New Home, New Adventures: Montreal and Beyond
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Every move comes with a honeymoon period. The boxes are still unpacked, the neighborhood is unfamiliar, and every street corner carries the promise of discovering something new. After years of moving from place to place, I had learned to cherish those first few weeks more than anything else.
Moving to Montreal was no exception.
Barely settled into my new apartment, I wasted no time hitting the sunny late-spring streets to discover my surroundings. Some outings were out of necessity, like figuring out the best supermarkets and shopping centres nearby. Others were driven purely by curiosity. During that first week, I would simply pick a direction each morning and spend the next few hours wandering wherever the streets happened to take me.
Discovering Montreal
My first walking spree took me to the top of Mount Royal. I wanted to get a panoramic view of my new home, and Mount Royal Park was the perfect place to find it.
Spanning nearly 2 square kilometers of forested hillsides, the park offered a spider web of trails and roads weaving their way across the mountain. From the grand staircase in the east to the Mount Royal Cross in the north and Beaver Lake in the southwest, there was plenty of ground to cover. Walkers, runners and cyclists shared the park with squirrels, raccoons and countless birds, making the mountain feel alive despite sitting in the middle of one of Canada’s largest cities.
Several lookout points provided sweeping views of the vast urban landscape surrounding the park. However, the best spot of all was the Kondiaronk Belvedere. This was the premier scenic viewpoint for the Montreal skyline, brimming with tourists every summer, all clamoring for the perfect photo.
As was I. The difference was that I wasn’t a tourist. Not this time. I was a resident, and I had just found my happy place.
Over the following years, whenever I needed to walk off troubling thoughts or simply wanted a place to unwind, I would always return to Mount Royal and the Kondiaronk Belvedere. Spring, summer, autumn or winter, rain or shine, the breathtaking view of Montreal from this spot never failed to put a smile on my face and remind me of just how far I had come. I had found my new sanctuary.
Downtown Montreal
The following days, I continued exploring the city towards downtown and the St. Lawrence River.
I was fortunate enough to live not only a ten-minute walk from Mount Royal Park, but also just steps away from Sainte-Catherine Street, Montreal’s primary commercial artery.
Following the street eastwards for about ten minutes would bring me to one of the city’s most iconic landmarks, the Eaton Centre. This time, however, I found myself drawn towards a small park in the heart of downtown called Dorchester Square. It was a relatively small and quaint green space, teeming with squirrels and surrounded by soaring glass towers alongside elegant neo-classical buildings. In many ways, it reminded me of Madison Square Park in Manhattan.
I found myself comparing Montreal with New York surprisingly often. New York had long been my dream North American city, and as I explored Montreal, I began to understand why the two felt so familiar.
Both cities rose to prominence during the nineteenth century as major Atlantic ports connecting North America with Europe. They expanded outward from their historic waterfronts into sprawling metropolises, creating a rich architectural tapestry rarely found in younger inland cities. They were both home to remarkably diverse populations from every corner of the globe, and each was built around an impressive urban oasis that offered a welcome escape from the surrounding skyline.
The difference was that New York ultimately won the race for commerce, growing into a city roughly three times the size of Montreal.
Lachine Canal
Taking a slight detour south, I eventually found myself on the shores of the Lachine Canal.
Today, the canal is a peaceful recreational area lined with walking and cycling paths, but nearly two centuries ago it was one of the most important pieces of infrastructure in Canada. Opened in 1825 to bypass the dangerous Lachine Rapids on the St. Lawrence River, it became the gateway to an inland canal network stretching deep into the North American continent. Together with the nearby Port of Montreal, it transformed the city into one of Canada’s foremost industrial and commercial centres, attracting factories, warehouses and thousands of workers to its banks.
Walking alongside the canal, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that industrious past. Scattered along the waterfront were relics of Montreal’s industrial heyday, each accompanied by information panels telling the stories behind them. On my way towards the Old Port, I passed several historic lock systems before reaching the old CNR Wellington Swing Bridge. Permanently left in its open position, the bridge now stands as a monument to a bygone era when ships and freight traffic dominated these waterways.
