I haven’t posted in this space for awhile. Partly because I’ve been swamped at work, and partly because I’m still processing…all of this. As the self-appointed Canadian ambassador to urban America, the idea of a trade war with the United States is almost unfathomable. But here we are.

I’m not going to focus on trade policy per se, even though the trade war is unfolding as I write (I’ll do that elsewhere). I want to talk about cultural (and economic) integration between Canada and the United States to set the stage for this incredibly self-defeating conflict being foisted upon us.

It used to be fashionable for a certain type of Canadian activist to fret about how the US border is a mere invisible line that was of no use to protect Canada from American cultural integration. There was something to that, though it was also kind of a pointless lament. We live just north of the cultural epicenter of the world. We can close our eyes and ears, but it’s still there. Besides, we like a lot of what passes through that invisible line.

We’re also incredibly similar, as much as some nationalists may protest. In a literal sense, it’s just true. You can walk through the forest of Minnesota into Manitoba and you’re not going to see a line. You’ll probably die trying, but your last sight will be a thicket of trees – and maybe some wolves. In a figurative sense, well, Donald Trump recently called the Canadian border an “artificially drawn line.”

We have a shared history going back further than the founding of either country, we’ve fought shoulder to shoulder in two world wars, among other conflicts. It’s hard to find two closer allies on this earth.

The notion of a hard border between the two countries is relatively modern. When the United States passed the Johnson Reed Act (otherwise known as the Immigration Act of 1924), Canada was excluded from the new immigration restrictions (as was Mexico). In 1960, Canadian immigrants made up ten percent of the American population. Canada wasn’t so much treated as a different country, but a two-way pressure relief valve. Americans could flee here when times were bad, and Canadians would go the other way when opportunities were lacking.

People used to cross the border fluidly until the 20^th century without much thought. It was an artificial line, after all, so one might simply decide to move a few hundred miles (or kilometers) south to buy some land, or to take a job. During the Vietnam war, 40,000 Canadian kids went south to join the war and 40,000 American kids would moved south to avoid it. Interestingsymmetry.

Most Canadian celebrities spend at least some of the year living stateside, as do a large swath of our retirees. There’s a whole cottage industry around helping affluent Canadians move to Florida (for western Canadians, Arizona). No one seems to complain about Snowbirds crossing the border. They spend a lot of money there, after all.

While our border has thickened since 9/11 – inflicting deep wounds on border communities like Niagara Falls (Ontario) and, even more so, Niagara Falls (New York), ambitious Canadians still regularly stream south. We even have a name for it: brain drain. Canadians still flock south – young and old - to the benefit of American firms and the Treasury Department.

You can really see it when you spend a lot of time stateside. I left the continent this year for the first time since I was a teenager. I joked that it was my first time being a tourist. In some respects, it was. I’ve been to 42 of the lower 48 states. Unless you’re riding a moose or wearing a Team Canada sweater, no one has any idea you’re Canadian until they’ve heard you say a-boot a few times. Even then, people often just assume I’m from the Upper Midwest. When they do realize you’re Canadian, its met with roughly the same level of curiosity as being from another region of the United States unless people are particularly depressed about the state of American politics at the moment.

What really fascinates me about North American cultural integration isn’t what’s common throughout, but the regional variations. You’ve probably heard stories of properties that straddle both sides of the border, since they pre-date modern border controls. Or geographical oddities like the Northwest Angle, where the only way to get from a tiny sliver of Minnesota to any other part of America by land is through Canada. Or you might have heard the joke about Windsor being South Detroit (with apologies to Journey). And, no doubt, even if you don’t live by the border, you’re aware that the vast majority of Canadians live within a hundred miles of the United States.

These are pretty well-known factoids, but I don’t think they really get at the level of cultural and economic integration between regions that are bisected by the border. Remember the old NAFTA Superhighway conspiracy theory from the early Aughts? Don’t bother Googling it. It was just a highway expansion between Winnipeg and Mexico City that never happened. I lived in Winnipeg for many years, and spent a lot of time driving south through the Plains. I always had a good laugh about this driving down I-29. The reason, of course, is that Winnipeg is an important cog in North America’s distribution system, conveniently located for both east-west and north-south travel. Though much of that east-west travel goes through the United States, since it’s often faster to go through the United States to get from Canada to Canada.

