In with the Old

On Labour Day Monday, I headed to Toronto. The last time I travelled during a holiday, the bus was packed. Although it was mostly full this time round too, I did not have to share a seat. This wasn't the first time some Mennonites boarded in the West End. They were likely heading back to the Kitchener-Waterloo area. But I wondered if they were visiting like-minded communities around these parts.

They weren't the only folks with a hankering for the past. Four young women, on their way to a concert in The Big Smoke (probably BabyMetal), also carried "vintage tech" in the form of a digital point-and-click camera and a CD player. The sad thing was that these were later models and not the shiny new hotness from my days. Those might be considered antiques.

At Kingston, with Fat Bastard no longer in "retail jail", I ordered a veggie burrito ($9.99). I also used its larger washroom compared to the bus. I blamed the harsh lighting because a ghoul stared back from the mirror. Early retirement? I looked like I was already a few years into regular retirement. 

I was back in Bloordale but I wasn't staying at the usual spot. However, this new location did share something in common with the former. That street included the gentleman's club named Club Paradise. My new AirBnB stay was on Margueretta, which also had a sinful den called The House of Lancaster. With the closing of Brass Rail Tavern and Club Zanzibar, Bloordale had the last two strip clubs in Toronto.

When I saw the second floor layout (plus the fact that the owner's hosting history was only 4 months old), I knew this was a rooming house. When I heard people knocking about in the kitchen next to my room, I guessed that there were still long-term tenants. This admixture was reminiscent of my stay in Montreal but even more intrusive. A quick search on the website showed that the owner had stop actively listing my room (no available dates for the next 4 months), probably due to noise complaints. A separate basement unit was still available though. The room itself was larger than some bachelor condos, but the other units on the second floor didn't seem as spacious. Mine would likely be the dining and living room in a normal house.

All in all, this reminded me of my 7-year stint in a similar situation back in the day. Unlike that room, this one had its own bathroom. The downside was its slovenliness. If you aren't fanatical about cleaning, don't be an AirBnB host. Also, why did I live for 7 years in a rooming house?! I was making decent enough money at a start-up. To be fair, I left that company unwisely and spent the dot-com crash years working a lower-paying IT gig. Still, even that wasn't poverty wages.

Perhaps this walk down memory lane also led me back to Pho Linh. This venerable Vietnamese spot was my go-to spot in those first few years. My main complaint with the "3-colour rice" dish (steamed egg, pork chop, and crunchy pork skin) wasn't the $17.50 price tag. It was that the portion was huge. Give me a half-portion, knock off $6, and I'd be thrilled. Though most people come here for the beef soup, this item was a secret gem because one, the flavours were quite good and two, they actually use "broken rice" (with its quinoa-like texture) while other restaurants usually substitute steamed rice.

At Lansdowne and College, I was surprised that the former car wash was already torned down. But it has been a year. Attached to the construction fencing was a sign touting mixed use retail and 9-story apartment building. A group of snarky teens passing by, looking around at the older homes, remarked that they must have taken a wrong turn into the ghetto. I must looked like a local indigent to go along with the area.

Into The Void

On Wednesday, the extended family gathered to bid farewell to my grandma's ashes. It has been one year since her passing. Originally, we had planned on bringing her back to the old country. My uncle, the one who sponsored us, wasn't keen on the idea. He wanted to bury her urn with my grandfather here in Ottawa. He also re-hired the priest, who was at her bedside on the final day, to perform a short ceremony.

My grandma wanted none of this. In fact, given her pragmatic nature, she simply wished to be scattered in a river or lake. Her reasoning was that no one was going to visit anyway. She wasn't wrong as I haven't gone to my grandfather's grave in 30 years. My younger cousins have never been since he had died before they were born. A few older relatives, like my mom, came by sporadically over the years.

On the walk to the lot, I didn't recognize any landmarks. His small headstone (all that we could afford back then) was hidden among the many larger ones in what once was an empty field. After the rite, I placed her urn in a prepared "vault box". Other people added flowers inside the container as well. We could have included other mementos but neither my uncle nor my mom, who coordinated with the cemetery staff, had informed us beforehand. Otherwise, I might have brought her favourite magazine or a keepsake. The box cover was sealed in place, the ground crew lowered it into the ground, and that was that.

We went for lunch at the nearby Boston Pizza. As a chain restaurant, it had space for the 18 of us and a choice of menu items. No one was familiar with "A Canadian company with an American name founded by a Greek sailor serving Italian food" as was emblazoned on the wall. So we started with 3 plates of beef nachos as appetizers. Some shared pizzas with names like The Meateor while the rest chose from the lunch menu various combos of pasta, salad, burgers, and fries. I covered the bill at $469.88 (tax + tip) and we agreed that the food was run-of-the-mill as expected. Some foodie cousins were intrigued to hear about Idriss, which would have been my choice if we didn't have picky eaters. The cousin who recently attended a wedding will be going to another funeral soon. A friend died young but his memorial will be at the decidedly more upscale Harmon's Steakhouse.

