Truth be told

Muszę teraz spać

We interrupt this blog for a historical investigation

A lot of people have asked me where the name Roncesvalles comes from. Being a well-read gentleman of leisure I have always assumed that it was named in honor of the courageous last stand of Rolland who was covering Charlemagne's retreat from Spain.

Oh land of France, oh blissful, pleasant land,
Today laid desolate by such cruel waste!
Brave French, I see you die on my account,
And I unable to protect your lives!

But no! Through the magic of the internet I have discovered that the name derives instead from a battle during the Napoleonic Wars. Colonel Walter O'Hara who was one of the original developers of this area fought in Europe during this time and named the street after the Battle of Roncesvalles (1813). O'Hara was also involved in suppressing the Rebellion of 1837 led by William Lyon Mackenzie.

That's a bit of a shame, I liked my own story a bit better, much more romantic really. Anyway, I leave you with another moving quote from the Song of Rolland:

Count Roland lifts the horn up to his mouth,
Then sets his lips and blows it with great force.
The hills are high; the horn's voice loud and long;
They hear it echoing full thirty leagues.
King Charles and his companions hear it sound.
The king declares, "Our men are in a battle."

Man that's punny!

Below is a photo of a poster with a funny little play on words. Lodz is a city in Poland and the name is pronounced somewhat like "woods". I thought it was quite clever.

The Portrait Gallery Part 1

Well, I got a bit bored today. Waiting for tomorrow when I'll be heading downtown to take in a few of the football games. In the meantime I pulled out my pastels and drew a few portraits. I'll admit I'm not the best artist in the world. In fact I completely suck at drawing people's faces. But I really like the feel of tracing someone's outline with pastels. You really have to use your fingers to mix the colours and shades on the paper and get the effects you want. Anyway, here's a few that I ended up doing tonight. (and yes I am as bad at photography as at art)

Boo hoo hoo

They closed the Queen of Tarts. Is there nothing sacred left in this world? Below is an image of the store front. I guess I should have bought more cookies from them.

The people that make the street

Stopped by my dry cleaners today. One of the best services ever invented as far as I'm concerned. It literally takes me about an hour per shirt if I iron them myslef, and they still don't come out quite the way I want them to. For a couple of bucks a piece at the dry cleaners, I have perfectly pressed shirts ready in a couple of days. Yeah I know, not that earth shattering of a relevation.

The place is run by a guy called Frank who is one of the most genuine and friendly people on this street. With the gift of gab, as well as wide and deep experience in running a business in this end of the city, he's probably the first person that I got to know when I moved back here.

One thing I really like about Frank's shop (Aspen Cleaners, located just north of the TD Canada Trust) is that he doesn't use as much starch as a lot of other places do. I find that starch makes certain fabrics take on a shine that looks like the shirt is "worn". Not a great look as far as I'm concerned.

But the most important thing about Frank is that he really knows how to engage with his clientele and make something mundane like running the weekly dry cleaning errand seem less a chore. Plus my son appreciates the little knick knacks he sometimes scores like a pocket magnifying glass, a chocolate square or a cranberry juice.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I have never viewed any other dry cleaning operator I've dealt with as anything other than a deliverer of a grudgingly justifiable cost of being able to dress presentably. Frank on the other hand feels more like a trusted member of my personal brand team.

I'll try to remember to take a photo of his store front and post it later.

The Cat in the Kapelusz

Tonight I was sitting reading this month's issue of Harpers on the patio of the Chopin restaurant. I go there once in a while for the potato pancakes with goulash that come with a side order of some divine coleslaw-like stuff and grated beets. Best potato pancakes that I've had since the Lviv restaurant at the corner of Jane and Bloor closed several years ago.

Anyway, the reason I mention this is that while I was sitting there, I had the opportunity to exchange a couple of words with Pan Leszek. Pan* Leszek is somewhat of a fixture in the west end of the old city of Toronto. When I first moved here in the mid 90s, I could not help but notice a short, ancient gentleman who strode purposefully up and down Bloor Street West and Roncesvalles Avenue in a pair of khaki shorts, a military-style khaki shirt and a wide brimmed hat reminiscent of some sort of scout hat.

I'd heard a lot about the man, but had never had a chance to speak with him. Well, lo and behold, this evening he came up to me and asked me about the magazine I was reading. We exchanged a few pleasant words. He told me about how he used to be a teacher at the university of Warsaw before WWII and I told him about my grandfather who studied journalism at the university of Krakow in the 1930s. He told me a bit about his work with Radio Free Europe after the war and how that took him to such far flung places as North Africa and Viet Nam. I found out his mother was Ukrainian and used to play the bandura.

