Note: this is the final part of my journey across Toronto on foot (Sept. 18, 2026). Read the pre-walk background here and what happened in the first half of the walk here before reading this post.
It’s a week after I crossed half of Toronto on foot, and it’s time to tackle the second half.
My body is fully healed for this more challenging part – according to Google Maps, it should theoretically be 2 hours longer than the previous walk (which took 9 hours). I’ll pick up where I left off (Union Station) and finish at the far East of town, the Zoo.
My main concern about today is the 4 hour stretch right up to the Zoo. I’ve been down there as a teen and remember that it’s unbelievably boring. A straight-line walk along a solid fence with no landmarks. I’ve chosen this route because of a certain place I just have to visit: the grandmama of all Chinese Malls.
It’s Friday. I step out of the apartment at 9:25am and already my left knee feels uncomfortable. Knee problems are what I was afraid of before the walk and they never never materialized in the first half. I guess my knee decided to save all of its drama for today.
At 9:55am I arrive at Union Station to resume the walk:
I head East to the St. Lawrence neighbourhood. The main landmark here is St. Lawrence Market, a covered marketplace from 1902 that’s become popular with tourists over the past 5 years. It’s got a great bulk food merchant in the basement (they have tough-to find things like raw Shea Butter, ten types of liquorice and freeze-dried berries); a good fresh-pasta place, and a solid fried seafood stall (they have fried clams, grilled octopus and sardines).
The modern North Market, pictured at the bottom, was recently completed and it took a while to “ramp up”. But there are now decent fruit and vegetable stalls there on the weekends – just make sure to come early as they all pack up before 3pm.
Proceeding to the King & Parliament neighbourhood, it is cute and has many of those old 1910s brick buildings with character. In an adjacent “rough neighbourhood”, I notice a pretty alley and just have to step into it – it looks like the neighbours made a pact to keep their homes exceptionally tidy. A scruffy man knocks down a discarded vacuum while rummaging in a garbage bin. “Ooops” he says and walks on.
The Magic Building
Down the street is something called “The Magic Building”. The entrance is guarded by busts of two beardy men and an annoyed witch at the top.
What is this building? A basic online search brings up the blog of a familiar Toronto walker but no details. Searching the Toronto Archives for the address – 60 Sumach – reveals a photo from 1991 and a company logo: “Magic Inc.”
That’s enough of a lead to reveal this building takes its name from Magic Film Editing (later Magic Inc., a commercial video production house). Here is an article about the 1995 launch party for Magic Inc.
Northeast of there is a building covered with raccoon graffiti. This is the work of local artist Emily May Rose whose mischievous raccoons are found all over Toronto. Coincidentally, I first saw her work at one of the yearly OCADU Graduations Shows that I try to attend.
I cross the bridge over Toronto’s second major river – the Don. This big boy is my local river. The streams that flow in my neighbourhood’s ravines are its tributaries.
Unlike the Humber river from Day One, the Don is more hemmed-in with concreted and more accessible to the public. It is easy to walk right next to the water. That’s why I was so surprised to find that the “Humber paths” hardly even let you see the river.
I’m crossing the river at Gerrard St. because the next destination is:
Sad Chinatown
Toronto’s first Chinatown is located at the Gerrard and Broadview intersection. Over time, the Chinese community moved to the bigger Chinatown West around Spadina and Dundas. In the 2000s the community has increasingly shifted to Markham, a separate city just North of Toronto.
Because of these demographic changes the original Chinatown is somewhat depleted and depressed. That’s earned it the nickname “Sad Chinatown” within my family.
A massive gateway welcomes you at the entrance to the neighbourhood. There are two big healthy supermarkets still operating, and an assortment of businesses you’d expect (Chinese decorative pottery, traditional herbs) and ones you wouldn’t (a cheesemonger!). On this mid-September day four seniors were selling garden vegetables on the sidewalk: gigantic gourds, 3-foot-long bitter melons, lush bundles of herbs.
