High Park, Toronto

A couple of days ago, errands took my wife and me to Toronto. They were the must-do kind, but quick, and we'd both been given the day off work, so we decided to spend the free time walking around the city.

That was actually how we liked to travel before the war: arrive in a city, check into a hotel or an Airbnb, and walk until we dropped, meeting people and soaking up the atmosphere. Then the war changed our plans, and the trip dragged on all the way to our move to Canada — where at some point (and not right away) I started feeling that after work I was heading home, not to someone else's four walls with a door and windows.

This time, Toronto was the city we'd walk until we dropped. I have to say, for the first half hour I loved soaking up the big-city rhythm: crowds of people and cars are nothing new to someone who grew up in a city of a million. And in Toronto all of that comes multiplied by people's inner freedom and the sheer diversity of faces, so at first it was even more of a pleasure. Then, at the end of the day, we took the 501 streetcar from High Park to University Avenue and instantly remembered what public transit in a big city is really like. My urban nostalgia took a hit.

But that's not the point. We spent most of the day in High Park — a huge and very beautiful park, unlike anything we've seen in Ontario so far. In Canada, "park" is a very loose term. You find one on Apple Maps, drive over for a walk, and discover pretty much anything: from a vacant lot with three half-dead saplings to a forest so dense you wouldn't go in without gear. And either one can sit right in the middle of a city.

This time we were blown away, in the best sense. The park is enormous and well kept. There's a pretty lake and a few creeks, sculptures, even a small museum on top of one of the hills, comfortable trails, and — something that no longer surprises us in Canada — an incredible amount of wildlife. Besides the ever-present squirrels and chipmunks, we even spotted an American mink.

What we weren't ready for was how friendly (read: shameless beggars) the locals are. These furballs not only have zero fear of people, they surround you from every side, angling for a treat. You literally walk through the park under a furry escort. It's hard to describe, and I highly recommend it. By the way, feeding wildlife is banned in Toronto, so unlike in my hometown of Odesa — where we always carried a couple of pouches of food for the street cats — here we walk around with empty pockets. I suspect we broke more than one tiny heart.

We also really liked the street that starts at the park's east entrance — High Park Boulevard. It's quiet, calm and well-to-do, with houses two or three times the size of the one we live in now, and we're hardly short on space. And it's obvious that these houses haven't been carved up into rental units (trust me, you can always tell) — they're roomy homes for owners of comfortable means.

So if you ever find yourself in Toronto, don't miss the chance to take a walk somewhere beautiful with a furry entourage.