Map of Western Europe

It’s been a couple of days since my return from Europe, so I thought I’d chime in with a few reflections from the recent trip and a few remarks.

First, it was great to be back in Europe after more than a year away from the Continent.

For a short while there, I was able to pretend like I was living back there, enjoying that special blend of sweet doing nothing which is such a hallmark of the average European’s lifestyle. I needed to just kick back and enjoy the crowds for a few days, but it was too short. I felt like the entire thing was rushed. Whirlwind. It’s nothing something I want to duplicate anytime soon…and I can see how the jet-setting lifestyle starts to get on the nerves of a lot of commuting business people. Jumping on and off planes, hopping into rental cars and speeding off along motorways with the pedal to the floor, eating sugary food and crap, and not resting nearly enough is a recipe for a case of the sneezes. I don’t know how some businesspeople manage to keep it all together.

Also, it was great to have a very compact set of goals to achieve on my trip and to have met them in such a short period of time. Always great when you can achieve what you set out to do. I went through the list and crossed things off as I made my way through.

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In the spirit of “time travel” this week at the blog (here, here, and here), I’ve been imagining what it would be like dropping someone from half a century ago into our modern multi-ethnic Toronto.

I’d like to walk alongside them, monitoring their reactions observing their facial reactions as I take them on a spirited tour across town, visiting the still-existing familiar landmarks which were once their daily stomping grounds. The newly gentrified neighborhoods, the overpriced living quarters, the fast cars, and the hustle and the bustle.

I’d like to go into bars where they used to drink, travel on our modern transportation networks, and then have them conduct business with entrepreneurs staffed by business owners resembling people they only used to read about in Robinson Crusoe adventure books or in smoky war-era theater newsreels.

I’m talking about the folks who have now taken over their old neighborhoods. New Canadians who dictate the score and call the shots and pull the strings. They’re not some backroom help in a greasy spoon. They’re not the hired help you shunt away towards the back when distinguished company drops in for an afternoon julep and a crumpet. They’re not the members of your numerous staff, your rickshaw drivers, or your dockside coolies, your butlers, your house captains. And they’re certainly not your “boys and girls.”

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