I step into “New Bakery” for a supplemental breakfast – it’s time for the culinary portion of this post!
I start on a lotus-wrapped steamed rice. As I unwrap it, the steamed rice is not pungent and the rice is not as sticky as it should be. Usually the aroma of the freshly steamed leaf is heavenly. This doesn’t hold a candle to the Lo Mai Gai at my favourite Chinese bakery, Kin Kin bakery at Sheppard. I’m hoping for meat and… yes, there is a big chunk of stewed pork. Totally flavourless. Some white bits spill out of the rice – white beans or yellow peas.
Dessert is a steamed rice bun with taro. The filling is nice but the bun is dry.
The lady at the counter keeps up a convivial banter with everyone who enters. “Good morning Friend!” she says brightly. The sun is shining outside. I eat and move on.
Still in Old Chinatown, there is a variety of modest active and closed-down businesses. Annick Press is here, they are the publishers of the famous book “The Paper Bag Princess” by te Canadian duo of Munsch and Martchenko. A convenience store advertises it’s got “EVERYTHING FOR EVERYONE”. I don’t enter. Is it because I’m in a hurry, or because I am secretly afraid of possessing EVERYTHING I desire?
Next up is a tiny office for a lawyer and an architect:
It got me thinking of Canada’s first Chinese lawyer, Kew Dock Yip. Born in Canada in 1906, Mr. Yip was one of 23 children (from 4 wives) born to powerful businessman Yip Sang. Kew Dock Yip earned degrees in Pharmacy and law – he became the first person of East Asian descent to be called to the bar in Canada. He played a key part in repealing Canada’s Chinese Exclusion Act, together with Irving Himel. You can read the obituaries for both men here.
Coincidentally, Himel had a major role in defanging racially discriminatory land covenants. These were a legal tool used to block minorities from purchasing houses in Canada – a practice that I learned about from my work with grocery covenants.
I always figured that Kew Dock Yip operated in Old Chinatown, but it turns out his office was actually at Elizabeth and Dundas (just North of City Hall). Mr. Yip’s life story is can be read at the Ontario Archives in the form of a 116-page interview with him (File – C 81-1-0-94).
Gerrard India Bazaar
Outside Old Chinatown, I sit down to put a fabric brace over my knee. The knee’s been hurting and I’ll need to come to terms with the fact that I won’t complete the walk today. What’s bad about having a “third half” to the walk? Well, it isn’t a sense of failure or anything like that. It is the feeling of an unfinished project. I’ll be distracted and unfocused on in my day-to-day life until I finish the trek.
I pass by a string of closed shops that are jutting out of residential buildings at the back – the shops are probably used as living rooms now. After that, there is a run of private houses with beautiful roses. The flowers smell good, and I can see that the neighbours are competing in the classic Toronto game of “whose garden is nicest?”
Scattered Indian and Pakistani shops begin appearing. It’s the neighbourhood of “Gerrard India Bazaar”, a South Asian area that grew up in the 70s around a Bollywood cinema in a depressed neighbourhood. The pleasant smells of incense occasionally waft out of stores as I pass by.
I visit the public library near Coxwell. Inside: benevolent chaos. I have to wait for a toddler to clear the way before I can open the door. It’s cramped. There are babies, elderly people, teens at work around a big desk. Colourful graphic novels stick out into the aisles.
On my way out, a group of 8-year-olds is leaving ahead of me. One boy holds the door for a woman with a stroller and she thanks him. The kids continue unsupervised down the street (aren’t you supposed to be at school right now?). They’re ushered along by a thousand crossing guards. There is a mix of people on the street – it’s a fantastic vibe. Cozy, village-y and alive.
This neighbourhood was such a pleasant surprise!
Kingston Rd.
