Chinatown in the rain
This one is about my adventure rather than Fergus'.
There's something melancholy about rain. I get downright sentimental. Today, after my doctor's appointment, I found myself wandering through Gerrard/Broadview Chinatown first thing in the morning, way before everyone's awake, just walking slowly under a fine mist of rain. A grey, damp day. The restaurants and markets are still closed. Where the vegetables are normally stacked, you see only the line of tables with that green fake lawn stuff stapled on the surface and empty crates stacked beside it. There was a woman in a blue apron standing under the awning of a vegetable shop just staring at the street. Not much activity at 8:30 am yet.
Past the still-closed, restaurants (no barbecue ducks hanging from the windows yet) and small shops with phone card posters, past the still-sleeping neon signs, I went inside Rosie's, a newish coffee shop billing itself as a destination for fast food Vietnamese. There was a group of older men in dark suits sipping coffee, exchanging news (men don't gossip, do they?). I ordered my Vietnamese coffee and two steamed buns to go and chatted with the server. Another guy came in and ordered a "large coffee today, please" and said "hi Rosie" to the older of the two women behind the counter.
"You want the buns heat up," said my server while simultaneously pouring my coffee with her left hand and bending over to retrieve the buns from the showcase with the right hand. She was getting ready to heat up the buns.
"No. No heat up today," I said urgently to stop her from throwing the buns in the microwave. To myself I said, "I can't believe I just said no-heat-up?" Despite my poor English, I guess I managed to get the message across and caused the server to halt her super-efficient microwaving prowess.
Minutes later, I was on the streetcar stop sipping my delicious coffee waiting for the 506. This is a fine way to start the day, just watching the streets come alive. Later, from inside the moving streetcar, I saw the streets transforming into the more familiar, loud, brisk, crowded activity-centres that they are. Crates of fruit are being stacked -- mangoes must be in season because it got the prime spot at the corner of the intersection. More foot traffic now, the Chinese moms and grandmas in their raingear, the early birds out there to scout for something good for the day's meal.
As to the sentimental part, I guess I find days like today just grand for sipping strong coffee and being anonymous in a strange neighbourhood, alone and free to watch a timeless Chinatown scene.
There's something melancholy about rain. I get downright sentimental. Today, after my doctor's appointment, I found myself wandering through Gerrard/Broadview Chinatown first thing in the morning, way before everyone's awake, just walking slowly under a fine mist of rain. A grey, damp day. The restaurants and markets are still closed. Where the vegetables are normally stacked, you see only the line of tables with that green fake lawn stuff stapled on the surface and empty crates stacked beside it. There was a woman in a blue apron standing under the awning of a vegetable shop just staring at the street. Not much activity at 8:30 am yet.
Past the still-closed, restaurants (no barbecue ducks hanging from the windows yet) and small shops with phone card posters, past the still-sleeping neon signs, I went inside Rosie's, a newish coffee shop billing itself as a destination for fast food Vietnamese. There was a group of older men in dark suits sipping coffee, exchanging news (men don't gossip, do they?). I ordered my Vietnamese coffee and two steamed buns to go and chatted with the server. Another guy came in and ordered a "large coffee today, please" and said "hi Rosie" to the older of the two women behind the counter.
"You want the buns heat up," said my server while simultaneously pouring my coffee with her left hand and bending over to retrieve the buns from the showcase with the right hand. She was getting ready to heat up the buns.
"No. No heat up today," I said urgently to stop her from throwing the buns in the microwave. To myself I said, "I can't believe I just said no-heat-up?" Despite my poor English, I guess I managed to get the message across and caused the server to halt her super-efficient microwaving prowess.
Minutes later, I was on the streetcar stop sipping my delicious coffee waiting for the 506. This is a fine way to start the day, just watching the streets come alive. Later, from inside the moving streetcar, I saw the streets transforming into the more familiar, loud, brisk, crowded activity-centres that they are. Crates of fruit are being stacked -- mangoes must be in season because it got the prime spot at the corner of the intersection. More foot traffic now, the Chinese moms and grandmas in their raingear, the early birds out there to scout for something good for the day's meal.
As to the sentimental part, I guess I find days like today just grand for sipping strong coffee and being anonymous in a strange neighbourhood, alone and free to watch a timeless Chinatown scene.
posted by Grace at
9:27 AM
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