• Not from around here

    My earliest memories of travel are of trips to Toronto. From our rural town, surrounded by trees and farms, we ventured east to visit family a few times a year. For four hours as we drove, I’d be on the edge of my seat, counting distance markers as the highway delivered us into Canada’s metropolis.

  • Looking ahead

    Queen Street, east of Yonge. A crowded streetcar on a cold Saturday afternoon offers respite from the biting wind.

  • Flatiron Contrast

    Old and new around the Flatiron Building in Toronto, across from the St. Lawrence Market.

  • East on King

    TTC 504, eastbound on King Street, seen here at University. My old route to and from the nighmare job that was “Quality Assurance” at a bread company.

  • How Do You Say %#!@* in Portugese?

    Probably the same way you say “Stupid Tourist.” I would like to say it was a dark and stormy night, as if that was some kind of excuse. But it was the middle of the afternoon. And I had no excuse.