Toronto

While waiting for my flight, I began my usual gate-area treasure hunt: finding a good seat that wasn’t already claimed by… luggage. Apparently, blocking open seats with bags — once a COVID-era social distancing hack — has now become the unofficial sport of post-pandemic travel.

I maneuvered through this obstacle course of Samsonites and suspicious carry-ons with the stealth of a cat… until I accidentally bumped into a lady’s outstretched leg. I was ready to glare — until I saw the brace. Cue my immediate “Oh, sorry!” Canadian-style. She rewarded me with a look so icy it could have doubled as an Air Canada in-flight beverage. Still, “sorry” is the magic word in Canada, so I felt my trip was off to a culturally appropriate start.

I finally spotted an empty seat… guarded by a wall of luggage that was clearly pushing Delta’s two-bag policy into the realm of “Do you own a shipping company?” I squeezed past. The girl next to me looked irritated and asked, “Is my luggage in your way?” I nodded. She moved it and immediately continued her public insta live-stream rant about her love for everything IKEA to what I presume was her boyfriend — or possibly her hostage — who could only nod while she peppered every other sentence with a Gen Z “like.” Like, I love IKEA.

I decided to test-drive my new coping method: “Let Them.” Let them overshare. Let them overpack. Let them IKEA. I zenned out.

Landing in Toronto, I met my Uber driver, a young Filipino guy named Ramon. He and his mom moved to Canada about ten years ago from Manila. He arrived in July, thought the weather was fine… until winter hit. His first snowflakes were followed by months where the temperature didn’t dare cross zero. “It took some adjustment,” he said, “but I love it here.”

Manila, he told me, is great — except for traffic that makes Toronto’s rush hour look like a Sunday bike ride. “Toronto people complain about traffic, but they’ve never been to Manila,” he grinned.

Dangling from his keys was a Labubu doll, apparently the craze right now. His aunt in Manila gave him two — one he kept, one for his mom. People will pay good money for these, unbox them on social media, and pray for a rare one. They even make tiny outfits for them. Sadly, none in Canadian Mountie red, though I did spot a particularly macho lumberjack set with shorts.

When I asked for the best restaurant in Toronto, he laughed. “If you want Filipino food, prepare for an early heart attack — it’s rich, but delicious.” He recommended his favorite, Tapuan.

Toronto really is a city of a thousand faces — and if you ignore the traffic, it’s a pretty wonderful place to stay.