MikeyOpp.com

Hello and Happy New Year to you all. I know it must have been rough, attempting to face the first workweek of the New Year without my uncanny wit and wisdom, but the good news is that this much needed vacation from my life-that-is-already-a-vacation has enabled me to write my first travelogue! This past week, I was uncharacteristically adventurous and chose to visit a great friend that I met in college in her native country, where she has been pursuing a doctorate for the last two years. Despite my American President’s severe warnings of the many dangers, like terrorism, that I can encounter as soon as I leave the cozy confines of the greatest democracy the world has ever seen (America, duh), in the interest of rogue-travel journalism, I decided to choke down my fears of traveling to foreign countries, and risking life and limb, I hopped on a jet to visit the obscure land that is Toronto, Ontario, in Canada. For those of you who have never had the time or opportunity to explore an atlas, believe it or not, just north of the northern American border there is a vast stretch of land full of American looking people who apparently have their own constitution, national languages, laws, educational institutions, economy, and accent—who knew? And the best part about Canada is that Americans are not required to take any sort of preventative shots before traveling to this mystical land.

I arrived at Toronto International Airport in the early evening of New Year’s Eve, and was impressed with Canada immediately. The city seemed to have embraced electricity, which excited me, since I had packed a lot of candles in case the country hadn’t adapted to the modern conveniences that we often take for granted in America (you can never be too prepared). From the plane, I could actually see an array of well-lit skyscrapers and buildings, and from the air, the city actually reminded me of a typical American metropolis. Upon landing, I used one of their “washrooms” and took note of the fact that it included the usual amenities one would find in a typical American bathroom, such as porcelain toilets and sinks with running water, soap dispensers, and toilet paper! The washroom was, however, completely devoid of paper towels, and instead had machines that emit tepid air in a failed effort to dry wet hands. I was later told that Canadians believe in some strange myth called “global warming” and are therefore attempting to reduce the deforestation of trees by using these machines instead of paper towels. But much like my beloved President, I prefer not to make assumptions based on scientific theories, so I’ll stop using paper towels and believe in global warming when I see it.

And speaking of warmth, I was quite fortunate in my travels, because the entire week of my visit, the weather remained above freezing, even though in almost every year prior to the last five years or so, Toronto weather has been below freezing in January. I guess I’m just a very lucky traveler! Once outside of the airport, I was able to find transportation that ran on good old-fashioned gasoline, the same kind that keeps our American economy running, and the cars even drove on the correct side of the street, unlike those lunatics in London. The driver of my van spoke some strange dialect of American, and said “eh” instead of “um” a lot, but I was able to understand him despite these linguistic errors, and he did a decent job of keeping up with my American. It must have been good practice for him, since I assume that Canadians are biding their time just north of the U.S. in order to master American culture so that they can pass our citizenship test and immigrate here.

In no time I was dropped off at my friend’s apartment complex; a beautifully modern, yet modest building that seemed to somehow successfully mingle elegance with practicality. So far, Toronto seemed to be an elegant city devoid of pretension. Within no time I was upstairs in my friend’s apartment, slugging martinis and celebrating all that was 2006 and all that could be in 2008. And thanks to my jet lag, and certainly not the six martinis, several glasses of wine and champagne that I drank, I slept like a baby during my first night as a ‘stranger in a strange land’ in Canada. I didn’t even wake up once during the night to the sounds of mortar shells or sirens! I was surprised at this, because one would think, if they watch CNN, that this is to be expected when visiting any foreign nation!

I awoke the next day to face the New Year, and my friend took us downtown in order to explore the city and to run a few errands. Despite my hangover and general drowsiness, I took notice of the fact that Toronto looks almost the same as a real American city, but my keen eyes were able to discern a few subtle errors in design that gave it away as an imposter. For example, Canadian mailboxes are red, not blue, so either the city planners were color blind, or they failed to properly study American cities. But more alarming than the red mailboxes is the fact that Canadian Post Offices feature polite, prompt, and courteous employees who seem to enjoy their lives! I’m sure this was just an act to lull me into a false sense of security so that they could take me hostage like the Iranians did in the seventies; but I won’t lie; I was impressed by their cheery attitude and service!