As a kid who grew up cross-border shopping, I always had some idea of the level of integration between our two countries. But I didn’t quite appreciate the level of regional integration.

I didn’t really appreciate it until I started travelling outside of the coasts. America’s big coastal cities are such melting pots that regional cultures are muted. But when you cross the border from Winnipeg to North Dakota, you realize pretty quickly that while you’ve left the country, you haven’t left the culture. At least, not all of it.

The first time I drove to North Dakota I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find somewhere to watch the hockey game that night. I knew UND had a top-flight hockey program, but I didn’t know whether the state was as hockey mad as, say, Minnesota. Almost immediately upon crossing the border I saw hockey themed advertisements. North Dakota is also the only place outside of Manitoba where I’ve heard the song One Great City (aka I Hate Winnipeg) by the Weakerthans playing at a bar (multiple times). North Dakota is American, but it’s also practically Manitoba. While you notice some differences on the other side of that invisible line, the cultural difference between crossing to Manitoba is nothing compared to the culture shock someone leaving North Dakota for the first time would feel in Florida or New York.

Generally speaking, it’s hard to tell which region Canadians are from. There are a few distinct regional accents, but you’d have a hard time guessing where most born and bred Canadians were raised without some hints. One potential hint is which hockey team they cheer for, but it’s not especially reliable. Western Canadian teams are a bit of a hint (though if you say you’re an Oilers fan, I won’t rule out Saskatchewan roots). The Leafs and Canadiens are a crapshoot, since they’ve got fans all over (and Torontonians have diverse hockey loyalties). Football is a different story. If someone tells me they’re a Lions fan, I assume they’re from Windsor. Diehard Bills fan? I’ll guess you’re from somewhere between London (Ontario) and Windsor. Sure, it’s not a perfect predictor. But neither is being a Vancouver Canucks fan.

I’m so used to crossing the border that it still hasn’t really dawned on me that my economy might be in conflict with the one I most often visit. I thought about taking a quick trip to Florida recently. That same day the Government of Canada hinted that it might put a tariff on Florida orange juice in the event of a tariff war. It would be strange to spend tourist dollars in a state explicitly being targeted by Canadian tariffs in an attempt to show Americans what they stand to lose from a trade war. I then thought about Nashville, since it’s one of the few non-Florida American destination WestJet services from Toronto. The Government of Ontario has claimed it might stop purchasing bourbon as part of our trade-war countermeasures. Should I spend my tourist dollars in Tennessee, then? Doesn’t feel quite right.

It's hard to imagine what a thicker border would look like. Car components typically cross the border seven or eight times during the construction process. I think back to anecdotes about post-Soviet economies that made specific niche components that were no longer needed after the fall of the USSR. The end of communism was, of course, very good. But there were transition pains. Even in the unlikely event that American re-shoring from Canada was somehow better for either party (using existing factories that already have the skilled labour in place seems better than trying to build new factories with full employment while you’re trying to wrestle down inflation), the transition would be rocky. Unlike the transition from communism in the former Soviet Union, it's hard to see how what comes after free trade is better, unless we're all keen on patriotically paying higher prices. If I remember the last few years correctly, I don't think anyone really wants that.

While there would be broad costs to North American disintegration, some of the localized costs would be even steeper. Think back to the example of Niagara Falls. There used to be robust two-way tourism between the two before 9/11. The thickening border made it more difficult for American tourists. You’d think that would have hit the Canadian side harder. Instead, Niagara region has pressed ahead as its economy has diversified in part through expansion (and improvement!) of its wine industry. Niagara Falls, New York, on the other hand, is kind of sad. I say that as someone who love New York State, including Western New York. It just hasn’t recovered.

Now think of Windsor and Detroit. If tariffs stunt two-way trade between Canada and the United States, a lot of the components that flow over the border might get replaced by American parts. There’s no guarantee those will be built in Michigan. In fact, it seems quite plausible to me that this would accelerate the movement of auto production away from union friendly states like Michigan towards right to work states. It’s hard to shoot Ontario without hitting Michigan. This could be a blow to Detroit’s hard-fought comeback, which seemed unlikely even a decade ago. I guess I am talking a bit about trade policy. Sorry.