I walk for a while through a typical residential area with single-family homes. The reason why Toronto is so monstrously sprawling is that many people live in detached houses. Canadian culture is fixated on owning your own home, and the Iron Law of Canadian Politics is “don’t do anything to upset the homeowners!”.
As I trudge up a hill, I see a building with “RIDEAU” waiting for me at the top. This is Kingston Road! The familiar main artery of Scarborough, where I grew up. I used to go on long bike rides on this street – to the lake and into Downtown.
Today’s coffee stop is coming up: Paper Route cafe.
The walls at Paper Route are painted a cheerful yellow. There are Scandy wood touches everywhere. The couches are upholstered in orange schoolbus pleather. Six people are working away at their laptops.
I order a Flat White and an apricot-chocolate scone.
The Flat White is good. It’s on the darker side, just the way I like it. The scone is… not bad. There’s an interesting texture going on with the chocolate chips liquefying the moment you bite them. It’s moderately sweet.
As I much, I look at the scene on the wall: a giraffe with pants and a bow-tie is stealing a hat from a woman who’s too engrossed in her book to notice. Pop music is playing. I Shazam a tune: “Thrown Down” by Fleetwood Mac.
I’m about a third of the way through today’s walk. Up next are 2 hours of bombing straight down Kingston Rd. I know this next stretch is a bit boring so I put in my earbuds for the first time. Inspired by the cafe music, I put on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors and immediately Lindsey Buckingham assaults my ears with:
When times go bad, when times go rough
Won’t you lay me down in the tall grass and let me do my stuff?
Peak 1970’s creep.
By the time that “The Chain” comes on, I’m rocking. I peek through the chain-link fence of The Toronto Hunt – a private golf club. My friend S had criticized it as a ridiculous frivolity whose land could be used for dense housing in this part of town.
I’m searching for something here:
When my family arrived in Canada, I distinctly remember the cab ride from the airport. We were driven down this part of Kingston Rd. I saw a streetscape that was completely unlike to where I came from in the Middle East: single storey, pubs and shops and… is this what England is like?
There are some shuttered and dilapidated parts. Some lively and active parts. But nothing looks like that stretch I remember with a pub (just one? Or was it endless pubs?).
I reach Birchmount Rd. without spotting those shops. That portion of street with the closed down Fish & Chips place must’ve been the one from my memories. This is what a recent Google Streetview photo of it looks like:
Pretty empty. It must’ve been buzzing back in the day. I rewind the Streetview picture to 2007 expecting all the storefronts to be open.
Nope. Still the same empty storefronts.
I guess this is how it’s always been.
To compare, before that first Canadian taxi ride, here is what my local grocery market looked like:
And a typical nearby commercial strip:
More similar to the Philippines than to England!
Squirrel Park
Near Birchmount there’s a familiar apartment complex (now slated for demolition). This is where I found a bike leaning against the wall and I figured: “free bike!”. It was an old racing bike, light, with the handles curved down. It was a valuable item for an immigrant teen who’s family couldn’t afford to buy a bike.
After some big wide sky and open road, I arrive at what my family calls “Squirrel Park”. This is Rosetta McClain Gardens and it’s packed with fearless squirrels that will come right up to you for a peanut.
In the beautiful flower garden, about 6 elderly people are swatting at butterflies with silken nets. They’re tagging Monarch butterflies so that when they arrive in Mexico, they can be traced back to Toronto. “You can touch that one. It is damaged.” says one of the women when my gaze lingers on a Monarch. She says that any damage on the wing means that it will die before reaching Mexico.
I rest my feet on the grass while looking at the big decorative boulders in the garden. My knees hurt when I walk, but they’re OK when sitting still. That means there’s no injury. If I make it to Midland then I am going to go all out and attempt to finish the trek today. That inflection point is 20 minutes away.
I leave the park and reach the part of Kingston Road that was my immediate neighbourhood during high-school. It still has the wide road and dumpy plazas that I remember. But there are also new midsize condo buildings. And workers are digging in several spots where more will go up.
