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| Location of HHOF, formerly the Bank of Montreal |
Thursday morning, in true Ginley fashion, we scrambled to pack for our trip. Our estimated time of departure was 9:00 a.m. Translated into Ginley time it was actually 10:00 a.m. We were pretty close to schedule.
The ride up was mostly uneventful. At the Canadian border, in spite of the fact that I tried to hand the border guard three American dollars, (I could feel her roll her eyes as she said, "Passports, please!") we answered a few simple questions and were sent on our way. (In my defense, there was a toll, but it was collected at the next gate.)
It wasn't until we neared the big city that things got a little dicey.
First of all, we were hitting Toronto during rush hour. The real indication that we were going to have a little trouble was after deciding to follow the hotel's instructions rather than the Google's.
The hotel told us to get off at the Yonge Street exit. A giant flashing sign on the side of the road advised us that this exit was closed. (In fact, it was demolished.)
Back to the Google map.
With Mr. Ginley navigating and me driving, we managed to get off at the right stop and negotiated heavy traffic to arrive at our hotel, the Omni King Edward.
In spite of the pricey digs, there were two reasons for choosing this particular hotel. First, it was within walking distance of the Hall of Fame. Second, they offered valet parking. At the time I made the reservations, the fee seemed steep ($48 per day). Once we got there, I was more than willing to part with the cash, given the pain it would have been to locate a parking spot on our own. We decided to travel on foot during our stay, and pick up our car after checking out of the hotel.
The room was very nice, but not over the top. The bed was uber comfy, the towels extra plush, the shower had plenty of hot water, the little soaps were quality, the TV was expansive, and the fridge worked just fine. The staff were great. In fact, for the first time I can recall, we got a handwritten thank you note from the person who cleaned our room.
The hotel was built in 1903, during the reign of Edward VII, for whom the hotel was named. There were a couple of paintings of the king and his bride, as well as snapshots of what the place looked like back in the day. Like many hotels of its time, this one fell on hard times and became dilapidated until it was rescued in the 1990's and restored, if not to its former grandeur, to a comfortable facsimile.
Our first night, we approached the concierge to ask the location of the nearest bookstore. We were directed to Eton Centre and a place called "Indigo." We were not disappointed. Better, I think, than Barnes and Noble, it was chock full of goodies, which we proceeded to purchase. (We kept telling ourselves we had to take advantage of the favorable exchange rate. P.S. Canadian money is very cool.)
Contrary to current trends, Eton Centre is a hopping place, a gathering spot for those wishing to see and be seen. Many opportunities for people watching. Lots and lots of young urban hipsters. Lots and lots of skinny jeans.
Toronto is a very cosmopolitan city, with plenty of diversity. Everything appears in both English and French, so, fortunately, there was no need to use the interpretive skills acquired by Mr. Ginley from four years of French I.
It was exciting to sashay among the throngs of people. Each city has its own vibe, and Toronto's was very cool. Fast paced and vibrant. We adapted pretty quickly...Mr. Ginley managed, just in time, to sidestep and avoid collision with a roller skater whose eyes were glued to his phone. In fact, all of Mr. G's big city skills came rushing back, and I often clung to my husband's hand as we navigated busy sidewalks, dodged cars, and hugged the right side of stairways and escalators so faster commuters could whiz past us.
Thursday morning, while Mr. Ginley caught up on his Z's, I went off in search of a coffee joint. Although Starbucks was right around the corner (isn't it always?), I kept on going, until I found a place called "Second Cup," where I ordered a latte and nabbed a table in a nook by the window, where I could watch the city go by.
Later, I returned, got Mr. Ginley started, and we headed to our destination. According to the ticket taker, some folks spend as little as a half hour in the Hall of Fame, others spend several hours. It was a given that we would be part of the latter group. And, of course, we were.
The HOF did not disappoint. Like the proverbial kid in a candy store, Mr. G. moved from exhibit to exhibit, reading and gawking at the uniforms and equipment from players old and new. I was surprised at the number of names that were familiar even to me, who is a hockey fan more by association with my husband. (I guess after over 30 years together, something has stuck.) We even had our photo taken with the Stanley Cup.
The only thing that did disappoint was the store. While we did a fair amount of damage, there was not much information about the history of hockey or the museum itself. Lots of hats and t-shirts and gewgaws, though.
Friday night we decided to eat at an Irish Pub. We were both pretty tired, but enjoyed our meals and drinks, before toddling back to the hotel to crash.
My only failure in planning our trip was not realizing that Victoria Day, a national holiday, would be celebrated the Monday after the weekend of our trip. Which meant that thousands of Canadians were trying to leave town on Saturday morning, just like us. As a result, it took us twice as long to get the border as it would normally.
It was probably just as well that I had decided earlier not to make a detour to Niagara-on-the-Lake. It would doubtless have been a crowded spot.
Oh well.
In the end, I came to the conclusion that Toronto was a fabulous place to visit, and I'm glad we went. I imagine that, as a young person, it would be an amazing place to live.
But I was also glad, small city mouse that I am, to return to my humble home.
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