Leaving the canal behind, I turned back towards the city through a neighborhood that immediately caught my attention. Griffintown, once a bustling industrial district serving the nearby port, had been transformed into one of Montreal’s most fashionable neighborhoods.
Sleek condominium buildings stood beside trendy cafés, inviting green spaces and lively terraces, giving the area a distinctly modern feel. Strangely enough, it reminded me of the newer waterfront districts of Copenhagen. It was exactly the kind of neighborhood I could picture myself living in… if not for the equally modern property prices.
Old Montreal
Not far from the Old Port stood another of Montreal’s iconic landmarks: the Notre-Dame Basilica.
Completed during the nineteenth century in the Gothic Revival style, the basilica quickly became one of the city’s defining landmarks and remains one of the most visited churches in North America. Its twin towers rise prominently above Old Montreal. Unfortunately, one of the towers was undergoing a multi-year renovation, so I never got to see the church without scaffoldings and protective webbing.
The basilica was only one highlight among many. Old Montreal itself felt like stepping into another era. Elegant neoclassical buildings lined the streets alongside beautifully restored red-brick warehouses that had once served the bustling port. Many had found new life as boutique hotels, offices, restaurants and luxurious apartments, preserving the character of the city’s earliest days while embracing the modern world.
For the time being, however, I resisted the temptation to explore every corner of the district. There would be plenty of opportunities to return. I headed back to my little corner of the city, content knowing there was still so much left to discover.
Saint Joseph’s Oratory
The following day, my walk took me west.
After passing through the charming anglophone neighborhood of Westmount, another landmark on Google Maps caught my attention. As I would soon discover, the Notre-Dame Basilica wasn’t the only monumental church Montreal had to offer. Perched high on the slopes of Mount Royal stood Saint Joseph’s Oratory.
Completely different in architectural style from Notre-Dame Basilica, yet equally impressive in its own way, the massive Renaissance Revival church dominates the western side of the mountain with its enormous copper dome. Founded in 1904 by Saint Brother André Bessette, whose reputation for compassion and reported miraculous healings drew pilgrims from across the country, the oratory has since become Canada’s largest church and one of the world’s most important pilgrimage sites.
Unfortunately, I never actually made it to the oratory that day. From where I stood, the entire area in front of it appeared to be one enormous construction site, and I simply assumed the church was closed to visitors. It wasn’t until several months later, when I returned to the neighborhood, that I discovered I could have approached it from another direction all along. The construction work had only affected the large forecourt, while the oratory itself had remained open the entire time.
A Friendly Reunion
Barely a week after settling into my new apartment, I welcomed my first guest from across the Atlantic: Moritz, from Germany.
Moritz and I had first met back in 2018 during EUGEN Austria, and we had stayed in touch on and off over the years. Like me, he loved travelling, and a few months earlier he had mentioned how much he wanted to visit Canada. When I told him I would soon be moving to Montreal, I offered him a place to stay if he ever made the trip.
Fast forward a few months, and here we were, meeting again after three years. It was great to see a familiar face so far from home.
Unfortunately for Moritz, there was one small problem. Some of the furniture I had ordered for the apartment still hadn’t arrived. Most notably… the couch. The very couch he was supposed to sleep on.
Well… it was time to roll out the foam mattress and sleeping bag, claim a spot in the middle of the living room, and make the best of it.
A Triumphant Return to Normalcy
My move to Montreal also happened to coincide with another long-awaited milestone: the world was finally beginning to return to normal. COVID restrictions were gradually disappearing, concerts and festivals were back on the calendar, and for the first time in years, large gatherings no longer felt like a distant memory.
Around the time Moritz arrived, I already had tickets for what would become my first concert in three years. My first concert since leaving Europe. My first since the long years of lockdowns, cancelled events and isolation. To make it even better, the headliner was Symphony X—my favorite band.
The timing almost felt unreal. I had first seen them live a few months after moving to Copenhagen years earlier, and now, barely a week after settling in Montreal, they were once again playing in the very city I had just begun calling home. It almost felt as though they were welcoming me into yet another new chapter of my life.