The construction will do this neighbourhood good.
Small groups of Muslim men in skullcaps come out of Nouh Islamic Centre. Later on, I pass by young men in long robes and young women in niqabs. 30 years ago this neighbourhood’s vibe was more “white, billiard-halls and grow-ops” and I think it’s great that there’s a wider mix of people here now.
I reach Midland.
It’s a go.
I’m going to try and finish the walk despite the pain.
I eat a meal bar for lunch (that coffee and scone were filling!), and take a few pictures of my old school:
I went to Grade 8 there. The big field at the back brings up a memory: I was tussling with classmates. We ended where one of them was balled up on the grass, and me on top of him. A third guy joined jumped up on me – at which point my face planted into the grass and sliiiiiiiid. I got a “grass burn” on the forehead. Which would’ve been fine. Except this was 3 days before graduation so the pictures from the ceremony had me sporting a sweet sumptuous forehead scab!
Midland stretch
I reach St. Clair – after living at Midland and Kingston, we moved a little West to St. Clair and Birchmount. So this is familiar turf. I take 2 pictures:
On some summer days, I’d walk home from high-school this way. Down past the bridge, there was a computer book store in a cinder block building. I’d look over the bargain bin and buy junk like “Inside XENIX” (Microsoft’s bastard Unix operating system). I didn’t have an actual system to practice on but the book did set me up for success when I finally started using free “Shell Accounts”.
From Midland and St. Clair it’s a straight line to Sheppard and the special landmark I’m headed to. 2 hours more. I’m at the halfway mark and kinda beat up.
Going up Midland the pain is gone. I enter some sort of walking trance while listening to Danz CM’s album The Absurdity of Human Existence and getting moist eyed. I greatly enjoy music, but lyrics rarely make me feel anything. This album brings the feels and is just perfect. Even the track where Danz implores you to “touch her just a little bit” is endearingly kooky, unlike Buckingham’s earlier propositioning to let him “do his stuff” to you in the long grass…
Students have been let out of high-school at this time and they’re on the street. Some are wearing uniforms, some not. The shadows get long in a way that transports me. I am a kid visiting Acre. I am in Pacific Mall. Why is it that I’m often mentally somewhere other than where I am? Living in the future. Living in the past.
But I’m not complaining. I think it’s wonderful to have an otherworldly experience in the city. I notice that my memories of the Middle East are fading. There are now fewer places in the past for me to visit.
I sit down on a small strip of grass to rest my feet. A car stops in front of me. The window rolls down and an Indian asks, “You OK my friend?”
“Yes, just resting my feet!”
It’s great to be cared for even in a neighbourhood where nobody knows who I am. For people to go out of their way instead of pretending not to see.
At Lawrence Avenue, an enormous residential building looms over the intersection. Bigger than anything around. It’s got “Pures College” written across the facade.
It’s hideous but it has a redeeming feature – that pyramid at the bottom is a fountain. There is a ledge around the fountain, students are sitting on it by the water while they wait for the bus home. It’s nice.
I cross the road and enter a supermarket to get water. I come face to face with a freezer wall of “cheese cake” treats. This looks like Russian frozen yogurt treats I remember from a million years ago – is this be similar? I could use a cooldown… I make the impulse purchase.
The cheesecake snack is made in Lithuania. It is more solid than I expected. It’s got a snap to it – the closest texture I can compare it to is like a frozen shortbread cookie. It has a strong cheesecake flavour (which is good) and is quite sweet (not so good). It’s not to my liking. I prefer the softer Russian version of it.
Heading up along Midland, there is an unbroken run of fence along the sidewalk. This is one of the Toronto’s ugliest looks – no way to turn in off the street, people hiding away from passers-by behind their fence.
