CHAPTER 120

Original: 2007-01-31

Rewritten: 2026-01-09

After my second major surgery, the three of us travelled far to the east, finally seeing how vast Canada really is.

I truly was a country bumpkin. After living in Canada for eighteen years, I had never once been to the famous eastern cities—Toronto, Ottawa, or Montreal. The main reason was that my eldest son, Lun, was afraid of flying. Driving wasn’t a good option either: my wife disliked being behind the wheel, the distance was genuinely too long for me to manage alone. Once fuel costs and vehicle depreciation were added up, it simply wasn’t cost-effective.

All along, I could only console myself with daydreams—imagining that after retirement I would drive a camper van, crossing provinces at leisure, unhurriedly touring Canada.

After my first major surgery in 2001, I felt that while my strength still allowed, I should do things I truly enjoyed. I had loved animals since childhood, so I became a volunteer dog walker, a role I continued for more than four years.

After my second major surgery in 2005, my wife set out to fulfil this long-held wish of mine: travelling east across Canada. Once Lun had moved into a residential home, she kept a close eye on the prices of eastern tour packages. When my physical condition was confirmed to have recovered, she found a reasonably priced overland tour. During the summer holidays, we joined a six-day, five-night intensive weekend tour. We flew overnight to Toronto, arriving at 7 a.m. local time.

On the first morning, we joined a half-day city tour in downtown Toronto, then returned to the hotel to rest in the evening. Early the next morning, we rejoined the main group. Over the remaining four nights and five days, the coach barely stopped rolling as we rushed from one attraction to another: Kingston, the Thousand Islands, Toronto, then the museums in Ottawa, Montreal’s Catholic cathedral, Quebec City, Niagara Falls, Upper Canada Village, an apple-pie factory and an ice-wine winery. Finally, we flew back to Vancouver, arriving in the evening—absorbing in one breath all the history, geography, and cultural knowledge needed for Canada’s citizenship test.

Canada is truly immense. From the air, British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba slipped past beneath us as we headed east—roughly one province per hour. I felt genuinely grateful that I wasn’t driving.

Looking down at the Great Lakes region, that boundless plain—the cradle of Canadian culture—and following the red glow of dawn, the plane finally reached Toronto, a city embraced by the rising sun.

Toronto is flat and not particularly picturesque. Its towering buildings stand square and solid, lined with endless rows of square glass windows, monotonous and uniform. Compared with Vancouver, its highways are on a much grand scale. Still, the urge to drive through the city stirred within me.

What truly opened my eyes was seeing a Chinese supermarket that operated all night on weekends—an authentic sea of people, brimming with the excitement of a bustling market. Watching drivers fight for parking spaces in the lot was, in itself, quite a spectacle.

The most unforgettable experience was not a famous landmark, but a meal guided by a “local insider” friend: a homestyle three-dish set costing only $15.99, soup included but not rice. We even took away a large bag of leftovers when we left—exceptionally good value.

As expected, a “duckling tour group” offers only a whirlwind glimpse. Our tour guide, Ms. Choi, was rather lax, giving explanations only in Cantonese and Mandarin; English was limited to place names. Several Filipino tourists were completely lost throughout. We tried to catch up on sleep between attractions. On the five-hour drive from Toronto to Quebec City, all we saw were cornfields, which made me realise just how modest the cornfields along Highway 1 in Metro Vancouver’s lowlands really are.

Upon reaching Parliament Hill, we rushed to the main entrance, touched the marble walls, lingered for five minutes, then hurried back to the tour bus to avoid getting ticketed. Ottawa was simply too quiet. Fortunately, my younger son is a history enthusiast; the museum visits were eye-opening, and we hoped to return someday. (We did return in August 2012, staying for a week and exploring mostly on foot.)

Seeing Montreal’s Olympic Stadium—beetle-like in appearance and used only once—felt terribly wasteful. The churches, however, were well worth seeing. Old Quebec City was a delight to explore, the most European-styled old city in North America. During its annual grand cultural festival, staff dressed in traditional costumes, and we ran up and down the old city streets. My younger son watched intently at ancient soldiers firing a matchlock, thrilled and exuberant. At the easternmost stop, the journey came to an end.

Satisfied and weary, we returned to Vancouver—its mountains and waters radiant, its architecture distinctive, truly deserving its reputation as one of the world’s most liveable cities.