are deep in conversation when Michalangelo walks past. “They’re from England” he interjects, “get them a Limoncello from Luigi, Luigi in Woking!”
Farewell Canada, thanks for having us!
Liam, Toronto, ON, Canada, 22 October 2021