As if that weren’t enough, one of the opening bands was Haken, another group that had rapidly climbed into my list of all-time favourites over the previous couple of years. The more I listened to them, the more I was captivated by their unique blend of progressive metal, technical brilliance and memorable songwriting. By the time this concert came around, they had comfortably earned a place among my five favourite bands.
Needless to say, missing this concert was never an option.
Although Moritz wasn’t particularly familiar with either band, he was a fellow metal fan and happily joined me for the evening. Naturally, I squeezed my way as close to the stage as I could to fully embrace my inner fanboy, while he wisely opted for a more relaxed spot near the back.
The performances were every bit as incredible as I had hoped. Yet beyond the music itself, what struck me most was the atmosphere. Thousands of passionate fans, singing every lyric, cheering between songs and simply enjoying the chance to gather again after years of restrictions. It wasn’t just a concert. It felt like a celebration that life had finally returned to normal.
Playing Tour Guide
The following day we set out to explore more of Montreal.
I had still barely scratched the surface of what the city had to offer, so apart from Mount Royal and Old Montreal, I wasn’t entirely sure where to take my guest. Fortunately, Moritz had arrived with a surprisingly well-prepared bucket list, so for the day I happily became his tour guide.
Our first stop was Saint Helen’s Island.
Together with its sister island, Île Notre-Dame, it forms the heart of Parc Jean-Drapeau, one of Montreal’s largest recreational areas. Originally expanded for Expo 67, the islands have since become one of the city’s premier entertainment destinations.
Walking and cycling trails weave through parks, lakes and gardens, while open-air gyms, beaches and swimming facilities offer plenty of opportunities to enjoy the warmer months. The area is also home to La Ronde, Montreal’s largest amusement park, the Biosphere environmental museum, and several venues that host major festivals and concerts throughout the summer.
Whether arriving by metro, bicycle or car, it is the kind of place where spending an entire day is effortless. We wandered around for well over an hour and still felt as though we had barely begun exploring everything the islands had to offer.
Eventually we returned to the Island of Montreal, emerging from Berri-UQAM station before making our way towards the Old Port.
The Old Port
One landmark that had caught my attention from Saint Helen’s Island was the Old Port Clock Tower.
Standing proudly at the entrance to the harbor since the early 1920s, the tower was built as a memorial to Canadian sailors lost during the First World War. Nearby, a pair of historic cannons stood watch over the waterfront, quietly recalling Montreal’s long maritime history.
The rest of the Old Port, however, was anything but quiet.
The waterfront buzzed with activity. Pleasure boats drifted in and out of the marina, families wandered between attractions, and tourists filled the boardwalk. The Montreal Science Centre, the towering Ferris wheel, Cirque du Soleil’s Grand Chapiteau, a pirate-themed amusement area and even a zip line stretching across the harbor ensured there was something for visitors of every age.
Once again, I found myself amazed by just how much Montreal had to offer. The contrast with Chicoutimi couldn’t have been greater. Oddly enough, I didn’t need to experience every attraction to appreciate living there. Simply knowing they were all within easy reach gave the city an energy that I had sorely missed. Montreal felt alive.
Afternoon
Before heading back towards downtown, we stopped at a small jazz bar tucked away on one of the cobbled streets near Notre-Dame Basilica. I ordered what was probably the fanciest poutine I’d had up to that point, accompanied by a well-earned beer while a live jazz trio played in the background.
To this day, I have no idea what the place was called.
I’ve tried finding it again more than once, but without success.
After a short break back at my apartment, we made one final climb up Mount Royal to enjoy the panoramic view before sunset. Along the way, I became more familiar with Sherbrooke Street, passing landmarks such as the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, the elegant Ritz-Carlton and many other beautiful buildings that I would come to know well over the following years.
The next adventure, however, would take us well beyond the city limits.
Pedro was driving down from Chicoutimi with a friend to pick us up, and together we were about to set off on a three-day road trip to one of Canada’s most iconic destinations: Niagara Falls.
