Ontario is a paradise of seasonal produce, ranging from berries in the early summer to stone fruit in mid-to-late summer, and apples and root vegetables in the fall. Various guidelines exist across the web to inform interested residents of picking season, which assists both consumers and local farmers in making the most of annual harvest periods.

Raspberry picking had been unsuccessful, thus I reiterated the need to undertake at least one instance of fruit picking prior to the end of the season. Such an outing was easier said than done, however, for ripening periods  of most fruit last for two weeks at most; the schedules of my browsing partner and I are not exactly fluid enough to accommodate weekday afternoon trips to Niagara. (I can hardly set aside enough time for chores on a good day!)

With these factors in mind, an incredulous amount of planning would be required leading up to the event. Peaches would be the next item of desire following berries. Of all the farms in the GTHA, there were few that offered peaches, and even fewer that enabled pick-your-own opportunities. Cherry Avenue Farms and Parkway Orchards would constitute the sole contenders, with opening hours subject to crop inventory and their ripening status. Hours and updates were provided on the farm websites on a near-daily basis. I had held out hope for either establishment, though concluded that the Winona Peach Festival for marketplace baskets would be the next best option should the pick-your-own destinations not be attainable.

​On Friday evening, I'd conduct my last check. Cherry Avenue Farms had noted a pending availability of blue plums but a low inventory of peaches; the Vineland orchard would be closed throughout the weekend to allow for crop ripening. This led me to investigate the further option of Parkway Orchards, though distance was hardly a consideration at this point. The website had been revised to included limited hours of Sunday, though a quick call to the farm informed that the hours were merely tentative. The man on the other end of the line confirmed hours of operation for Saturday, but explained that Sunday hours would be dependent on stock. This was a reasonable approach, and also one that steered our Saturday itinerary.

Swift travels enabled a bathroom stop at Niagara Gateway in Grimsby. It was an ONroute-type fixture with a streamlined food court, indoor plumbing facilities, and information booth (with souvenirs). At our time of visit, all food vendors were observed shuttered with the exception of Tim Hortons. Surrounding the dining area were promotional banners for local happenings.

In contrast to the modern, brightly-illuminated ONroute stops, the Niagara Gateway presented itself with a casual, cabin-like appearance. While condensed into a small area, the bathrooms facilities were arguably cleaner, equipped with at least four dyson airblade hand dryers - not one bearing a speck of dust (Ahem, Square One!).

Continuing towards Niagara-on-the-Lake, we'd pull into the asphalt (not gravel!) lot of Parkway Orchards at 8:54 AM. We were the first patrons to arrive, but were slowly joined by other visitors as the clock neared 9 AM. Admittedly, it was shocking to see the handful of people that managed to make their way out this early in the day.

​At the front of the farm was a deserted Bake Shop of sorts. To its left was signage that indicated an entry point on the north side of the building.

​Some weeks are a bit crazy, and others crazier still. The temporary return of my browsing partner gave rise to a plethora of unplanned engagements, which strictly intensified the impacts of my existing commitments. Energy levels were running low without many opportunities for recovery, if any.

Work-from-days would entail arguably low-commitment kitchen endeavours, endless chores, and munching on the remnants of Pecan Pie and Russian Honey Cake.

Having been sent a number of images and videos about a certain "viral" cracking chocolate shell beverage, I decided it was time to validate my suspicions once and for all: It would not taste any different with the exception of added chocolate shards that do not incorporate readily.

​​My rendition would involve my go-to Thai Tea as of late and a thin layer of Surfin. After melting an approximate 50-75 g of the semisweet couverture, I took to carefully lining the inside of one of my many plastic cups inherited from previous purchases. The unsealed would then be placed in the freezer until solid; just five minutes were needed for the thin coating.
Once the prepared Thai Tea was poured within, the chocolate lining softened slightly, causing the sides of the cup to yield with ease. To achieve the signature shatter effect, the cup was placed back into the freezer - sealed this time - for about 20 minutes to harden. Within this period, the shell solidified and the ice melted, allowing the beverage to remain chilled but not icy.