I don’t mind the awful fence at this moment. My legs are very stiff but not in pain. Klasey Jones’ album, Eleven, is lifting my spirits with its cinematic beats. In the parts of the walk where I listened to music, it gave me a remarkable boost to endurance and morale. No wonder that the fierce Janissaries got to be that way by marching and fighting to music.
On my right is the awful fence. But on the left is one of my favourite faces of Toronto: dumpy light-industrial buildings. There’s a mattress place. A cool offroading garage with a home-built jeep. A liquidation place with huge cardboard boxes, tents and whatnot, spilling out into the parking lot.
It’s still hot, but the sun is hidden behind some clouds now. There are plenty of brutalist buildings, factories, cellphone towers and weed growing everywhere. I photograph them. Just bear in mind: I’ve taken pictures of these subjects because they appeal to me, not because they’re characteristic of Toronto.
It’s aliiiiiiiive!
It’s around 5pm as I shuffle up to the destination that brought me this way: Dragon Centre Mall.
Dragon Centre opened in the 1980s and was the first Asian Mall in the Toronto area (possibly in Canada – this Vancouver mall that’s supposedly the first in North America opened after Dragon Centre did). The popularity of this mall created racial tensions with residents of British descent. This was a predictable pattern that’s repeating even today in the neighbouring city of Mississauga with the South Asian community.
Dragon Centre played it’s part in the community in the 80s and 90s, but as the people moved on from here to bigger and better things. In 2019 it was shuttered for demolition. The mall was dead.
Or was it?
I found out from YouTuber “I Am Freeman” that the mall still had a faint heartbeat. I had to go there and see for myself.
Near the spot where it’s supposed to be… there’s a field of rubble… and there! There’s the tower!
Hidden behind a strip of shops, the mall is still there. A man comes out through the main doors so I know it’s accessible!
Inside, there are plants in pots. It’s obvious that someone is still putting love and care into this place.
There are about 4 shops open – selling decorative goods, antiques, stamps and Chinese books. I did not take pictures of them out of respect for the proprietors. (There are zero patrons in the mall so it must’ve been surprising to see me.) There is water damage to the ceiling and many buckets on the ground for catching drips – but, surprisingly, it smells fine.
I’m a big fan of ethnic malls. And, dead or dying malls bring up a special ennui. Visiting Dragon Centre is like seeing a live dinosaur. A resurrection.
And just like that, it’s time for dinner.
I Am Freeman said that nearby, a particularly good Hong Kong-style restaurant is propping up a declining mall. I head over there and it is an odd place:
The restaurant is called “Great Fountain Fast Food” and…
It’s closed!
They’re gone for a holiday.
The food court is cavernous, with a total of maybe 6 other diners. I look around and settle on nearby knockoff restaurant: “Silver Fountain Fast Food“. I get the Cantonese Chow Mein and I don’t know if it’s all the walking or what but, boy am I blown away.
It’s very affordable. The noodles have a nice texture with parts that are crackling-fried (a good thing!). Not salty. They’ve used a restaurant trick I’ve never seen before: they took fish balls and sliced them so they resemble scallops (cutting a flat disc out of the middle of the fish ball).
As a bonus, the meal comes with an iced lemon tea that’s just kickass. Exactly what I needed.
I finish the food and step out. It’s one hour of walking until the turnoff to the Zoo. The space immediately around the mall is quite industrial – tankers of something are hiding behind shops and Chinese language schools. Not something I would’ve expected in this neighbourhood. Sometimes I pass by other malls from that era that are in bad shape.
I walk and walk and I begin to go nutty.
I’m listening to Klasey Jones’ next album. Fists pumping. There is no pain in my legs. No thoughts. My skin is tingling from the cool breeze.
The smell of the breeze transports me to another time. Another life. I was around 11 and I rollerbladed alone from my home to the sea, without a map, sort of following familiar landmarks wondering how far I could get. By the time I realized that I had to turn home, my feet were so fucked that I couldn’t stay upright. Painful blisters everywhere. I had to call-collect to my mother so she could drive over and rescue me.