A Reunion on the Road
Just before our journey began, Moritz discovered that another one of our EUGEN friends from Austria, Sophie, was also in Canada at the time, taking part in a research program in Ottawa. One thing quickly led to another, and before we knew it, we had a fifth member joining the trip. We just had to make a small detour through Cornwall to pick her up on the way to Niagara.
What had started as a little road trip between friends was turning into quite the reunion.
It had only been about half a year since I had briefly visited Niagara Falls on the return journey from a conference in London. That visit, however, had been little more than a quick stop. We were pressed for time because of the long drive back to Montreal, and the limited parking around the falls was both scarce and expensive. There was barely enough time to take in the view before getting back on the road.
This time was different. We were actually going to stay.
We had booked two nights in Niagara, giving Pedro, who would be doing all the driving, at least one full day to relax between the long journeys. It also meant we could finally take our time and explore the area properly rather than treating the falls as a glorified roadside stop.
There was, however, one small logistical problem I had to deal with before we left.
I was expecting a pair of Fjällräven pants I had ordered for work. At some point before the road trip, I received a notification that the package had been delivered and left in the lobby downstairs. Except when I got home, there was no package. I searched around the lobby, checked the usual places and, if I remember correctly, even asked the building management whether they had seen anything. Nothing.
It seemed my brand-new work pants had simply been yoinked.
With the Niagara trip approaching, there wasn’t much I could do about it. So, somewhere along the road to Cornwall, while Pedro was driving us towards Niagara, I found myself on the phone with Fjällräven explaining that my pants had apparently vanished into thin air.
They checked with the delivery company, which confirmed that the package had indeed been delivered to the correct address. Great… Except I still didn’t have my pants.
Fortunately, Fjällräven were remarkably helpful. Since the delivery company considered the package delivered but I clearly hadn’t received it, they agreed to send me another pair.
And so, somewhere on the road to Niagara Falls, while a spontaneous road trip was unfolding around me and we were about to pick up Sophie, I was simultaneously trying to solve the mystery of my missing trousers.
It was becoming that kind of month.
Off to Niagara
The weather was looking rather miserable when we set off. The sky remained overcast for most of the drive, and I think we even caught some rain when we stopped in Cornwall to pick up Sophie. But as we continued west along Lake Ontario, the clouds gradually began to break apart. By the time we reached Niagara in the late afternoon, the skies had cleared and we were greeted by beautiful sunshine. It was a little windy, but after the dreary start to the journey, I wasn’t about to complain.
I was genuinely happy with how this rather spontaneous trip was coming together.
I was particularly grateful that Pedro had agreed to make the drive. Without a car, there wasn’t really an easy way for Moritz to get from Montreal to Niagara and back, and otherwise he would have travelled all the way across the Atlantic only to see Montreal. Renting a car was certainly an option, but it would have added considerably to the cost, and I had never been particularly enthusiastic about driving myself around unfamiliar roads when there were alternatives.
So having Pedro behind the wheel was a bit of a lifesaver, even if his theatrical Rio-driving style occasionally had our more Germanic passengers gripping their seats and sweating a little.
After settling into our rooms at the Days Inn, we started looking for somewhere to grab some food and drinks. It didn’t take long before one particularly famous establishment caught our attention.
Right across from our hotel was a Hooters. Some of us responded with the appropriate amount of facepalming at the suggestion. Moritz, however, couldn’t resist the opportunity to have a drink in one of America’s most famous, or infamous, bar chains.
Having satisfied that particular curiosity, we eventually headed back out for a stroll around Niagara in the evening before returning to the hotel.
Niagara Falls in Full Force
The following morning we were all fresh and full of energy. We had several activities in mind, so we started with a morning walk around the falls.
The parks and walkways surrounding the falls were vibrant green, with colorful flowers blooming everywhere. Canada geese honked and grazed around the lawns while the sky remained beautifully clear. After the dreary start to our journey the previous day, we couldn’t have asked for better weather.
We continued with a walking tour down into the gorge, where we were each handed a thin yellow rain poncho. They made us all look like we had been wrapped in recycled garbage bags, and initially we weren’t entirely convinced they were necessary. Turns out… they were.