The chocolate coating cracked readily, though did not alter flavour of the drink drastically. At best, one could taste faint hints of chocolate as the drink came to room temperature. Consuming the drink indoors in an air-conditioned setting had preserved the temperature of the beverage, thus I was merely left with chocolate shards at the bottom of the cup that had to be scooped out separately.
Should I have taken the drink to a saunter in thirty-degree weather outside, I may have experienced a mocha-laced Thai Tea of sorts, though the creation wasn't novel enough to warrant a second trial. Furthermore, I did not enjoy that the creation was limited to cold drinks and the mandatory use of a plastic cup. This material neither serves to insulate its contents and is also susceptible to warping and deformation if smeared with hot, just-melted chocolate. As with many food trends as of late, the venture sought out additional labour efforts and time without producing justifiable results.

​Another recent fad circulating online has been Dubai Chocolate. Those acquainted with my habits ought be aware that Swiss chocolatiers of Lindt and Läderach constitute my consistent favourites. Budget brands, or even those with Belgian origins (681), have wrecked havoc on my skin. In other words, I wasn't excessively keen on ingesting chocolate with unknown origins, or bracing myself for potential breakouts resulting from consumption.

That said, I recalled my forgotten stash of pistachios from Tavazo Nuts, as well as a handful of bulk barn specimens. The latter proved nearly impossible to deshell, and my thumbs were aching terribly afterwards. Surprisingly, the pinkish variety from the Middle East opened quite readily. Nevertheless, the process was lengthy: approximately thirty minutes would pass before I successfully obtained 150 g of the coveted nut.

Ingredients

• 150 g pistachios, no shell
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 40 g raw creamed honey *
• 46 g canola oil *

Yield:

• 610 g bowl + pistachio paste (not sure about this? XL bowl weight is 1007 g, L bowl is 686 g)
• 175 g pistachio butter (no oil)
• 221 g pistachio butter (with oil)

​Infrequently do I subject my mini food processor to such strenuous tasks. Nut butters are finnicky in the sense that any liquid will cause seizing - an aspect I'd come to discover firsthand. As noted above, neutral oil assists in restoring its consistency. Beware though, for it also reduces shelf life.

​I could have - and perhaps should have - stopped at homemade pistachio butter. It was scrumptious, slightly coarse, and the perfect, stabilizer-free peanut butter substitute! But, of course, these projects do not cease so quickly.​

I had intrepid plans for my upcoming in-office days. Beyond a pantry clearout of ancient tea bags, my newly acquired neon bike helmet and cycling gloves from MEC would venture downtown with me.

Squeezing in a trip to Koreatown between two meetings made for the most hurried lunchtime expedition to date, especially when the route was unfamiliar and the Bike Share login process not nearly as seamless as before.

Not withstanding these obstructions - inclusive of nearly sliding off the seat and maneuvering around a lane closure at Bloor St W and St. George, I'd arrive unscathed at the doors of Hodo Kwaja in under twenty minutes. The bike would be parked at the northeast corner of Bloor St W and Euclid, any otherwise empty station during lunchtime.

My picks of the day would include a standalone Brown Sugar Pancake (Hoddeok) and 6-piece set of assorted Walnut Cakes (Hodo Kwaja) for my coworker, followed by a 5-pack and 30-pack of the traditional treats respectively for myself. These items were bestowed upon me using my own sturdy reusable containers. The initiative delighted the ever-amicable lady behind the cashier, for it not only lessened her workload (box folding, etc.) but further demonstrated a sustainable approach as a consumer. Neither fell within my core objectives, for my priority was to ensure safe packaging for transit and eliminate the need to transfer greasy items out of their paper and Styrofoam packaging once back home.

In addition to my usual selection, I also inquired about iced coffee - reasonably so, given the weather conditions and activity levels of the day. The cups were priced based on size: 10 oz for $1.75 or 12 oz $1.95. With some degree of uncertainty, I retrieved my tumbler for the request, noting its capacity of just over 1 cup / 250 ml.
The lady offered to rinse the tumbler, which had previously held this morning's cold brew. Next, she filled it to the presumed 10 oz mark, adding ice, milk, and sugar with my confirmation. "There's still some room - would you like more ice? More coffee?" she offered with a big smile, "I can fill up with coffee if you'd like - it's cold! I'll only charge you for the 10 oz." It was as if she had read my mind regarding temperature qualms.

