Today we checked out of Room 13 at Victoria’s Mansion Guest House and into Room 2009 at the Chelsea Hotel. No bad luck at either place, fortunately.
This adventure is a bucket list trip for me. I have long wanted, longingly wanted to travel to New England in the autumn. Starting off in Canada sounded like a good idea.
I knew how to pack for this trip. A savvy traveler plans on wearing layers, adding and subtracting as suits changing weather conditions. So my bag is filled with long sleeve tops and turtlenecks over which I can wear a pullover, a sweater that zips, and a leather jacket. For extra insurance I have a thick neck scarf.
Hah. I spent the first day after autumn equinox in New York City, temperature 90 degrees. When we flew north to Toronto, the driver who took us to our hotel told us that the temperature hovered around 35 degrees. I would have been happy if that had been the temperature in Fahrenheit, however he was talking about Celsius. And in Fahrenheit that was 95 degrees.
I have one short sleeve shirt with me and a couple of long sleeve shirts I can wear with the sleeves rolled up. Slava has seen me in one or another of these every day. Every night I have a sweaty shirt to wash in the sink.
I’ve resigned myself to the idea that I’m not likely to see a New England forest of reds and yellows. My hope now is to see a tree or two in autumn colors.
This morning we went to a grocery store called Loblaws to get some packets of oatmeal for Slava in the mornings. Breakfast today was at a creperie, and although the food was delicious, Slava wants oatmeal most days for soothing gastrointestinal issues.
Go to a grocery store and buy oatmeal. Ho hum. Why write about it? You need to know that for me the experience of walking into Loblaws was similar, I’m sure, to what a Soviet child would have experienced walking into a Western supermarket. It was jaw-droppingly awesome. I now have a reason to move to Canada.
Loblaws is massive yet laid out artistically with stage lighting for prominent displays. There are 350 different kinds of cheeses. The bakery is filled with works of art. I could have spent hours there wandering around, but we had another destination for the day: the Royal Ontario Museum, a.k.a. ROM.
ROM is a museum of art, world culture, and natural history. Imagine several Smithsonians under one roof. The part that was most interesting to me was the First Nations exhibit hall. I have to tell you how one native group dealt with the dangers of hurrricanes.
First you need to know that hurricanes are actually brought by an evil spirit named Dah-Gwa-Noh-Ah-Yen, hereafter known as Flying Head. But Flying Head was tricked one day by Gee-Goh-Sah-Seh, known as the Mother of Nations.
Gee-Goh-Sah-Seh was sitting in her longhouse one day when she realized that Flying Head was watching her, looking down the smoke hole in her roof. She has some sweet chestnuts in the fire, and she casually took them out and ate them one by one. Flying Head said, “If she can eat fire, so can I.” Flying into the lodge he grabbed some hot coals from the fire and ate them. He screamed in pain and flew away at great speed, never to be seen again.
I’d say that there’s a bit of wishful thinking going on here. It’s a trait I understand.
This adventure is a bucket list trip for me. I have long wanted, longingly wanted to travel to New England in the autumn. Starting off in Canada sounded like a good idea.
I knew how to pack for this trip. A savvy traveler plans on wearing layers, adding and subtracting as suits changing weather conditions. So my bag is filled with long sleeve tops and turtlenecks over which I can wear a pullover, a sweater that zips, and a leather jacket. For extra insurance I have a thick neck scarf.
Hah. I spent the first day after autumn equinox in New York City, temperature 90 degrees. When we flew north to Toronto, the driver who took us to our hotel told us that the temperature hovered around 35 degrees. I would have been happy if that had been the temperature in Fahrenheit, however he was talking about Celsius. And in Fahrenheit that was 95 degrees.
I have one short sleeve shirt with me and a couple of long sleeve shirts I can wear with the sleeves rolled up. Slava has seen me in one or another of these every day. Every night I have a sweaty shirt to wash in the sink.
I’ve resigned myself to the idea that I’m not likely to see a New England forest of reds and yellows. My hope now is to see a tree or two in autumn colors.
This morning we went to a grocery store called Loblaws to get some packets of oatmeal for Slava in the mornings. Breakfast today was at a creperie, and although the food was delicious, Slava wants oatmeal most days for soothing gastrointestinal issues.
Go to a grocery store and buy oatmeal. Ho hum. Why write about it? You need to know that for me the experience of walking into Loblaws was similar, I’m sure, to what a Soviet child would have experienced walking into a Western supermarket. It was jaw-droppingly awesome. I now have a reason to move to Canada.
Loblaws is massive yet laid out artistically with stage lighting for prominent displays. There are 350 different kinds of cheeses. The bakery is filled with works of art. I could have spent hours there wandering around, but we had another destination for the day: the Royal Ontario Museum, a.k.a. ROM.
ROM is a museum of art, world culture, and natural history. Imagine several Smithsonians under one roof. The part that was most interesting to me was the First Nations exhibit hall. I have to tell you how one native group dealt with the dangers of hurrricanes.
First you need to know that hurricanes are actually brought by an evil spirit named Dah-Gwa-Noh-Ah-Yen, hereafter known as Flying Head. But Flying Head was tricked one day by Gee-Goh-Sah-Seh, known as the Mother of Nations.
Gee-Goh-Sah-Seh was sitting in her longhouse one day when she realized that Flying Head was watching her, looking down the smoke hole in her roof. She has some sweet chestnuts in the fire, and she casually took them out and ate them one by one. Flying Head said, “If she can eat fire, so can I.” Flying into the lodge he grabbed some hot coals from the fire and ate them. He screamed in pain and flew away at great speed, never to be seen again.
I’d say that there’s a bit of wishful thinking going on here. It’s a trait I understand.
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