The trail brought us remarkably close to the side of the waterfall, where a constant spray of water filled the air. By the time we reached the closest viewpoints, the ponchos were doing their job.
With my yellow trash bag, shorts, cheap flip-flops and a pair of ridiculous round sunglasses I had just bought, I felt like I was attempting to make some sort of fashion statement.
After touring the falls, we jumped back into the car and drove down to Niagara-on-the-Lake, a small historic town near the mouth of the Niagara River. My mother had suggested that we visit it, having once visited a friend who lived there many years earlier and remembering the place fondly. It was easy to see why.
Niagara-on-the-Lake
Niagara-on-the-Lake had a completely different atmosphere from the frenetic tourist center around the falls. Its neatly maintained streets were lined with colorful flowerbeds, historic buildings, small shops, restaurants and charming pubs, giving the town an almost idyllic, old-fashioned character. Everything looked remarkably polished and prosperous, yet the pace was relaxed and unhurried.
The town also gave us a chance to appreciate just how strategically positioned this corner of Ontario was. From the shores of Lake Ontario, we could see cargo ships moving across the water, while the distant Toronto skyline was visible on the horizon. With my camera’s zoom, I could make out the CN tower and some of the city’s skyscrapers from afar.
At the mouth of the Niagara River, the United States suddenly seemed incredibly close. The river itself formed the border, with American territory lying only a short distance away across the water. Two historic forts stood on opposite sides as reminders of how strategically important the region had once been: Fort George on the Canadian side and the considerably more imposing-looking Old Fort Niagara across the river in New York.
Naturally, this gave Pedro and me an opportunity to start making jokes about how everything on the American side somehow looked better.
We were foreigners who had already spent several years living in Canada, after all. We knew enough about the Canadian system to complain about it, while knowing little to nothing about the American one. Obviously, the only reasonable conclusion was that things must be better over there. The grass is always greener on the other side. There were even a few jokes about being able to “smell freedom” from the American side of the river while we remained trapped in socialist Canada. Mostly jokes, of course.
After the experience of the pandemic years, Pedro and I had developed a deep distaste for the increasingly restrictive measures imposed by Canadian governments in the name of protecting the public. The severity of some of the lockdowns, the pressure surrounding vaccination, and the heavy-handed response to the Freedom Convoy had left me with a lingering feeling that personal liberty had too often been treated as something that could simply be suspended whenever governments deemed it necessary.
So perhaps our jokes about the greener grass on the other side of the river weren’t entirely without substance.
Heights and Lights
Later that afternoon we returned to Niagara Falls and headed up the Skylon Tower. At just over 150 meters tall, it was nowhere near the height of Toronto’s CN Tower, but it still offered an impressive panorama over the falls, the Niagara River and the surrounding landscape. On a clear day, the view stretches far across Lake Ontario, and the observation deck gave us an excellent perspective of just how enormous the falls and the surrounding tourist district really were.
It also came at a considerably more reasonable price than the CN Tower, which was particularly important given how quickly our collection of parking and tourist expenses was growing.
Afterwards we presumably went somewhere for dinner, although I honestly can’t remember much about that part of the evening. What I do remember was returning to the falls after nightfall.
The character of Niagara had completely changed. The crowds had thinned, the surrounding buildings glowed against the darkness, and the waterfalls themselves were illuminated in constantly changing colours. The rushing water became an enormous moving canvas of red, blue, green and purple.
Once again, Pedro and I couldn’t resist comparing the Canadian and American sides. Naturally, the American lights were better. At least according to us. It became an ongoing joke throughout the evening that apparently everything across the border was superior, including the illumination of a waterfall that very much belonged to both countries.
You Have a Parking Problem
The spectacle certainly fit the character of Niagara Falls itself. The town was, after all, something resembling a Canadian mini-Las Vegas, with casinos, hotels, restaurants, entertainment venues and attractions packed around one of the world’s great natural wonders. The waterfalls provided the natural spectacle; everything around them seemed designed to make sure visitors had plenty of ways to spend money once they were done looking at it.
Speaking of casinos, we had one final activity in mind for the evening. None of us had any serious intention of losing money. We simply wanted to experience one of the casinos for an hour or so, perhaps throw a few dollars into a machine and have a look around.