The stopover was incredibly brief and efficient. Within minutes, I crossed over to P.A.T. Supermarket, where a second Bike Share station could be found. Located at the southwest corner of Bloor St W and Manning Ave, this station offered a greater number of bikes, with nearly all positioned under the shade. This feature was worth noting, as well-illuminated areas generally equate to scorching seats.

My return was made in under thirteen minutes, for most of the route was downhill. Midtown-downtown cycling connections were surprisingly good, with plenty of one-way residential streets surrounding K-Town, uni-directional cycle tracks on Harbord Street, narrow-but-functional cycle tracks on College, and a seamless connection at the southwest corner of College and University. Contrasting against the horrifically narrow segments surrounding the University of Toronto St. George campus, the southbound segment along University was extremely wide. Fresh asphalt had been laid not long ago, along with pavement markings, tactile strips around bus stops, and two-stage crosswalks/concrete barriers to delineate between pedestrian, cyclist, and vehicular traffic.

​7 Enoteca is my one-pick destination for celebrating occasions of value. Thus far, every visit has been memorable and delicious, albeit not exactly budget-friendly.

The booking was conducted through Resy, an up-and-coming platform rivalling OpenTable. While there isn't a loyalty program in place, I do enjoy the automatic addition of calendar placeholders, assuming that one's login credentials use the same Gmail account as the calendar layer of choice.

​The choice was neither opposed nor advocated by my browsing partner, though the date of the make-up celebration itself had spurred heavy disagreement.

​In preparation for our 7 PM Sunday evening reservation, I'd suggest leaving at 6:30 PM. Needless to say, I was characteristically a few minutes late, and consequently four minutes late to the restaurant. The lack of street parking also hadn't defended my case. "(Your lack of punctuality) needs to be addressed." my browsing partner had warned.

I debuted my strappy boohoo LBD, received many years ago as a mistake but fit shockingly well. The halter neckline and backless attributes had posed some difficulty with regard to undergarment and overcoat choice, though adding thinner, black straps underneath had meshed surprisingly well and was, consequently, well-received.

​Families with young children had taken to frolicking on the field, while older visitors merely lounged about in the provided lawn chairs. Lining the north edge were patio tables associated with our restaurant of choice.
​
The check-in table that had once been positioned just beyond the entrance had been re-configured exclusively for patio supplies, causing the hostess to beckon us inward for reservation-checking procedures.

"Oh it's pretty loud." I commented with regard to noise levels within the indoor seating area.
"Don't worry - I'm going to seat you in a quieter spot!" The hostess articulated with a beaming smile. "I also see that you're celebrating a birthday! Happy Birthday!"
"Thank you!" came my delighted reply.

We were seated at a two-seater with spacious fabric chairs, delineated from adjacent tables with curved concrete pillars for visual separation. Mind you - the facility was nonetheless deafening. Conversations of the neighbouring table could be rather clearly; raising one's voice was pivotal to being heard over the resounding voices in the near and distant proximity.

Menus encased within a red, patent leather booklet were placed before us, along with a smaller booklet featuring the wine selection. Having ordered Pizzaville just a few days prior, I was hardly keen for another round of zza. My browsing partner and I deliberated between various combinations of appetizers and entrées before finally settling on two appetizers, mains of pasta and fish (me), and dessert to finish.

​A glass of white wine would assume my beverage choice of the evening. The waitress, an older lady with intense eyelash extensions, dismissed my query for tasting profiles of the 2020 Villa Canestrari "Tanbe" and 2022 Fortulla "Serpentino" and instead suggested the latter with a firm "I like this one".
"All of our wines are sweet." She declared.
This tidbit brought about dismay, for my preference lies with drier profiles with minimal sweetness. "Which wine(s) are drier?" I proceeded to ask.
"They're all dry." came the blunt response, followed by a muffled "There's no Riesling."
Frankly, I was more acquainted with Riesling than Sauvignon Blanc, which usually varies in complexity and flavour payoff. In the end, it was the 2022 Fortulla "Serpentino" that was chosen. Unlike the waitress from my last visit, ID was not requested of me. This came as a source of awe, for the waitress' regular utterances of "dear" indicated she was aware of my relatively "young" age. Consistent with the Petit Chamblis, the partially-filled glass was priced at twenty-five dollars.