It seems likely to me that some form of trade war is coming, whether anyone really wants it. I hope it’ll be more of a show trial than a real trade war. Posturing to seem tough. But even a limited trade war could have unforeseen consequences. Hopefully nothing too disruptive. I’d like to keep my post as unofficial ambassador to urban America a little longer without guilt (or friction). We’ve got a pretty good thing going here, guys. Hopefully we can keep it together. Disintegration won't be easy, and won't end well for anyone.

I’ve spent a lot of time traveling across the United States. Probably more than most Americans. There’s a running joke among my friends that every time I come back I am convinced that whichever city I just visited is the greatest place on earth. It’s a slight exaggeration, but I have enjoyed virtually every American city I have ever visited.1

My experiences couldn’t be much different from the prevailing narrative about America. Doom and gloom. Death and destruction. The end of the American empire! Empirically, this is all wrong. America is the most successful country in human history. The American-led post-war international order has served but America, and the rest of the free world extremely well. This is why, as a citizen of that world, I’m always yelling from the rooftops: America is awesome!

Of course, a lot of people would agree with that statement, with a caveat: America is great, sure, but not the cities! The caveat is even more perplexing to me than the general idea of American decline. America’s cities are its source of strength. Not just New York or San Francisco, but Boise, Denver, Austin - I could go on. American cities are prosperous, dynamic, and (with some highly localized exceptions) safe.

Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind when I try to make this point. How do people not see it? Touch grass, people, it’s nice out there! Then I remember that most American don’t really spend time in urban areas. They’re mostly familiar with New York or LA from television, which portrays them as flaming hellscapes. Happily ever after doesn’t make good television, after all.

None of this is original. There are mountains of data to prove what I’m saying here, but I don’t have time to comprehensively debunk every misguided narrative. Instead I’ll share some of what I’ve seen with my own two eyes.

I don’t just spent time in the hot spots like Brooklyn and San Francisco. My primary interest is mid-sized cities outside of the coasts. There was a time in my life when I wanted to write a book about the future of the I-29 corridor. I spent a lot of time in that part of the country when I lived in Winnipeg. Minneapolis was my home away from home. Kansas City was my favourite destination (best BBQ in the world!).

I’ve had corn dogs in Des Moines, Iowa. Brisket in Dallas. Fried Chicken sandwiches in Nashville. Ribs in Memphis. Mountains of wings in Buffalo. I’ve had most prominent regional specialty foods in America, and I’ve loved nearly all of them.2 America’s distinct regional cultures have bread all kinds of culinary innovation that make the long drives through the middle of the map worth it.

Americans are also extremely friendly. My fellow Canadians are sometimes perplexed when I say this, since Americans tend to think of us as the friendly ones. We’re polite, Americans are outgoing. If you’re sitting at a bar in Canada, it’s a bit unusual for a stranger to strike up a conversations. In much of America, it’s just expected. I was in Pittsburgh one time and was griping with a friend about how we arrived late and most of downtown was closing. The bartender overheard us talking about a place we love outside of downtown, and he drove us there. Americans can be abrasive, but make no mistake: they’re usually friendly.

Now, at this point you might think I’m cherry picking. What about the Rustbelt? What about the scary cities. Let’s talk about that.

Most American cities experienced some degree of decline as “white flight” started in the 1950s. Several cities like Buffalo have lost half their population since. Buffalo seemed a bit dodgy when I first visited two decades ago. Now it’s an actual destination for a lot of my Toronto friends. I’m overdue to get back.

But I guess Buffalo isn’t what the naysayers have in mind here. It’s places like Baltimore and Detroit. As it happens, I re-visited both last year on an impromptu trip. I stopped off in Cincinnati in between to complete the hat trick of high crime cities. I started out with a ball game in Detroit, spent some time in Cincinnati’s charming Over-the-Rhine neighbourhood (formerly the most dangerous neighbourhood in America), and enjoyed some seafood in Baltimore. Couldn’t ask for a better trip.

Look, I’m not going to tell you these places don’t have problems. There are pockets of deep poverty and high crime rates (the overlap probably isn’t coincidental). But the downtown cores of these cities are all thriving. The social problems that they have aren’t that the city cores are failing. It’s that there’s systemic poverty in pockets of the cities that are hidden away from tourists. That’s a real problem, but one that shouldn’t scare people off from visiting these cities.