There was just one problem… Parking.
By this point, we had become increasingly annoyed by how expensive and ubiquitous paid parking seemed to be. Every time we wanted to stop somewhere, another parking fee seemed to be waiting for us. So Pedro took it upon himself to find a free spot somewhere within reasonable walking distance of the casinos.
This proved to be considerably more difficult than expected. What followed was roughly half an hour of driving around in circles, searching increasingly desperate side streets and finding very little that didn’t come with another hefty fee attached. Eventually, it got late enough that we simply gave up. The casino would have to wait.
We headed back to the hotel instead. We still had a long drive ahead of us the following day, and Pedro in particular needed a good night’s sleep after already having driven us all the way from Chicoutimi the previous day. And with that, our short excursion to Niagara Falls came to an end.
Despite the rushed schedule, the long drives, the endless parking fees and our failed attempt at visiting a casino, I think we had made the most of our day and a half. We had explored the falls from almost every angle, wandered through Niagara-on-the-Lake, admired the views from above and seen the waterfalls transformed by the colorful lights after dark.
But there was still one major stop left on our journey back to Montreal. Toronto.
A Few Hours in Toronto
We had planned to make a stop in Toronto on our way back. None of us had really seen Canada’s biggest city, so we figured we might as well take the opportunity to spend a few hours sightseeing before continuing towards Montreal. Toronto was also a convenient place for Sophie to catch a train back to Ottawa. But first, we all had to see the big ol’ tower. The CN Tower.
Even before reaching Toronto, it was impossible to miss. Rising 553 meters above the city, the tower was for decades the world’s tallest freestanding structure and remains one of the most recognizable landmarks in Canada. Its enormous concrete shaft, topped by a bulbous observation pod and a long antenna mast, sticks out of the Toronto skyline like a needle piercing the sky.
Standing directly beneath it and looking up was almost dizzying.
I wasn’t even sure there was a “correct” distance from which to appreciate something this tall. From right beside it, the tower looked absolutely massive, but the perspective became increasingly difficult to comprehend. Move farther away and it completely dwarfed the surrounding buildings. Further still, from somewhere deeper in the city, it transformed into a giant beacon on the horizon, appearing between buildings and seemingly following you wherever you went.
Eventually, it was time to get the inside perspective. But first… Holy crap. C$40 per person!? Okay, perhaps that doesn’t sound quite as outrageous now as it did in my memory. At the time, general admission was C$40 before tax, or about C$45 with HST. I apparently remembered the more expensive SkyPod option, which pushed the price well above C$60 after tax.
Still, that was a lot of money for an elevator ride. Alas, there was only one CN Tower, and we were already there. Up we went.
The CN Tower
A speedy and rather dramatic elevator ride later, we were standing on the Main Observation Level, roughly 346 meters above the ground.
The CN Tower had been completed in 1976 as a massive communications and broadcasting project, at a time when Toronto’s rapidly growing skyline was already creating problems for radio and television signals. It soon became much more than a piece of infrastructure, however. The tower became an icon of Toronto and one of the defining symbols of modern Canada.
Inside the observation level were several sections of glass floor, each providing an opportunity for visitors to test their courage by looking straight down. For me, however, the moment when my balls took their own elevator up to my stomach came much earlier.
Right after stepping out of the elevator, there was a small gap between the elevator floor and the surrounding platform. Through that crack I could catch a glimpse of the seemingly endless vertical shaft disappearing hundreds of meters below. I could almost imagine my eyes cartoonishly bulging out of their sockets, desperately trying to adjust to the ridiculous depth I was suddenly looking into directly beneath my feet.
That did it.
Fortunately, once I was inside the enclosed observation deck, I felt perfectly fine. Give me a solid floor and a roof over my head and apparently I was comfortable enough to enjoy being almost half a kilometre above the city.
Views from Above
The sky was mostly overcast, but the clouds were high enough that they didn’t obstruct the view. The circular observation deck provided a sweeping panorama in every direction, and the Greater Toronto Area seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. From this height, the city almost stopped looking like a city and started looking like a map.