​Physio appointments are one of the least desirable events possible. On one hand, they provide rapid forms of relief and shed insight and the remedial measures required. Yet, appointments are limited to weekdays between noon and the early afternoon, making for grueling commutes on the 401 in both eastbound and westbound directions.

After over one month of knee discomfort, I finally resolved to book an appointment. Despite the off-peak slot of 12:30 PM on a Friday afternoon, congestion levels were unchanged: The drive totalled a whopping sixty minutes, plus some.

The visit informed me of tendonitis - in my "good" knee nevertheless! - due to extended use and strain. Recommended were quad and hamstring stretches, conducted for 3 reps, each maintained for 15-20 seconds. Calf stretches, quad strengthening with a resistance band, and massaging around the knee area were also suggested for recovery. In essence, both knees were quite tight and needed quad strengthening should I wish to persist with existing levels of physical activity.

​Subsequent agenda stops would not stray from my Markham go-to of LCBO.

​There, I obtained Hakutsuru Nigori Yuzu Sake, Hakutsuru Awayuki Sparkling Sake, Jack Daniel's Coca-Cola, and a can of Yoho Brewing Sakura Mochi Stout. The stout concoction adopted a pink and green exterior, "SORRY" in all caps, and images of Sakura, Sakura mochi, and a Samurai.

Contrary to the standard European stout, this blend was lighter, fruitier, and less tacky, inciting far greater enjoyment levels than my browsing partner's definitive favourite of Guinness.

Refraining from undertaking the return route during the early stages of rush hour, I had decided to continue working from a nearby café. Prior research had led me to Café N One, luring me with the promise of complimentary Wi-Fi, a variety of sustenance options, and unlimited seating time.

Locating the eatery was easy as could be. That said, securing parking was far from painless. I had prematurely turned onto Perth Avenue, only to realize that the parking lot of the corner establishment did not connect to the plaza on the south. Thankfully, my browsing partner pointed out that the rear of the facilities were connected, thus enabling access from the asphalt lot at the back.

Entering through the vestibule before 2 PM, my eyes fell upon the bustling seating area with astonishment. It was past peak lunch hours, but the interior was brimming with patrons. Each table was thoroughly engrossed in conversation, making for deafening noise levels throughout.
We were acknowledged upon entry, but not gestured towards a table. I momentarily hovered about while in review of our seating options. Having spied outlets under the window-facing bar area, I made my away over. My browsing partner plopped down beside me as I proceeded to inspect the table.

Much to my dismay, the space before us bore coffee stains and sauce smears along the backsplash. Without further hesitation, I summoned a wet wipe for the task. My belonging would not be placed on top until the surface was gleaming.
Outlets had been installed underneath the table, comprising of two outlets and two USB Type A ports. Hooks had also been installed underneath the table, but too close to the window for functional use. They were also observed to be very close to spilled sauce stains along the back of the bar area, causing a wrinkle of disgust to spread across my face.

A QR code was taped to the surface for ease of ordering, similar to the formats adopted by Petit Potato and Good Luck. The online ordering platform enabled placement of contactless dine-in orders as well as pickup order for takeout. Physical menus were also available at the counter, should one wish to flip through stained paper copies on a clipboard.

My belongings would be dispersed across the table and the backless stool next to me. The corner spot emerged as the favourite for solo diners. Regardless of the man who had arrived before us or the jean jacket-clad lady who arrived within thirty minutes later, they were seemingly content in their allocated space, utterly unbothered by my excessive amount of baggage. She was another obvious work-from-home customer, taking to an order of Iced Osmanthus Americano before continuing to work peacefully in the corner, supported by a Jellycat croissant keychain, white woven leather slippers, and a Holt Renfrew file folder.

What started as an outing for fruit picking somehow evolved into a hike. The original order of the events had lay with a raspberry patch visit followed by a casual trek about a nearby green space. Alas, user reviews of our chosen walking area had informed of trails becoming busy after 11 AM, risking availability of parking. This data informed an earlier departure, along with an agenda where the Silver Creek Conservation Area would precede Downey's.

Despite having anticipated a casual trek through a supposedly residential area, my conservative choice of attire would enable trickier routes as well. My trusty camera bag would be summoned for the trip, though this time devoid of my usual DSLR. The camera compartment would be removed to enable transport of prepared food for eating during the hike.

​Our first stop of the day was, of course, a washroom stop. Featured in Georgetown's McDonald's was an old-fashioned play area and Despicable Me 4 Happy Meal toys on display.