Honestly, visit Detroit sometime. The downtown core is filled with old hotels that are now fancy cocktail bars, and they’ve got every major professional sport right in the city core. You can walk from obscenely good Detroit style pizza to a baseball game in like ten minutes. Ten out of ten, recommend.

America is a wonderful place. It’s easy to take things for granted when you’ve been on top of the world for more than a half a century. But you should feel good about America, including the cities that people often write-off. They’re good places filled with decent people fighting like hell to make things even better.

Happy Fourth of July, America. Keep on doing your thing.

It’s my birthday. So like any well-adjusted adult, I’m going to write about my deepest fear: the decline of the American-led global order. Foreign policy is depressing, so I only pay attention when I have no choice. I’m taking mission creep to a new level here, but I swear there’s a connection to my usual subject matter. I’ve got plenty of material, but little time. But I’ll have more material on North American urbanism soon, I promise. For now, existential dread.

I was born 42 years ago today, into a very different world. My earliest memories are from a military base in West Germany, a country that no longer exists, at a time when the West was vying for power with the Soviet Union, which also no longer exists. Sometimes history comes at you fast.

My father was stationed at CFB Lahr, which - you guessed it - no longer exists. What we now call Germany had one foot in the free world, the other under the boot of the Soviet Union. West Germany had a thriving capitalist economy, while their Eastern counterparts lived under communist rule. East Germans wanted freedom, so eventually they knocked the damn Wall down and the Soviet Union collapsed soon after. It’s almost certainly the most inspiring moment of my lifetime. I don’t remember it well – I was seven – but it was an early lesson: none of this is inevitable.

Those of us born during the Cold War remember a world that was on the knife’s edge. We like to tell ourselves stories about how victory was inevitable for the West. The creaky old Soviet war machine was bound to break down. Maybe. But there were inflection points. It’s not hard to write an alternate history where the Cold War ended organized human existence. The world is a dangerous place, even under the protective shield of military alliances that keep us safe. Without them, good luck.

All of what we do – all of what I talk about here – is underpinned by agreements. Some of them are pedestrian. Contracts, insurance policies, legal tender. Our word is our bond. Agreements and trust are the connective tissue that hold society together.

We often take those agreements for granted. That’s no surprise, given that they’re abstract. People don’t walk around thinking about gravity, so it’s no surprise most people aren’t fixated on the rules that underpin commerce or global security.

It’s easy to imagine that what happens outside of our vast borders doesn’t really affect us. Vladimir Putin taking a bit of soil from Ukraine doesn’t impact our lives in obvious ways. But it has consequences.

We live under the greatest protective shield known to mankind, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. It’s the lynchpin of the American-led global order that has underwritten the West’s post-war security and prosperity.

George Orwell wrote in 1942 that “we sleep soundly in our beds, because rough men stand ready in the night to do violence on those who would harm us." It’s easy to forget this in an era where conflicts seem so far off – both geographically and historically. We’re insulated from most conflicts by two oceans. Not all conflicts are contained by borders and oceans.

Collective security requires credible commitments. NATO makes this clear.

Article 5 provides that if a NATO Ally is the victim of an armed attack, each and every other member of the Alliance will consider this act of violence as an armed attack against all members and will take the actions it deems necessary to assist the Ally attacked.

What happens to our allies matters. We may be further from the front, but they keep us safe. If our resolve falters, and they aren’t able to deter conflicts anymore, we’ll have to make a choice. Do we walk away from our commitments, and hope that conflicts don’t reach our shores? The fact that we’re even having these conversations is enough to call our commitments into question.

This is especially worrying given that Ukraine is right on the border of NATO, and it’s being waged by a dictator who has far greater ambitions than taking a bit of Eastern Ukraine. There’s no reason to believe he’d stop there. All that really stands between Vladimir Putin and his imperial ambitions are the women and men in Ukraine, armed with whatever weapons we’re willing to send them. How long can they hold out? Can they drive out the invaders? Who knows. Nothing is inevitable.

Freedom isn’t cheap. But it has its perks.

We now live in a world I couldn’t have imagined as a child. With a few clicks of a button I can buy nearly anything I’d ever want from around the world, and have it on my doorstep in under 48 hours. I can book a ticket on my phone to fly to London or Paris tomorrow. North American cities that were in rough shape during my childhood have rocketed back to life. Places like Times Square that used to be thought of as scary are now playgrounds for global tourists. As an urbanist, it’s exciting!