Wait… have I always been like this?
It’s time for that long fenced section that I’ve been dreading. When it comes, I welcome it.
There is a wall of trees and bushes to the left. Nobody walks this path. Dusk is setting in:
The smell of crab apples transports me again. 8 years old now, visiting my grandmother’s dacha in the Ukraine. She was a difficult woman. Hateful to her daughter-in-law. When she had her stroke it changed her personality: for that final bedridden year of her life she was cheerful and kind to my uncle and his wife. Can I find it within myself to be kinder? Without a stroke?
At some spots, a path branches off the main one at a sharp angle:
The smell of woodsmoke transports me once more. I go back to 3 years old in the USSR. My grandfather is pushing me in the stroller on a forest walk. Men are gathering the fall leaves and burning them.
“I regret taking you on those fall walks,” he told me many years ago. “The topsoil was irradiated. It was unhealthy to be out while they burned the leaves.”
Near Breckon Gate a metallic smell sends me forward to 10 years old. A decorative flintlock pistol that my parents bought. The metal – some sort of bronze. My mother still has it.
At Malvern Woods I come up on a tiny playground in a huge grass field. 50 metres from me a single man is sitting on the bench. No one else around. I lift my phone to photograph his silhouette but he senses it, turns and looks straight at me. I pretend to be fiddling with the phone and speedwalk outta there.
I hate it I hate it I hate it.
At this point this straight-line path to nowhere is making me crawl up the wall. I was supposed to be at the turnoff to the Zoo an hour ago. Is this some strange time warp?
I enter a part with a few more houses and people. Two men in white dress shirts are chatting to each other at a factory’s steps. They’re turned away from me, looking out at this as they talk:
A group of teen boys are listening to rap as they wait for the bus. I’m so close to the periphery now that there are honest to goodness falling-down buildings. A skunk is sniffling under high-voltage transmission towers. I recognize this electrical corridor from studying the route map last night. I’m getting closer.
A final, endless trail of identical-looking townhomes up ahead. Some are OK. Some have heaps of garbage on their front yard. A subdivision where the architect copy-pasted the same house one thousand times. And suddenly… I am at Meadowvale, the turnoff to the Zoo.
It’s nighttime now and I turn left. My body is hurting and I’m just focused on finishing. The path is long and winding. A man is heading towards me, he quickly climbs up a weed-covered ridge next to the sidewalk and disappears. Is he chasing his dog? Is he some sort of weirdo?
I hear flowing water under the bridge but can’t see it below in the dark. This is Toronto’s other other river. The Rouge river. It is part of a large wilderness in an area that’s “outside the city” in my psychological map.
The path is unlit. Weeds and woods rise up to the left of me. Coyotes. Aren’t there coyotes here? There are definitely coyotes in these woods. Will they spot me? Will they notice the limp? Are they licking their chops?
Finally, I go up a hill and cross a road that can only be the road to the Zoo’s parking lot. All I see is darkness from here. It’s too late for any of the day’s patrons to still be around – perhaps a couple of employees who’d stayed late.
I go up a small rise, watch for hidden skunks in the pitch black, and arrive at a vast empty lot:
I’m so close to the Zoo entrance.
And then there are cars.
Cars and people!
I am overjoyed to be among people. Just when I thought I was alone in the dark in the farthest part of the city!
Why are they here?
Turns out they’ve come for a new Glow In The Wild after-dark experience that the Zoo puts on.
I take a selfie with the people. I take a selfie touching the big globe statue at the Zoo – the bookend for the image with the airport Departures board at the start of this journey.
I arrive at the Zoo at 8:03pm. 10 hours of walking and 34 kilometres.
I’ve had a smile on for most the day.
I still have a smile as I sit and wait for the cab to arrive.
This is the best part now: the journey is done. There’s nowhere else to be. Not in the future. Not in the past.
