It’s been one week since I’ve made my triumphant return to Toronto and started my new job. OK, maybe it wasn’t triumphant ala Liz Taylor’s Cleopatra entering Rome, but it’ll be nice to be able to buy char sui bao again.
The move was the smoothest one I have ever undertaken, thanks to the help of the parents, Furmac and Juice. Everything fit inside a 16 foot cube van, despite all indications that we had too much dang stuff. Furmac pointed out that his working at a geospatial mapping firm helped him optimize the space in the van.
Even the cat travelled well. She got into her carrier grudgingly, and meowed critically on occasion, but it was a far cry from the last move, where she cried like a newborn baby the entire way. She even acclimatized well to the new place; by nightfall she had reconnoitered the area, secured her possessions (the Comfy Wingback Chair and the Food Dish), and went to sleep on top of the comforter.
The new apartment is smaller than my old one, so it feels quite cramped. Or cozy, depending on your mood. We’re also no longer on the 21st floor, so gone are the high ceilings and panoramic views.
It is located in a quiet neighbourhood just west of High Park. Up north is the quasi-trendy European delis and bakeries of Bloor West Village. The disadvantage is that it is too far of a walk to the Village, so I’ll have to take the bus or streetcar if I want to go anywhere.