I leave Philadelphia curiously looking at the shoeshine at the airport, and wondering what the hell my neighbor is doing, so important that he's glued to his blackberry all the time. The arrival in Toronto is very heartening: in less than half an hour I'm already in a taxi, with the visa in my pocket ...nothing like the States! I notice that the greenery abounds, and I also appreciate the residential streets leading to the great shopping streets, and realize that I'll hardly be wrong when coming home: the sign "REMOVE YOUR SHOES" is visible from miles away. I immediately learn the rules and restrictions of MM, my landlady: take your shoes off, lock the door when you go out, dinner at 18.30 with food of all colors, no towels on the bed and no electricity before 9 o'clock in the evening! Gulp. I go with her to the grocery store, and notice the Canadian irony -a bit British- on the bus' windows: "Move to the rear of the bus, thank you" says the first and the second "well, maybe a little FURTHER back, THANKS. " I discover that there are no buttons to request the stop: you pull a cord that looks like a rubber electric wire and runs along the walls of the bus. On the bus and at the supermarket I hear no English at all, except by MM: I hear Russian, French, Italian (mostly dialects), Portuguese, Spanish... but then they all use English again when addressing strangers. It 's a first taste of the melting pot that Canada has managed to create over time.
On the third day in Canada, without any time to get used to the amount of paprika and garlic in the dishes of MM, my Mac surrenders to the change of voltage and dies. I bring it to the Mackhospital -the Apple Store- where the clerks talk to each other through a Macbook, and open the cash counter with an Iphone. Mackie is hospitalized, and I find myself completely puzzled. Not being able to communicate through my computer, all the shock that I didn't experience so far falls upon me, especially because of the distance from home and my loved ones. At the same time, I feel in tune with Toronto, I still feel that nothing can go wrong and that everything happens for a reason. I begin my pilgrimage looking for a job, at the Dante Alighieri (sorry, but you know...), at the gelati place Novecento in Corso Italia, on the online ads for Italian lessons, so on and so forth. Italian institutions are disinterested to say the least in the fate of compatriots on a working-holiday, even if it should be their role to promote us! Mah. At night I console myself with a stroll along the lake. On the bus there's a group of bad boys, which here means "guys who put their feet on the seats of the bus" but they later move them, apologizing, when I mention I want to sit... real thugs!! Among other things, they are six and of six different races: Asian, East European, North African, South American, African-American... again, the melting pot made in Canada. The spectacle of the lake at night is incredible: fresh air, the ideal temperature, the parks and the CN Tower in the background. Besides me there are girls who are jogging, people walking, everybody on the sidewalks of those that are not roads, but highway with sidewalks on both sides.
I've always loved the cities on the lakes, and Toronto is no exception. Here one feels safe, cannot get lost (because if nothing else, the CN Tower is a point of reference) and the transport network is so efficient, punctual and safe to be astonished when hearing those who complain -MM for example- to have to wait 5 minutes for a bus! I am going to make friends with this city, and I get ready to explore it far and wide.
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