We next took the subway in order to visit a friend on the North side of town, and I was again very impressed. The subway was very clean, and did not smell like urine. The seats had comfortable, clean, lush carpeted padding, and not a single person asked me for money. Instead of being forced to use a vending machine to purchase my token, a friendly man stood in a kiosk that did not appear to be made of bullet proof glass, and he had access to change for large bills. I don’t know how they get away with this, seeing as how it would take about one New York minute for such a kiosk to get held up in America. I imagine that the kiosk employees carry assault rifles to protect themselves.

After a nice walk through the city, we settled into a quaint little café to eat some brunch with some friends. One of these friends informed me that Toronto means “meeting place,” which I think is a misnomer, since as an American, I don’t feel very safe to meet anyone in a country whose government hasn’t legalized wire tapping and government surveillance in order to establish proper national security. In addition to their naïve and trusting attitude, Canadian people are extremely patient as well. A couple dining near our table asked for the check, and then were ignored for half an hour. Finally a server came by and asked them if they needed anything else. The couple laughed and said, “we still need our check,” and the server blushed, produced their check, and then, before the server could properly grovel, the couple said, “It was no bother” and proceeded to pay, and then leave a tip on the table. They left, saying, “Cheers,” which is Canadian for Thank You.

The food in Canada is delicious. They even have all of the basic American cuisines that we have invented, such as Sushi, Thai Food, and Omelets. I refuse to eat foreign foods in general, for I have a delicate stomach, but I especially worry about the quality of food in foreign lands, since I’ve read dreadful accounts of travelers getting dysentery and other third world country diseases when abroad. But Toronto seemed so clean that I threw caution to the wind and drank water straight out of their tap, and lived to tell the tale.

I was a bit perturbed by Canada’s lack of obesity. Most of the citizens seemed to enjoy taking walks, exercising, and eating normal portions of food, which insulted my beloved tenets of American consumerism, but I had to forgive them because of their extensive selection of delicious local beers, many of which rivaled or surpassed some of the American award winning domestic lagers like Coors Light, Budweiser, and Pabst Blue Ribbon. As a matter of fact, almost everyone I met drank just as much booze as my American peers do yet they had healthier skin and slimmer physiques. Indeed, the most obese animal I encountered during all of my travels was a friend’s house cat.

Economically speaking, Canadians seem to have missed the point of cutthroat capitalism. The best microcosmic example of this would be the fact that Rogers Video, the Canadian equivalent of Blockbuster, does not charge fees for videos that are returned late. And on a macroscopic level, if you are hurt in an accident, you are taken to a hospital and treated for your emergency without being asked to pay for it, and this even applies to foreigners visiting the country, like me. Of course in order to fund this sort of health care, citizens are expected to pay anywhere from 25-40% of their income in taxes to the government, and not only is food taxed, but there is a liquor tax, and a local and federal sales tax.

Did I mention that Canadians know how to drink? They purchase beer from a store that is literally called “The Beer Store,” making it easy for anyone who is even remotely literate to quickly find their way to beer. And if you wish to purchase liquor, then you simply head to the magical paradise known as the LCBO, where you can get extra airline miles for purchasing their booze! Now that’s a reward program that I can swallow! And on many of the restaurant drink menus, they don’t just list cocktails, wines, and beers—they also list shots and the prices they will cost. Until my visit, It had never occurred to me to purchase a shot of Johnny Walker Red with my Thai Food—what a suggestion!

But Canada is mired in many of the same consumer schemes as America; they too make up holidays as an excuse to shop and spend. For example, they don’t just plug consumerism for Christmas, but actually encourage people to spend the day after Christmas shopping again for some ridiculous holiday that they call Boxing Day. Originally, Boxing Day was supposed to be the day where you boxed up all of the gifts that you received for the holidays, but didn’t want to keep, and then you gave them to your servants. Well, I’m sorry to call you out like this, Canada, but if you want to claim that you’re a nation of honest people, then lets call a spade a spade – boxing up gifts that you didn’t want and then giving them to someone else? That’s called re-gifting. So I suggest you rename your holiday before I begin accusing you of using double speak.