Once we started looking more closely, all sorts of little details began revealing themselves. Just beyond the downtown core, we could see the small islands of Lake Ontario and the airport tucked away on one of them.
Much closer to the tower was the aquarium, its rooftop carrying a simple monochrome mural that looked almost abstract from above. Nearby, the broad, chunky structure of Union Station stood out among the surrounding buildings. The dense cluster of downtown high-rises revealed another amusing detail: swimming pools and what looked like tiny sports courts or even putting greens perched on the rooftops of some of the more luxurious residential towers..
From ground level, most of these things were either invisible or completely lost among the surrounding buildings. From up here, the city became a giant three-dimensional puzzle, and we could spend several minutes picking out individual landmarks and trying to work out exactly what we were looking at.
Then Pedro spotted something that made even the tower itself seem slightly less insane.
Just below us, several completely deranged-looking people in bright red jumpsuits were walking along the outside of the tower, attached to a yellow safety line.
They were doing EdgeWalk. At 356 metres above the ground, EdgeWalk is the world’s highest external walk on a building. Participants are harnessed to an overhead safety system and literally walk along the narrow ledge outside the main pod.
Adrenaline junkies. What else could I say?
Definitely not my cup of tea.
A Walk Through Downtown
After descending from the tower, we set off on a leisurely walk through downtown. I don’t remember us having a particularly well-defined route. We mostly wandered around, checking Google Maps for interesting landmarks and deciding where to go next.
Eventually we reached Nathan Phillips Square, Toronto’s main civic gathering place.
Standing at one end of the square was Old City Hall, an imposing Romanesque Revival building completed in 1899. With its enormous clock tower, stone façade and turrets, it looked almost like a little English castle that had somehow found itself surrounded by the skyscrapers of modern Toronto. It was a neat contrast.
Only a short distance away stood the much newer Toronto City Hall. Designed by Finnish architect Viljo Revell and opened in 1965, the building couldn’t have been more different from its nineteenth-century predecessor. Two enormous curved concrete towers rise around a circular council chamber, creating the somber modern appearance that really stood out from afar.
The contrast between the two city halls was a perfect little snapshot of Toronto itself: nineteenth-century stone architecture standing alongside bold modernist structures, with glass skyscrapers filling in the gaps between them.
Nearby stood the Canada Life Building, another imposing landmark of the downtown core.
OTNOROT
Eventually, we unknowingly stumbled upon the famous Toronto sign.
But from the back… OTNOROT.
Just the way we caught it in the photo. And so, for the remainder of the trip, Toronto was officially renamed.
It sounded less like Canada’s largest city and more like the fortified gathering place of some particularly aggressive orc tribe. By then, however, our little Toronto excursion had come to an end.
We still had to get out of the city. And that turned out to be an adventure of its own.
Toronto’s traffic was an absolute head-spinning maze of cars, concrete, ramps and seemingly endless lanes going in every conceivable direction. Pedro, once again, demonstrated his particular brand of driving wizardry as he forced his way through the urban labyrinth and found gaps where I wasn’t entirely convinced gaps actually existed.
Moritz sat silently in the back with what I can only describe as a forced smile… Probably still processing Pedro’s theatrical Rio-driving style.
But once again, a huge shout-out to Pedro. He had already driven us all the way from Chicoutimi to Montreal, then down to Niagara Falls, around the region, into Toronto and now back towards Montreal. And after dropping us off in Montreal, despite my offer of a perfectly respectable patch of apartment floor for him and his friend to sleep on, he simply carried on.
He still had the long drive back to Chicoutimi ahead of him. Somehow, he soldiered on.
The Couch Arrives
The following day, Moritz was packing his belongings and getting ready to leave when I received a rather unexpected call from the delivery company.
My couch was arriving. The timing could not have been more hilarious.
After everything that had happened during his visit, Moritz had still never actually seen the couch he had originally been promised as a bed. Now, on the very day he was leaving, the damn thing had finally arrived.