​We then navigated towards Silver Creek. Prior research had confirmed free admission to the conservation area in addition to free parking. Distributed between four areas, complimentary vehicular spaces could be found along the connecting gravel roadways within the conservation area boundaries as well as in designated asphalt lots.

Pulling into the area around noon, the area did not appear horribly busy, as we had feared. That said, we had opted for a side street about one third into Bruce Trail, rather than commencing at the trailhead.​

​For the first time, it mattered minimally that we had skipped the trailhead. There were maps positioned at every crossover point, inclusive of legends to assist in wayfinding.

The conservation area comprised of twenty stations, all clearly marked on pillars throughout the trail and identified on the map using numbers. These numbered stations would aid hikers in planning their route and finding their way through the main (coloured) trails or side/link trails.

​Signage was also abundant and offered exceptional clarity using tree markings to show the direction of the trail. One vertical bar would denote that the trail continued forward. Additional vertical bar(s) would be positioned diagonally above the vertical bar to denote the direction of the trail: left, right, or both, showing a fork.

​In review of the map, my ever-ambitious browsing partner suggested traversing the longest loop possible. I was skeptical that we'd be able to finish the proposed route, for the legend on the side of the map indicated estimated travel times that exceeded our allotted period before fruit picking.

Starting from Station 12, I suggested navigating to 9, 8, 7, 6, and determine our next course of action upon reaching the parking area at Fallbrook Trail.

From the get-go, it was learned that Silver Creek was not the walk in the park both of us had envisioned. Thankfully, we were adequately equipped for the surprise and physical challenge.
Bruce Trail instantly emerged as being very rocky and steep. Hiking boots were deemed crucial: Proper gear/footwear would be essential in preventing one from rolling his or her ankle - especially if you have weak ankles like myself.

​The trail featured steep, uphill paths with plenty of rocks and sodden soil. Boardwalks and man-made stairs would be present throughout, as would tiny, flying pests. Bug spray is strongly advised. In my haste, I had forgotten the bottle and later emerged with 6 bites along the length of my right arm and one bulging bump on my chin. These spots became horrifically swollen and itchy before subsiding some four days after. My browsing partner also acquired a few on the hands, though saw them dissipate as quickly as they were obtained.

​The varied landscapes made for a splendid, but undoubtedly challenging hike. This portion of Bruce Trail boasted greater elevation differences than the usual Ontario hike, making the undertaking more suitable for intermediate/advanced hikers. Stairmaster practice would likely assist with the climb, while conditioning would strengthen knees during the descent.

View the full album HERE !

On a sick day off, I leisurely reviewed e-newsletters that had floated into my inbox. Cineplex's limited-time promotion of $9.99 tickets caught my attention, and I proposed an afternoon showing of Despicable Me 4 to my browsing partner, who was not against the idea.

After dallying for some time, the skies outside dimmed to an ominous grey. Upon encountering this heavy rainfall, we resolved to stay indoors instead. The earlier editions of the movie were still available on Netflix, causing me to soon learn that I had not watched the Despicable Me series at all! It was strictly the Minions series (2015 original and 2022's The Rise of Gru) with which I had been acquainted.

The appropriate next course of action was to catch up on the series. After watching Despicable 3, the rain had passed. It was time to forage for supper.

Wonton Express emerged as the eatery of my desires, but we were ultimately unable to make their last call of 6:30 PM. They had ceased dine-in and takeout orders by the time of our arrival, with only frozen wontons and raw fish dace ball available.

Consequently, alternatives would be sought out. Simultaneously serving up wontons and offering store opening promotions until end of the month was Bingz. My browsing partner revisited the Signature Beef Crispy Burger with Smoking Hot Rockin' Fries, seasonings aside due to its makeup of allergens, and a can of Coke. Similar to my own sampling experience, a distinct dryness was declared.

​My order of a Large Pork Wonton Soup ultimately proved too grand a portion for my appetite. Five wontons remained, along with plenty of monosodium glutamate-laden broth. While I missed the Goji berries that the First Markham Place location had included in abundance, my browsing partner bypassed the berries in order to secure the seaweed bits.

