first few days

Sitting in a lounge chair outside my room at the conference center, my feet high up on a banister separating the large deck from a small artificial lake the color of a peak bog with a continuously running water fountain in the middle whose main function seems to be to outcompete the drone of the highway in the far distance, I'm reflecting on the journey so far.

I flew Air India to Toronto and, in a clear proof of my arrogant Western attitudes, I expected the worst: rickety equipment, noisy passengers, unreliability. My suspicions were confirmed on the first front. The Boeing 777 was old. It seemed to hail from an era when 777s hadn't even been in existence. It could have been the first prototype. The flight nevertheless was pleasant. It started with a huge gin and tonic. The two big shots, two cans of tonic and load of ice proved almost too much to balance on the little tray in front of me, but the drink I proceeded to mix and enjoy over the next half hour was tasty.

It also put me in the mood to chat up my seat neighbor, something I had never done before on a plane. She was of Bengali origin but had grown up in Guelph, just an hour outside of Toronto, and was a well of information. I had more ideas of what to do on our first night in town than I would have after reading the Rough Guide back to back.

The passengers on the plane were mostly Indian, which is somewhat curious on a flight from London to Toronto, but the flight didn't unravel like a Hindi movie as I had feared, and no one sung and danced in the aisles. After getting out of London an hour late, we were even arrived on time.

We struggled a bit to find our hotel, located in the heart of downtown but nevertheless out of reach for us while we dragged our luggage through wide streets that always led in the wrong direction. Eventually, we arrived, dropped our stuff, took a shower, and set out to explore an area of Toronto that was highly recommended by my fellow traveler up in the sky. Go to the north-west, she had said. Walk through China Town and then through Greece until you get to Little Italy. We did, and we had dinner in a good restaurant in a lively neighborhood with bookshops and art galleries that stayed open late and lots of folks out in the streets heading for a party or a club.

Most of the nightbirds' outfits were quite a bit over the top, as if the bearers were desperate that a more subdued style would be taken as evidence of their provinciality. As it is so often, the harder you try, the dumber you look, and the effect was the exact opposite, but it gave us something to talk about while we strolled along happening streets and enjoyed the night.

The next day was in strong contrast to the night before. The streets were deserted and, lined by office and condominium high rises, not very attractive. They were also too wide – too American – to make walking appealing. The sun was out and the day nearly perfect, but I failed to see the attraction of the town.

Now, as I sit on the deck in the chilly morning air that doesn't seem to promise a summer day, the sun has come out a second time. I don't feel jet-lagged anymore but invigorated and full of energy. I have to hurry to head for breakfast because the talks start in half an hour.