The man looked more than ancient when I first caught sight of him 15 years ago, and he still looks ancient today, but he's a spry and healthy old fellow and I hope to see him around for many more years.

* Pan is an honorific that is somewhat difficult to translate into English. As far as I know it is prevalent only among the Polish, Ukrainian and Belarusan branches of slavic speakers. In the old days "Pan" essentially meant Lord as in the guy who owned the property that the villagers toiled on. But since the abolition of serfdom in the mid 1800s, Pan transformed more into a title of respect that could be applied to just about anyone. Neither Mr. nor Sir in English quite connnote the same meaning. You would properly use Pan to refer to anyone who is older than you, or in a higher "social" station, but also among friends of equal stature using the honorific Pan is a way to show respect. I believe the feminine equivalent is Pani.

WTF Department

So I'm sitting on the patio of my local Timothy's. It's reaally the only place on the street that you can get a coffee, free internet and a patio seat all in one package. Anyway, there's a woman sitting at one of the tables. She gets up to go and cleans up a couple of mugs while she's at it. She leaves a book on the table and goes inside.

I wonder for a second or two if the book is hers or if it was there before she came. Anyway, I go about my business. A minute or two later, out of the corner of my eye I see an older gentleman shuffle past. I don't actually see him taking the book, but its not on the table anymore. I debate whether I should say anything, but figure since the book was on a table other than the one the woman was sitting at, maybe its his and he forgot it.

Fast forward about 5 minutes later, the woman comes out with a new coffee and looks perplexed. "Did you see my book?" she asks. I say yeah, its walking down the street with some guy with a cane. "You can probably catch him," I suggest helpfully, but feeeling dumb now that I didn't stop him.

She goes after him, but comes back empty handed. Hee must have ducked down the alley or something. A spry little criminal he was.

Things that only happen in Ronces Department

This Sunday, I'm sitting aaround the apartment when I hear some singing. For a few minutes it sounds like its coming from some nneighbours TV annd I ignore it. But it gets louder, and suddenly I realize that something is going on outside.

Looking outside I see a mass of people on the street being led by a procession of priests and altar servers with banners and flags and crosses. By the priests robes, I figure they're Roman Catholic and the singing sounds like its Polish to me. So I figure its somme sort of religious procession. You know like at Easter or something where the parisioners circle the church three times.

But suddenly they all stop at a house a few doors away. The altar servers roll out a carpet and one of the priests gets on his knees and sings a hymn or two. Looks like they are blessing the house. People are gathered all around. A line of what looks like boy and girl scouts flank the priest. People are milling around everywhere, singing and ringing bells. I figure, better get out the camera.

The first shot below shows the priestly party in front of the house they are blessing. The other shot shows a bit of the crowd in the street.

Tomato/Tomato

By the way, I usually refer to Roncesvalles by a shortened "nickname" Ronces (pronounced: RON-sees). Its just the way I heard it years ago from a friend that used to live here. I've also seen people spell the shortened name as "Roncey", "Roncy" or "Roncees". Ima stick with the one I like.

It was a rainy day

(just for kicks, read the title with the same accent that the guy on the old Pizzaville commercials used to use)

Anyway, I'll start this blog off with some general street shots. You'll notice two things, one I'm not a very good photographer and two it rained much today. All week actually.

The first image is of Roncesvalles Ave. looking south from the intersection with Howard Park. I wanted to get a shot of the street car going by but forgot to turn off my wipers. Oops. Since there won't be many street cars on Ronces for a while this is the only way to get one into the blog, by catching the College or Dundas car passing by this intersection (or the Queen and King cars at the south end).



The next shot is looking south from the High Park Ave. Intersection about halfway down the strip. It's around 3 pm but looks like the evening because of the clouds.






















The last picture is looking north from where Roncesvalles Ave. meets King St., Queen St. and the Queensway.

Sure, these are not the prettiest pictures of Ronces, but that is just the magic of this place for me. Rain or shine, snow or sleet, there's lots of life on the street here. When I first moved back here a couple of years ago, there was a big snow storm soon after. The city was piled high with snow. Yet that Saturday everyone was out, going about their business. Mothers pushing strollers, shoppers hauling bags full of rye bread and kolbassa, the local panhandlers manning their usual spots, only the parking enforcement people seemed to be curiously absent.

It was a huge change from what I experienced living in the suburbs for a number of years prior. There, after a snowfall, the only time you see someone on the street is when they go out to shovel or snoblow their driveway. Otherwise, everyone is holed up in their homes.

