Just before my Harlem Hoopla (take a look at my first post if you have no idea what i'm on about http://plushrugsandbedbugs.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/harlem-hoopla.html ) I spent a week in the East Canadian city of Toronto... Now the week prior to me arriving my instinct and every bone in my body was telling me to changing my plans from where I was at that time in Vancouver and head to Portland, Oregon USA. I will spare you from the long winded reasoning behind these instincts. All I will say is that had I not blown over $400 of my budgeted travelling money in Las Vegas a few weeks before, I'd be talking about how I managed to help 'keep Portland weird' rather than my Ontario experience. However, being a plonker and all I had no choice but to stick to my original plan and head to Toronto... Damn that Bellagio Hotel buffet in Vegas!!!
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I had a bad feeling about going to Toronto. This wasn't eased during my flight from Vancouver when talking to a lady sitting next me about where I was staying... Normally the polite thing to say is 'ohhhhh it's not too bad, just keep your whits about you' you know in a reassuring type way so that you're made aware of the need to be alert but you're not actually scared... So while waiting for the inevitable 'ohhhhh' moment I looked at the lady's face and rather than providing me with a reaction of relief I saw a really troublesome look and then she reached into her purse. Well this was worrying... Writing her name and telephone number on a piece of paper she told me to call her if I got into any kind of trouble or needed any help day or night. Wow... What kindness from a stranger. Wow... What the hell have I got myself into?!!!
So I arrived at the airport at about 9pm and waited for a driver of the guesthouse's airport service to pick me up. I was a bit aggrieved having to book this means of transport actually but had no choice because Toronto Pearson airport is a pain in the ass to get to and from. I mean what kind of airport doesn't offer a door to door airport shuttle?... Only the busiest in Canada!!! They do offer a bus that drops off at particular hotels but that doesn't run through my part of town (go figure) and being quite late at night it would have created problems with collecting my key from the guesthouse so I forked out my left kidney for their airport pickup car. It turned out to be the owner's son who was looking after the house for a while. He was genuinely a likable guy giving me tips on things to see and do during the hour long journey to the B&B. When we reached the front door I was glad I booked his services. For a start, I'd never have found it on my own as the house is not clearly marked as a guesthouse but also I immediately felt uneasy about the area it was located in... Old Cabbage Town.
The great thing about Toronto is that all of the districts are clearly signposted with their collective name. When I first saw the sign at the end of my street with the name Old Cabbage Town on it I howled with laughter. When the town planners were naming their streets who on earth would think to name a place Cabbage Town?... Brilliant. After a few days I realised that it was incredibly apt. Every city has a drug dealing, crime ridden, poverty stricken area in it doesn't it? Well it just so happens I found myself staying right in the middle of Toronto's.
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Note to self... actually read emails sent to you from prospective lodgings... If I had read the email sent to me by the owner of the guesthouse stating clearly in bold capital letters that I had to PAY IN CASH when I arrived I would have been spared the angst of having to walk around the streets of Old Cabbage Town at 10pm trying to find a cashpoint in order to draw out a wad of dollars to pay for my room. If trying to find a cashpoint that would let me withdraw more than just $20 wasn't scary enough, walking the streets with a serious amount of cash on my person made me grateful for wearing my Tena Lady that day I can tell you (though admittedly probably shouldn't). What a great introduction to the area in the middle of the night. Terrified doesn't even cover it. I was beginning to hate Toronto before I properly stepped foot in it.
The Comfy Guest House and Suite was exactly that, it was a guesthouse with a number of bedrooms spanning two floors. You had to take your shoes off by the front door before walking around the house and just outside the bathroom was all the amenities you would need, hairdryer, iron, mouth wash, cotton buds etc. Well at least I think they were for public use anyway? My room was tiny and a bit hard to manouvre around but as I didn't intend to spend much time in there I wasn't that bothered... Turns out within an hour of checking in my intentions about not being in there too long came to pass. Why so soon? Well because I am an idiot that's why.
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The 15th April 2013 will go down in my personal history as being the day that I became a cabbage in Cabbage Town... If having to walk around downtown junkieville Toronto at night wasn't embarrassing enough, I thought i'd do one better and lock myself out of my bedroom at midnight... I actually locked myself out of my bedroom within one hour of checking in... What a twat! You see what happened was I just went to the lavatory (yes I genuinely do call the toilet/WC/bathroom lavatory... so bite me!) and closed my bedroom door behind me: shook the handle... felt that it locked... realised I didn't have the key... shook again... said oh shit... went to the lavatory... channelled my happy thought... came out... repeated steps 1 to 5... cried. I officially hated Toronto.
Luckily at the last minute of me leaving my bedroom I decided to put on my pyjama trousers as I was only wearing knickers at the time (really sorry for that horrific image now lodged in your brains). I nearly didn't though as I thought that nobody would actually see me so late at night. Thank Superman that I did. It was weird though... I always carry keys and my phone with me no matter where I go. The one occasion I didn't turns out to be the one where I actually needed them! What a douche.
So I was locked out with nothing other than my pyjamas on my person. I needed to find a way to open the door. I went up to the kitchen on the first floor and got a knife cause you know a knife works just like a precisely cut key doesn't it? Shockingly that didn't work... idiot. I was desperate. I think I even tried to put a cotton bud into the keyhole to see if that would open the door. I was actually delirious due to exhaustion from lack of sleep and stress from earlier events. I was never going to open the door. There was no living room in this house however there was a kitchen so I went up there to calm down and decide what to do. The owner of the guesthouse was somewhere in foreign shores and with his son not living in the house it was too late at night to call him to let me back in. Well I could have done but I'm too polite to bother somebody like that. I had no choice but to sit the night out in the kitchen before I could call for help in the morning... And boy they were the longest 9 hours of my life.
Nine hours you're thinking to yourself??? Why didn't I call for help sooner than 9am? Well I couldn't work out how to use the telephone in the kitchen could I. It was as if I needed some sort of Canadian secret code to dial out of the house. Honestly, it was hell. The kitchen was designed for practicality not comfort... Four wooden chairs and a glass table. That's it. No sofa, no chez lounge, no double bed. I tried every position imaginable to try and sleep on the chairs but couldn't. I had no choice but to basically sit at the table all night. I was so bored that I started to read a book that was underneath the table. It was a German love story... In German. Actually even though I didn't understand a word it was a riveting read which killed a couple of hours. Just before 9am a Spanish gentleman suddenly appeared and made breakfast. He looked at me in total horror when I told him about the last 9 hours. Not because I'd just spent the night in the kitchen but because I couldn't figure out how to dial a number on the telephone. He still helped me though and after an hour I was finally let back into the room when the landlord's son kindly returned to the property.
My impressions of Toronto were tainted from the start and never really got any better. But that's what happens when a idiot finds herself in Cabbage Town.
