Toronto (Indian Line – June 3)
Saturday dawned clear and warm. Considering that we only stayed one night in Barcelona, we had unpacked a ridiculous amount of stuff, but we are now expert packers and got off pretty promptly.
We made a slight mistake with our EZpass, which we will likely need to fix online. EZpass is a transponder for paying tolls in the NE US and along the Canadian border. The rates are different for cars, RVs and RVs towing cars, so we actually have 3 transponders, one for each condition. However, until we went through the toll booth, we forgot that we had both the car and the RV+car transponders active. We’ll have to see what we are charged when we get the bill. The helpline was not that helpful, but the person thought we could get the car charge removed due to the concurrent timing.
Incidentally, going through the toll booths with the RV is not really problematic, as long as you can drive straight. There is not much room side-to-side and when possible we use the truck lanes.
We were expecting to be delayed at customs going into Canada, but it was no more difficult than with the car. The customs agent joked about our taking everything “including the kitchen sink” and waved us through. We hope it will be as easy in the other direction.
We camped at the Indian Line Recreation Area, at the intersection of 407, 427 and W. Finch. I do not recollect this recreation area from my childhood. However, in the summer of 1975, I took a solo bicycle and camping trip to McMichael gallery, and I must have camped at this spot, as it is the only one in the area. The campground has nothing to offer but campsites, so it is not surprising that we did not take any family trips there. It does sit on the edge of a flood control reservoir, which attracts a lot of birds, but there are no hiking trails, swimming or other recreational activities.
Since the campground is very close to Toronto International Airport, we were worried that it would be noisy. Actually, we could not hear the planes. What we could hear, very loudly, were the traffic from Finch Ave and the freight train line that runs beside it. Both had very constant traffic. However, because the noise is steady, and because most of our campsites have been close to interstate highways and hence traffic noise, we did not find it terribly disturbing.
For the first week, we were camped on the edge of the campground, practically on Finch. Although this was noisy, we did enjoy a pair of Baltimore orioles who lived in a roadside tree. For the second week, we moved into the interior of the campground, where an unhappy family kept us awake with their fighting and other problems.
The campground is large enough so that a walk around the perimeter is quite a bit of exercise. As well, it has a quite varied landscape and proved to have quite a number of birds. One of the people we met was a fellow originally from Morocco and then France, who had lived much of his life in Toronto and was a keen birder. After he retired he moved into an RV, and spends his summers at Indian Line and his winters in another Canadian campground. He knew a lot about birds and was very entertaining, although his promise to show us an evening bird, the woodcock, did not pan out.
Although the campground only operates in the summer, it had a lot of seasonal campers. We were amazed to learn that many of the campers were there for various construction jobs, especially the TransCanada Pipeline. These guys were very friendly and helpful – several came from towns not that far from Toronto but got tired of commuting more than an hour in each direction. As well, there seemed to be several families, although school was still in session. Finally, there were the folks using the campground like a cottage, although, as I said, it was not particularly attractive.
In any case, it was very convenient for us, as it was less than 30 minutes to my mother’s house, even during rush hour. As well, it was fairly convenient for visiting friends.
I took a daily trip to the house to “supervise” the estate sale (but really to agonize over what she decided to trash without even trying to sell). In the end, the sale was on June 11. We barely cleared the cost of hauling away the trash and things that did not sell and could not be donated. However, the house was very clean when she was done, and I spent only a few hours doing some vacuuming and rolling up a carpet which I decided to save when it did not sell.
I have mixed feelings about doing a sale this way. I have to admit that I already have more china etc than I need and that had I taken more it would probably just collect dust in my basement. Getting any big furniture to State College was out of the question. And we needed to leave enough items in the house so that the sale agent was willing to do the work. On the other hand, I still ended up spending 2 weeks at the house and saw a lot of beautiful (but slightly damaged) items hauled to the trash . Fortunately, it is unlikely that I will ever need to do this again.
It was not all work. We had two delightful dinners with my friend Susan, and she also took us to the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) for the Georgia O’Keefe exhibit. I was shocked to learn that O’Keefe was repelled by the characterization of her work as erotic – even after learning this, I could not help but see all the suggestive holes and passages as female symbols. AGO also has a great collection of Tom Thompson and Group of Seven paintings, and I could have spent more time there. 
As well, the building has been beautifully renovated since I was last there – we were able to enjoy the renovation while enjoying a snack in the gallery cafe.
We also visited my childhood friend Michael and met his wife Shanette. It was at lunch with them that I realized that I had enjoyed a Toronto specialty – not once but 3 times, with them, with Susan and with Therese. This is a tapas-type Chinese meal. I am not talking about dim sum, but rather the “tasting menu” which seems to be a feature of several Toronto area Chinese restaurants. For one price, you can order endlessly from the menu – each small plate made up by order. They are large enough to share, but only about 1/4 the size of the usual “family-style” Chinese menu item.
After visiting Michael and Shanette, we headed out to the Royal Botanical Gardens to the west of Toronto. We broke our usual habit of visiting botanical gardens between flowering seasons. This time, both the irises and the peonies were making very colorful displays. However, I think we missed the best of the gardens, the Rock Garden, so we will need to go back another time. The Gardens also had an interesting display of Lego sculptures of garden flora and fauna like this huge hummingbird.
We also went out for dinner with Michael’s mother, Margie, who was practically a second mother to me during my teenage and early adult years. Margie has been an inspiration in so many ways – not the least of which is the extent to which she has remained fit, active and totally current.
I also spent some time with other childhood friends of my mother’s generation, Rinah and Ze’ev. I am lucky that my parents had such good friends and that I have been able to keep in touch with them over the years.
The campground is in a part of Toronto that has a large (Asian) Indian population. Just a few blocks away is the impressive and beautiful BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, a stunning temple. The entrance area is all intricately carved wood. My photo does not do it justice.
The main temple is a confection of lacey carved marble. (http://www.baps.org/Global-Network/North-America/Toronto/Visitor-Info.aspx). It was carved in India and then shipped piece by piece to Toronto. It is quite an amazing piece of work! Photos are not allowed inside. 
We took advantage of being in the Indian part of Toronto by having dinner with Don and Judy at a dosa place in The Punjab Plaza, a large strip mall with almost entirely Indian stores and restaurants. We found the dosa fillings a bit spicy.
For our final evening in Toronto, we attempted to have dinner again with my brother Louis. Unfortunately, this time he refused to exit the car. So, he went home hungry and we returned to the Montmartre without him. I am not sure how we will handle the next visit.