D'oh!

Saturday morning, I did an early grocery run and stopped off at Dough Re Mi around 9. This new bakery occupied the location of long-time convenience store (Mac's) and the briefer Pit Stop. Renovation on the place started around the time of my winter sublet yet they did not open until this week. The inside was somewhere between a trendy cafe and a Middle-Eastern diner with its rattan seats and domed oven. Unfortunately, the food was no better than store-bought. The croissant ($5) – they took $2 off the final tally – was obviously a day-old. But its solid interior meant it lacked the layers of a quality croissant. So a new one wouldn't improve by much. The apple danish ($5.75) suffered the same faults. I saw a baker starting to place items into the oven. A self-described bakery (and coffee shop) should not open without freshly made items. I might return to try the manakeesh, but DRM was DOA for me.

At lunch time, married friends came by to drive me to La Bonita. I haven't been to this Mexican joint since my second visit with my mom several years ago. My friends' picky teenager was off at a cottage with our mutual friends. There will be 7 teens celebrating the last week of summer. They wanted to know about the odd lunch since they weren't there. Then our talk turned to our parents who were entering their "slow-go" years. His mother had more health problems than mine while her father, though in good shape, was now too old for the long trips back to the old country.

Then I asked them if they were considering early retirement to maximize their "go-go" years. Since she didn't have a pension, he was contemplating another decade (if I read between the lines correctly). I said they might want to sit down and actually put some hard numbers on their assets instead of going by "vibes". With savings, a pension already approaching 30-years of service, and a paid-off house, their anxiety might be unfounded. As for my own future, it was already doable for Ottawa. But if I wanted to head back to Toronto (with its fun times but high rent), along with some big-ticket item like life insurance premiums and covering some my mom's expenses, it was closer to 7 years. I did not mention other reasons to return to The Big Smoke.

Inflation was one of the factor contributing to the anxiety. Case in point, our lunch of 3 dishes (nacho appetizers, chicken enchilada, and beef quesabirria) came to $133 (with tax and tip). The upside was the large portion size. There was so much food that I was still full by dinner-time. The downside wasn't just the price but that only the quesabirria was above average. The next time they crave Mexican in this part of town, I will suggest Aztec Taco.

Remember The Time

On Saturday, I visited another take-out at Montreal Rd and St. Laurent. Grilled (with a shawarma spit for the I) offered the ubiquitous Middle-Eastern fare. This new location will have to compete with Sham Shawarma and Malak Al Tawouk on the same block. At $14.30 ($11.50 + tax and tips), this wasn't a cheap wrap. The beef was tasty but like defunct Pit Stop, they used a small pita. So I was still peckish after my lunch. I often say that Ottawa restaurants have smaller portions and higher prices. Laziza in Toronto, my go-to Sharwarma spot in Bloorcourt, has a large (probably 30-40% bigger) wrap for $10.99. Even more starkly, their vegetarian platter was only $14.99 (up from $8.99 a decade ago) compared to Grilled's plate at $23.20. I can guarantee it will be larger too.

On Sunday, I took a trip across town to my youngest uncle's house. The last time was on the day that my grandma passed. The front yard was covered with hydrangeas; he said that they were planted because the tulips stopped budding after she was gone. The extended family was gathering on the 1-year anniversary of her death with a pot-luck spread of noodles, BBQ pork, and various rolls. I didn't get a chance to interact much with my younger cousins and their toddlers. One of them had attended her brother-in-law's wedding the night before at The Rainbow Bistro, a bar and music venue in the Byward Market. The officiant was dressed at Death from the movie Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey and there was a live band. This sounded more exciting than my last wedding.

My brother was in China a few weeks ago. His family, especially the teen daughters, enjoyed the varied experience there: cultured (Beijing), chic (Shanghai), hi-tech (Shenzhen), and trendy (Hong Kong). The highlight of the trip was a visit to a less touristy section of the Great Wall of China. The 2.5 hours taxi ride was worth it to climb the wall, grab food a local vendor, and contemplate the vista from a tower while sipping a beer. I mentioned that I was thinking of buying an older condo for mom and I. Our new rental unit had problems (leaky faucet, leaky fridge, and more) that were not repaired despite work orders from us. We both agreed that a mortgage this late in the game would make it difficult for me to retire early.

Everyone was there except for my cousin in Vancouver. But they had a "good excuse" since they were getting married that same day. It was strictly friends though because neither side of the family could fly to the West Coast. But there will be one (or probably two) additional receptions back here later on.

On the way home, I reflected privately that there were two other reasons buying a condo was an iffy proposition. First, if my mom's support for The Orange One and conservative viewpoints increase, I might not be able to live with her anymore. Second, I could not support a mortgage and an apartment in Toronto. And with my recent sublets, I want to be back in the Big Smoke before my neighbourhood gentrified completely.