Vickie and I rented a car and took off for Toronto on Friday.
The QEW wasn't as hard to navigate as I'd feared. I'd heard it was scary.
We stopped for lunch on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls on the way.
The falls were beautiful and loud. They made the adjoining Planet Hollywood/wax museum/casino/Coca-Cola Store clusterfuck look very poor and hideous indeed.
We got into Toronto in the late afternoon and took off for the Turner/Whistler/Monet art exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario. The exhibit was cool and lovely and intelligently laid out. The only bad part was that in order to see anything we had to elbow through a crush of people jamming audioguides into the sides of their heads.
After looking at art we walked around for, like, forever. We stopped at a bar, where I drank beer while Vickie ate cake.
The next day we visited Queen Street West. I wish I'd known then that we weren't moving, because I would have bought many things. I will forever mourn the dark red bowling shirt and maple leaf belt buckle I left behind.
Oh, well. Onward!
We saw old buildings and street art.
And more old buildings, and more street art.
We saw some indoor art, too.
We even found the secret swing and swung on it. That was so incredibly fuckin' fun.
Toronto was great to walk around in. Everyone there is so nice. Even the snotty hipsters smiled and said hi. Plus it has a subway, which is A+++ in my book.
We had to get the car back that night, so in the last hour we ran through Union Station and over to the CN Tower.
Slack-jawed with exhaustion, we gazed up at it for a while. Then we went to the gift shop, where I bought a stuffed Mountie and some other crap.
Then we drove back to Rochester and got the car back to the rental office a mere three minutes late. We were a machine, my friends, like clockwork.
Yup.