​I snuck a few of the Smoking Hot Rockin' Fries from the grease-tainted paper bag, enjoying them significantly more than my excessively sugary Plum Fizz. The beverage was akin to the 酸梅湯 that often accompanied hotpot dinners, but carbonated far more cloying.

​After browsing the retail centre briefly, we returned home to continue filling voids of Despicable Me knowledge, starting from the first movie, released in 2010. Midnight had passed by the time the movie concluded, thus postponing Despicable Me 2 to another day.

The rest of the weekend saw a long-awaited massage appointment and a group gathering at Activate.

Easing into the week, the GTA was overwhelmed with a preposterous amount of rainfall.​

Months after debating between unfreezing my membership or halting it altogether, I finally resolved to cancel the LA Fitness subscription. In hindsight, the decision had come too late, for the annual fee had already been deducted from my account before coming to a conclusion.

"But where will you exercise?" A coworker responded in shock. "When will you have your 'me' time?!"
Frankly, the 'me' time had always existed, gym or not. It was the difference of experimenting with instructor-led classes in the flesh versus choosing my own routine from YouTube's never-ending collection of content.

Google Reviews had been fueled with the lack of communication and transparency of various LA locations, though their qualms are applicable to any gym and could be easily appeased had they invested efforts to understand the billing process from enrolment. Speaking from personal experience, I've had no issues in reaching customer service representatives, local or corporate, and have further found quite seamless membership management options between the online account, the app, and email confirmations.

​After finally resolving to cancel, I recalled that my first payment had included pre-payment for one additional month. As such, I'd have the opportunity to continue using the membership even following the online cancellation. With this in mind, it seemed only reasonable to attempt classes at other GTA locations before period end. Yonge/Sheppard's Signature Club would assume my first trial.

​Premier Plus and Signature Clubs are supposedly categorized at different membership tiers, thus I called in advance to confirm eligibility. The parking validation process was also made known to me, though I opted for street parking instead, for enforcement does not commence on Sundays before 1 PM.

At 8:45 AM, I left the house to pick up my browsing partner, eventually pulling up to the Greenfield Ave entrance around 9:30 AM. This provided me with just enough time to locate the facility on the third floor, mark my spot in the studio, determine the availability of lockers and washrooms, and change shoes.

I had presumed the facility to be smaller than a standalone gym, given its location in a commercial building, however, the opposite observations were made. The training area was approximately the same size as that of Vega, but equipped with more Bosu balls and equipment than one could imagine. The group fitness studio, cycle studio, and administrative area each assumed a dedicated space - similar to Woodbine but contrary to Vega and Hurontario. Beyond the typical LA elements of a pool and basketball court, the floor also included a HIIT studio, likely only accessible with reservations and additional charges. The changerooms were separated from the rest of the exercise area with a long, winding corridor, which also housed the Women's Only training area.

My spot in Zumba class was marked with none other than my trusty water bottle. At 9:44 AM, I re-emerged from the changerooms to find the instructor warming up moderately while awaiting last-minute participants. She would then greet the class, note the supplementary speaker before her that had been brought from home to amplify her chosen tracks, then commence with punctuality at 9:45 AM.

The session was a full class of, seemingly, regulars. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority were middle-aged women. The bulk appeared to be acquainted with the moves, only struggling minimally. My position at the front enabled a clear view of my own movements, though I was more focused on the instructor given unfamiliarity with the songs and choreography.

​Overall, it was a fun, upbeat class with some EDM tracks mixed with Latin and pop. The instructor was well acquainted with her sequences, pausing minimally, if at all. She appeared to have Latin dance background, exhibiting a strong foundation in Cha-Cha and Bachata steps, but later transitioned to Zumba as a career.

Despite participants not being very loud, instructor kept energy level high and even summoned class participants to dance with her at the front throughout. I, being in the front row, was obviously included in this selection, thus strived to perform the choreo without any prior knowledge.

​The class ended as timely as it started, making way for yoga enthusiasts to slam down their mats even before all Zumba attendees had exited. I quickly changed into sweat-free attire, then braced myself for the day's unshakable humidity levels.

"Don't forget you have a wedding to go to." my browsing partner had warned. "If you show up with bright orange hair..."
The voice trailed off, with the potential consequences never revealed. Such statements had assumed the response to my declaration of colouring my hair while on vacation. When I returned with a faded grey though, no further concerns were uttered.