This hasn’t just benefitted the middle and upper classes of wealthy countries. Global poverty has collapsed over the last half century. Globalization has unlocked untold wealth. It hasn’t been seamless, and we’ve made some short sighted decisions along the way. But by historical standards, everything is amazing under our protective shield.

Of course, this is all contingent on our commitments. If we let Ukraine falter, those assurances are all called into question. Ukraine isn’t a NATO country, but Poland is. Will Vladmir Putin stop at that border? A border he doesn’t view as legitimate? Will other potential adversaries decide they can pursue their own imperial ambitions with relatively few consequences? We don’t know. But it sure seems like a risk.

I don’t want to be sitting here thinking about foreign policy. I really don’t. It’s all too depressing. I get why people are feeling “Ukraine fatigue.” The costs are real, but we’re paying with cash, rather than blood. By historical standards, that’s a pretty good deal.

I haven’t been back to Europe since I was a teenager. I’m planning on doing so this fall. Roaming around under the security umbrella of NATO is an incredible luxury. I hope in decades to come, we can still do it. The American led global order may not be perfect, but you really don’t want to see what would replace it.

The freedom and prosperity we enjoy in the West isn’t guaranteed. The institutions that underpin our relatively cushy lives could falter. The free world has grown during my lifetime. There’s no reason it can’t shrink. Nothing is inevitable.

I’ve spent a lot of time in Pennsylvania and in Connecticut. But for reasons that will soon become obvious, I’d never visited either Scranton or Stamford, which you’ll recognize from the American version of Ricky Gervais’ hit show The Office. Given visiting small to mid-sized American cities is my only real hobby, and I’m a big fan of the first few seasons of the show, I figured it was time to visit.

I mostly expected to come back with a few observations about how the portrayals of the two cities in the show align with reality, but what I realized is the two cities are a convenient pairing to explain regional inequality in America. Strap in, this is going to be a long one.

As I’m sure most of you know, The Office centered on a branch of a struggling paper company, Dunder Mifflin. Competition from big box retailers like Staples meant that the company needed to get leaner. That included, eventually, consolidation.

Corporate was determined to close one of their branches. It came down to either Scranton, or the Stamford, Connecticut branch. This plot arc played out over the first three seasons, which also happened to be the show’s best.

Spoiler alert: corporate eventually chose to keep the Stamford branch, but after the manager leveraged his promotion to get a job at a competitor, Stamford won out. So Dunder Mifflin Scranton lived to fight another day. Rather, another six seasons.

It wasn’t just branch manager Michael Scott’s bizarre behaviour that put Scranton at a disadvantage. Scranton is also at a notable geographical disadvantage relative to places like Stamford.

Two towns, divided by geography

While the show hinted at the economic divide, and occasionally addressed some of the underlying causes, you could be forgiven for thinking they were just two random suburbs, one of which happens to be closer to New York (and on the water). It’s easy to get that impression, given that the show was filmed in California office parks. But this vastly understates the geographic divide.

Scranton is a relatively small, remote mountain town, 120 miles northwest of New York (and roughly the same distance to Philadelphia). Despite having a population of around 75,000, it’s the primary economic anchor of Lackawanna County (population: ~215,000). In other words, it’s the only economic game in town.

That anchor isn’t as strong as it once was. The city’s population peaked at over 140,000 in the 1930s, but the decline of the coal and textile industries dragged down the local economy. The city’s population stabilized in the 2000s, nearly 50 percent below its peak.

Stamford is an entirely different story. It’s nearly twice as large as Scranton, but, crucially, it’s part of the New York metro area, which is home to around 20 million people. In other words, it’s part of a labour market roughly 100 times larger than Lackawanna County. Size matters.

Cities and towns that are part large labour markets are better able to match people to jobs, and entrepreneurs to opportunities. There’s a good reason why even people who don’t like cities tend to cluster around them. Even the rise of hybrid work hasn’t really changed that.

You can see this divide in the data. Circling back to our two towns, the median household income in Michael Scott’s beloved Scranton, Pennsylvania is less than half as much ($48,776 vs $100,718) and the poverty rate is nearly twice as high (19.6 percent vs 10.1 percent) as his rival branch’s city, Stamford, Connecticut.

