The World Cup in Toronto

And so it's world cup time again in Toronto. When the great Portugese underclass of this city rise up and honk their horns for eight hours straight to celebrate their one nil win over former colony Angola. My friend Mike wrote about his experience at Toronto's favourite Angolan bar yesterday on his blog romsaca.blogspot.com

Today I'm putting on my Sao Paolo FC, Cicinho jersey and going down to the local Brazilian hotspot to watch the game. Do I know anything about sports? No, but it doesn't matter because the beer is cold and no matter who wins there will be street dancing and perhaps some brawls.

I forgot to include, in my far too hasty post about Montreal the other day, a picture of some Quebecois-Algerian guys who sat beside me on a park bench. While I ate my smoked meat, they smoked weed and then in broken english asked me about Vancouver. They liked the beaches but not the incredible dullness. They claimed Montreal was the greatest place on earth and seemed to be especially excited about multiculturalism. They talked to me at length about how Jews, Arabs and Greeks all get along in Montreal and how I must learn French. They encouraged me to visit Algeria and reminisced about the beautiful sand dunes they had once known.

Also, I now know my travel schedule. Tomorrow morning I go to Niagara falls. I'll explore Buffalo for the day before hopping on a bus to Cortland, New York where my father grew up. I'm staying with a high school friend of his, the former mayor for a night before heading on to Boston.