The more time I spent in Canada, the more I began to understand their culture. The country has no war on drugs or terror, which if you think about it, may actually be reasonable, since these are, after all, inanimate, and you can’t really fight intangibles and expect them to surrender. Canada also has laws regarding honesty in advertising, uses their army primarily to defend their nation, and expects their citizens to pass three levels of driving exams over a two-year period in order to drive. But Canada is no utopia, because even though it attempts to provide its citizenry with health care, even though its government still believes in the sanctity and necessity of civil liberties, and even though you can get airline miles for buying booze, they are missing one of the most critical icons of modern American infrastructure—the Target department store. For shame, Canada!

As many of you have noticed from reading my column, I’m obsessed with bathrooms and anything bathroom related. With this in mind, my final thoughts on traveling to Canada revolve around my experiences with their bathrooms; I mean washrooms, eh. Canadian washrooms are a paradox of brilliance meeting ineptitude, much like their socialist economy and progressive government. While the term washroom may have initially confused me, it actually makes a lot more sense than the name bathroom. I mean, how many public bathrooms in America actually contain a bath, and how often do Americans rest in a so-called rest room? In Canada, people actually use washrooms to wash their hands, which is something I find that most men fail to do in the States. In America, most men will simply go to the urinal, do their business, flush it, and leave, whereas in Canada, I witnessed Canucks using the urinals, just like in America, but then these men would actually line up behind the sinks to await their turn to wash their hands. If you are anything like me then this sort of thing makes you wonder if most Canadians have OCD.

I investigated this issue, and found out that Canadians are not obsessive compulsive, but instead believe that you can prevent the spread of disease and illness by washing your hands after using the toilet. But the ironic thing is that despite this attitude towards personal cleanliness, almost every public washroom that I encountered in Canada was utterly filthy, and piss poorly maintained (pun intended.). I was truly surprised by how dirty the washrooms were, because for the most part, Toronto is an absurdly clean city, with very little litter and hardly any cigarette butts on the streets. Of course the lack of cigarette butts could have something to do with the fact that smoking cigarettes is banned within ten meters of any building, and cigarette packs cost nearly eleven dollars each after taxes! This means that in Canada, only the upper class can afford to smoke, and in America, we all know that it is the upper class that cares the most about the environment, so it would only make sense that a similarly caring upper class of Canada would take the time to throw their cigarette butts into appropriate receptacles, instead of on the street.

But if I really want to do my part, and fairly evaluate Canada, then I must press the issue of their failure to properly maintain their public washrooms. I think I’m so disturbed by their lack of washroom maintenance because poor washroom maintenance usually reflects a poorly mannered society devoid of decent values. But in the case of Canada, the opposite is true; I’ve never traveled to a land where as many people are polite, saying “pardon me” when they need to get by you, where so many people smile, and use please and thank you for the most petty of business transactions, and so I cannot for the life of me understand just how Toronto drops the ball on the issue of washroom maintenance!

My host offered the following explanation: she thinks, “Because Canadians are so polite, they don’t want to bother a fellow citizen who is hard at work to let them know that their bathroom needs attention.” So it would seem that the very trait that makes the rest of the world ridicule Americans, our rude and assertive behavior, might actually be the saving grace in our public bathroom maintenance. Alas, I did not have time to fully explore the bathroom maintenance issue, by traveling to other Canadian “provinces” (that’s what they call states there) to visit and use their public washrooms. All I know is that upon returning to Washington Dulles Airport in D.C., I immediately used the public bathroom, where the floor wasn’t sticky and I found a paper towel dispenser on each end of the row of the sinks. I sighed a deep breath of relief, as I didn’t wait in line to wash my hands, glad to be safe and sound back in my motherland, the safe haven of freedom and democracy. Of course as I exited the bathroom, some jerk ran right into me, yelled, “watch it, asshole!” And my first reaction wasn’t to defend my honor, but rather to pat my pocket to be sure that he had not stolen my wallet. God Bless you, America.