Harrison Cruikshank (3L)
You might have thought that after returning from a term abroad, my duties as foreign correspondent would end. You would have thought wrong. Since returning to Canadoodyda, I have traveled to lands far more exotic than those I saw in Europe.
One city in particular sticks in my mind. The air hangs heavy, the memory of smog still lingering in the scent. It’s not the smokey flavour of tobacco you get in most French cities, but more an industrial grimey flavour. There is still a hint of tobacco, but cigarettes are notably absent from patios thanks to the strict government regulations of the country. The city itself is a study in wealth disparity—a somewhat dangeresque core is surrounded by wealthy suburbs born from converted farmland. Of course, the core itself is rejuvenating, as starving artists displace starving immigrants and galleries and DIY venues pop up between seedy cafes. The city’s sign reads: “Hamilton,” perhaps a new name celebrating the hip-hopera Broadway show of the same moniker. Wait, no, it’s named for Robert Hamilton. I’m thinking of Hamilton, Ontario. Sorry guys.
But I can boast of more exotic locations! Certainly! Indeed, once I traveled the countryside on a decrepit rail system. A failure of the private sector or a governmental blunder, clearly a matter of argument for these sad-looking, Eastern-Blockish trains. The scenery outside was varied, though at times equally depressing. Urban sprawl adjacent urban sprawl, each city as boring as the next. They seemed to be in place only to serve some grander metropolis. One spot looked like a prime location for Gas-Fire Plants, but I guess residents of the local cookie-cutter mansions are too rich to generate their own power. On the bright side, the terminus points of train tracks had some gorgeous scenery, it was almost like being in… Ontario. Oh. Guys I’m still talking about Ontario, sorry.
Worry not! This correspondent still has some foreign left in his blood. I remember walking the streets of another city that you will all come to envy as I describe its grandeur! This city was definitely world-class; I remember because all the promotional materials for it told me so. The air actually smelled a lot like the air of Hamilton, but someone actually stopped me on the street to tell me why it smelled much better than Hamilton and was indeed, way nicer. The city was full of theatres, galleries, museums, and restaurants. No Michelin stars, mind you, but there was a delightful food fest named for the seasonal changes experienced by the city thanks to its specific latitudinal position on our planet. I ate the traditional cuisine of the city, which seemed to be the cuisines of other cities I’d been to mashed together with maple flavouring. Yummers!
I can’t hundo-p recommend this city though. While it’s not as expensive as other places I’ve been, some things had ridiculous price tag. Giant condo buildings seemingly stand empty, yet renting an apartment costs an absurd amount! Not only that, but wine is only available in these weird little stores with a significant markup. On top of everything else, one library I visited cost me more than $30,000! I mean it was a nice enough looking library, but $30,000? That’s enough for a year’s tuition at… oh it was Bora Laskin. I gotcha. I’m talking about Toronto now. Hm.
Okay, I admit it. Since returning to Canadaddadoodydaa, I’ve pretty much stayed in Ontario, save for a brief trip to NYC to see “Lazarus.” But look at all the garbage I was able to write anyway! If there’s one thing I’ve learned traveling, it’s that there’s tons of cool junk to do everywhere, and that annoying maxim that you should approach your home city like a tourist is true. So go forth, dear reader, and explore your corner of the world! It’s basically like every other corner, so long as you talk about it with enough abstraction.