With the coming of age, weddings have transformed from a fun social outing that enabled an opportunity to dress up to a financial burden and substantial time commitment, encompassing not only participation in receptions, but the ceremony and - often dreadful - commute as well. When presented with the chance to try Auberge du Pommier though, I eagerly requested to be added to the invitee list. After all, Summerlicious/Winterlicious prices weren't going to be get any cheaper.
​
In order to prevent a prolonged stay amongst unfamiliar faces, I took to handling my own logistics. Upon conclusion of the reception, I'd be relieved of further social interaction and happily carry on with my own itinerary instead.

​Traffic was awfully sluggish for a Saturday morning, and my usual tardiness hadn't helped the situation either. As per the given directions, I'd descend into the underground parking garage upon arrival. Parking rates were posted just before the entrance gate arm. Grudgingly, I pressed the button for a ticket. It was with much relief that I later learned of the restaurant's complimentary parking validation.

The ceremony would commence at 10:30 AM, leaving me with just enough time to find the washrooms at the bottom of a carpeted stairwell. One accessible stall was located at the same level as the entranceway. Though, the establishment was still far from accessible given that transitioning between the foyer to the dining room to the covered patio involved steps and stairs. These marbled tiles camouflaged into the rest of the décor (read: low visibility) and sported propagating cracks at areas of high usage.
Generally speaking, the bathroom facilities were well maintained, but not exceptionally clean. The stalls utilized a white wooden frame with bevelled surfaces, on top rested a thin layer of dust. They were wide enough to accommodate voluminous attire and featured sturdy hooks on the back of the door. Tissues and thick, disposable hand towels resided by the sinks. By the end of the event, these hand towels had vanished entirely, an indicator of absent mid-reception bathroom checks.

​A cool white tone was embraced by the establishment: the exterior wooden and the interior stone. The design was slightly reminiscent of Italian eateries, but differed in its incorporation of flat ceilings (instead of cave-like curves), abundant light fixtures and illumination points, ashy stone furnishings, and choice of centrepieces (angels, baby ducks, etc.) Auberge du Pommier's wine inventory, along with glassware in various shapes and sizes, could be spotted lining the walls. Perhaps one of the more interesting tidbits was the fragile nature of said glasses: Guests were advised against clinking glasses in celebration due to fear of breakage.

​Steps from the dining room was a stunningly beautiful outdoor venue. Despite compact, the area was bright and vibrant: edged in greenery and stone, shielded from the sun and other elements, and featuring a fountain at its centre.

​For the first night since my arrival, slumber had been fitful. I woke up periodically, only to eventually settle in with cooler temperature settings.

​My alarm was set for 7 AM, enabling just enough time to complete two loads of laundry and wrap up garbage disposal, in the most literal sense, before readying myself for the flight home. Admittedly, it was still a strange feeling to be departing the unit without a sendoff from its customary occupant.

A breakfast of coffee and a Hot Dog Bun later, I'd call an Uber to the airport. This time, the driver neither read nor replied to my messages notifying him of the presence of luggage. Upon arrival, he seemed surprised that I, someone travelling to the airport, would have baggage in tow.
The driver was a middle-aged man who primarily spoke Mandarin. At first, he'd open the trunk and merely observe my struggles with the check-in luggage. He later extended an arm to offer assistance, though refused to undertake the lifting assignment alone. "Are you moving back to your hometown?!" He switched to broken English after receiving English responses to his Mandarin inquiries.

​In stark contrast to my usual chaotic airport-bound excursions, I had reserved ample time in case of delays. Unlike Pearson, there was no queue for printing baggage tags, though an approximate ten-minute wait for the baggage drop.
Another twenty minutes would be required for security screening. A member of staff hovered nearby, redistributing the line to the international side of screening as required. Thankfully, the line was cut right behind me; I remained on the domestic screening side.

I adhered to the standard protocol for laptop screening, but was not asked to separate the cameras out from the rest of my carry-on luggage. Nevertheless, I was still pulled to the side since wet wipes had been mistaken for sharps. Apparently, the occurrence had been quite common, based on the screening agent's carefree response.

​The conservative allocation enabled sufficient time for bathroom usage, gate location, and even purchase - and unhurried consumption! - of a Cuban Ham sandwich before heading back to gate for boarding.