After his arrival, he had already helped me put up my curtains. Now he was begrudgingly helping me carry in the couch. The couch he was supposed to sleep on. At least he finally got to see it. And, for a brief moment, he could lie down on it and imagine what his Montreal nights might have been like had the furniture delivery company possessed even a shred of decent timing.
Not long afterwards, we finally said goodbye with a healthy hug and friendly slap on the back. It had been great having him over.
Our little Niagara adventure had left all of us with some excellent memories. But it had also left me with something else.
A Long Anticipated Showdown
On the drive back to Montreal, I had started developing a scratchy throat, and my voice was beginning to deteriorate. I wasn’t sure what I was coming down with. A cold? The flu?
Or perhaps the villainous coronavirus that had spent the previous two years terrorizing the planet.
I kept messaging the others, asking whether they were feeling alright or developing any symptoms. They were all fine. That made me suspect I had probably picked up whatever this was at the concert rather than during the road trip. The timing certainly made sense. I had been surrounded by thousands of people singing and shouting in an enclosed venue just a few days earlier.
COVID tests were being handed out freely at the time, so I got one and tested myself. The result was inconclusive. I waited another half day and tried again, this time paying considerably more attention to the instructions.
And… A resounding positive. Finally.
After two years of avoiding it, the goddamn boogeyman virus had finally made its way into my body. And, strangely enough, I was almost looking forward to seeing what it could do.
Call it morbid curiosity. Call it overconfidence in my immune system. Perhaps a little bit of both. After two years of hearing about this virus, experiencing the world reorganize itself around it and wondering what an infection would actually feel like, I was mentally prepared for battle.
That night, before going to sleep, I engaged in my own rather unconventional form of meditation. I imagined my body as a fortress that had just discovered an intruder. There was a boogeyman inside. I wanted my immune system to find it, hunt it down and absolutely annihilate it. No mercy. No prisoners.
I don’t know how much influence the mind can actually have over the body’s response to an infection, and I’m certainly not claiming that this meditation somehow cured me. Perhaps it was simply coincidence, or perhaps my immune system was already primed for the fight. Perhaps the vaccine I had received more than a year earlier played its part.
Or perhaps my ridiculous little mental pep talk did something after all. Whatever the explanation, the timing was certainly entertaining.
COVID-19 Gets KO’d
The following morning, the scratchiness in my throat was already subsiding, if not mostly gone. I had some mild muscle aches and felt somewhat fatigued, so I took it easy and spent the day relaxing on my brand-new couch, laptop in lap.
Good food. Plenty of water. An afternoon nap. That was about it.
By the following day, the muscle aches and fatigue were gone completely, replaced by increasingly intense nasal congestion.
From my decidedly non-expert understanding of viral infections, I interpreted this as my body now being fully engaged in the fight, dealing with the infection and clearing out the aftermath. I was essentially monitoring myself like a laboratory experiment, waiting to see what symptom would appear next.
Nothing did. The congestion, however, went absolutely berserk.
For more than a week I had to deal with an almost absurd amount of mucus, to the point where it became less frightening than simply incredibly annoying. And that was it.
My COVID infection had been dealt with. Harshly. And I was grinning from ear to ear.
There was something deeply satisfying about finally confronting the thing I had spent two years hearing about, worrying about and occasionally raging against, only to discover that, at least in my case, it was an anticlimactic opponent.
Whether I had a relatively mild strain, a strong immune response, some contribution from the vaccine from a year earlier, or simply a combination of all of the above, I can’t say. All I know is that my experience was surprisingly uneventful. In fact, the flu I caught during my first work rotation had felt considerably worse.
That was, of course, only my experience. COVID-19 caused serious illness and death for many people, and the fact that my own infection was mild says nothing about how it affected others. For me, however, the mighty boogeyman had finally shown up. And promptly got KO’d.
Summer Time
By the time May drew to a close, the apartment finally felt like home. I knew my way around the city, had already welcomed friends from Europe, explored more of Montreal than I ever expected during my first few weeks, and even managed to tick off my first bout of COVID. It had been an eventful start to my new chapter in Canada.
Now it was time to trade cafés, concerts and city streets for helicopters, blackflies and drill rigs.
Summer field season was about to begin.