I don't know about you, but I like to live in a place where you don't feel cooped up any time the weather turns a bit inclement.

An intro of sorts

Roncesvalles Village is a leafy, friendly community in the heart of Toronto. It offers a mix of commercial and residential on a human scale. It is inhabited by well established families, young hipsters and recent immigrants just days or weeks into their Canadian experience. Million dollar homes share space with dirt cheap tenements and basement apartments. A street car running down its main commercial artery (Roncesvalles Avenue) connects the neighbourhood to the vibrant city that is Toronto (the more observant might notice that the streetcar has disappeared for a while as the city prepares to rebuild the tracks and possibly realign the tracks, vehicle lanes and parking in the process).

Roncesvalles Village is probably (and quite unfairly) one of the least known of the exciting communities that make up the west end of the old (pre-amalgamation) city of Toronto. High Park, Bloor West Village, Parkdale, heck even The Junction and Swansea Village, probably ring more bells with more residents of our megalopolis. Even the unofficial designation for the place “Little Poland” enjoys more currency than Roncesvalles Village. Each of Roncesvalles Village’s neighbours has its pluses and minuses. But when looked at from a perspective that takes into account the quiet solitude of one’s own backyard or porch, affordability, liveability, community vitality and the ease of access to a wide range of businesses and services, Roncesvalles Villages easily out ranks all of its better known cousins.

Toronto is a highly multi-cultural place. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a place in the city that doesn’t feature a polyglot mix of people from every corner of the world. But there are all sorts of areas where one group or another congregates in sufficient numbers to make themselves felt. There’s a handful of China Towns, a Little Italy or two, Greektown and communities of Hasidic Jews, Somalis, Dominicans, Costa Ricans, Newfoundlanders, Coptic Christians, gays, bank executives, Benfica supporters and countless other areas in the city that are identified with a particular group. In Roncesvalles Village, the groups that stand out tend to be from Eastern Europe. Various groups are represented here, but in terms of a “street presence” you can pick out the Poles, with delis, bookstores, restaurants, community centres and churches dotting what you might call the south end of the neighbourhood running up from the Queen/King/Queensway intersection all the way to Howard Park Avenue. The north end of the stretch, roughly from the intersection with Howard Park Avenue up to Bloor Street, features a smattering of Serbian establishments.

Ukrainians, a group more closely identified with High Park and Bloor West Village, and south-central Etobicoke, are nonetheless heavily represented among the residents of the neighbourhood too. Of course just about everyone else is here too! There’s a Greek Orthodox church on Sorauren Avenue a couple of blocks east of Ronces, a Coptic church on Queeen St., many Asian restaurants and fruit shops, and even a Republican or two.

This is the place that I first moved to when I came to Toronto some twenty years ago, a bright-eyed youngster with the world before me. And with so many experiences both good and bad under my belt, I’m back here again and can’t really imagine a greater place. In fact I live only about four blocks away from my old place which was just across from St. Joe’s hospital. The new joint is a few blocks north of the very same.

I love the fact that the street itself has just about everything that I need to enjoy life, but I also appreciate that living here I am not far from anything else that might turn my fancy. A few short blocks away along Queens Street I can be in the heart of Parkdale, another of Toronto’s sorely underappreciated neighbourhoods. Rapidly gentrifying, it nonetheless still has the gritty feel of an artistically minded community. Further west along Queen I can be more of a “hipster” and sample the bars and clubs that now stretch from the Gladstone and Drake, all the way to the trendiest sections of Queens St in the downtown core. To the west, I’ve got High Park for picnics with my son, and Bloor West Village for drinks in the old haunts with buddies from a different time.

Heading North? Why it’s just a short hop over to The Junction, probably the only neighbourhood in Toronto that could possibly turn my amorous gaze away from Ronces. I’ve also lived there, though I moved before the referendum allowed demon rum to stalk The Junction’s streets. Perhaps this may seem counterintuitive to the folks that would like to legislate fun out of existence, but The Junction has seen more than a doubling of real estate prices since the dry law was defeated. Not only that, but with the tripling of prices on Queen Street that has driven out the starving artists, The Junction has (probably temporarily) become the last outpost of the artistic community in the old city of Toronto before it is forced to decamp for good to the Lakeshore in Etobicoke and places further west.

Enough of my nattering. The purpose of this blog is to show you Roncesvalles Village in all its glory, tragedy and just plain boring everydayness. Enjoy reading about it. If you are smart, you’ll come and visit us. If you are smart and can convince a financial institution to spot you the money then I hope one day to see you strolling down our main street looking like you own the place.