It’s not hard to see why. It’s much easier to attract and retain talent in a prosperous, centrally located city than a former coal town hours away from major cities. While the theme wasn’t necessarily explored in detail, it was there to see.1

Economic fortunes can diverge for many reasons. I don’t claim to have a definitive answer to why Stamford is doing better than Scranton. But geography matters. While infrastructure can help shrink geography (more on that later), communities in large labour markets have a major advantage in attracting people and investment.

Now, let’s get into some of my highly subjective observations from my visit. A few days isn’t a substitute for actually living somewhere, so I don’t claim that my observations are in any way definitive. But visiting the two cities really brought home the value of commuter rail in particular.

Stamford, CT

Stamford is only 40 miles from New York Penn Station. You can get there in 54 minutes on the Acela train. In other words, it’s within commuting distance of the center of global commerce.

Getting to Stamford was a breeze for me. Quick hour and 45 minute from Billy Bishop to Newark, took the air train to the Amtrak station, then it was an hour and 27 minute ride. Only real slowdown was at Penn Station, where the crew switched over and 300+ people boarded (sold out train). Most cities would beg for that kind of connection to a major international airport. It's like if you could get a train from Kitchener to Pearson. Yeah, you should be jealous. Look at all that leg room!

Arriving in Stamford, it’s clear that you’ve left the City. But it’s not like the train spits you out in the country either. The Amtrak station is just south of downtown, albeit separated by two highways. The station feels like a central hub for the city, rather than just an afterthought, as is often the case with North American rail stations. Though, as you can see, the station is oriented a little more around passengers arriving by car rather than pedestrians.

My first stop was Harbor Point, a pleasant mixed-use community just south of the station. I was planning to meet a friend from the City at Third Place by Half Full Brewery. Nice place, surprisingly good beer for a brewery in New England.2 As I was sipping on a taster flight, I got a text from my friend. He got stuck in Manhattan. I wasn’t fussed. I’d just meet him in the City later. Bought a $13 Amtrak ticket to Penn Station, carried on with my day. God I love commuter rail!

Harbor Point is clearly on the up and up. There are many new mid-rise apartments, and many more under construction. That should come as no surprise, given that it’s an hour away from Penn Station, and right by the water.

I wasn’t in the neighbourhood just for the beer or to gawk at surprisingly expensive apartments. I was there to visit the Dunder Mifflin Stamford office. Well, maybe not The Office per se. But the building they used for the external shots of the Stamford branch (333 Ludlow Street). It’s about a fifteen minute walk to the station, so you could clock out at 5pm and be in Manhattan for dinner at 6:30. Not a bad location.

As you can see, the area’s pretty quiet after hours. I was curious what the view from the office looks like after re-watching the third season. Copyright restriction wouldn’t allow me to take a screenshot of Jim Halpert’s new office view after he relocated from Scranton to Stamford, but if you fast forward to the 4:48 mark of Season 3, episode 1, you get a nice look. as Jim put it: “you can’t beat that view.”

Of course, that isn’t the real view. In fact, it looks suspiciously like an ocean view from, say, California - which is precisely what it is. As you might have guessed, the reality wasn’t so grand. Don’t get me wrong - it’s charming. But not exactly breathtaking.

Now, I kind of assumed that wandering around taking pictures of Dunder Mifflin Samford was a normal thing that people do. After all, the show has a big fanbase and it takes ten seconds of Googling to find the location. Apparently, it was unusual. A very nice security guard wandered outside to see why I was lurking around.3 He hadn’t seen the show and wasn’t aware of the connection. I guess I’m the only weirdo who’d bothered to make the pilgrimage lately. Maybe I do need better hobbies.

My next - and most important - destination should come as no surprise to any of you who knows me well. Pizza. Or, more accurately, Apizza. Connecticut’s contribution to America’s regional pizza culture. New Haven style pizza is considered one of the very best pizza styles in America. To my surprise (and delight), Sally’s now has a location in Stamford. Having previously waited multiple hours for a spot at their New Haven location, it was kind of nice to just walk in. Was it as good as the original location? I dunno. It’s hard to be objective about these things. It feels a bit more special when you’re at the original location. It was delicious, and that’s all that counts.

I can definitely see the appeal of Stamford. It’s just big enough that you’ve got most of the amenities you need, but small enough that you can drive around without too much trouble. Not quite a big city, but not quite a suburb. It’s a happy medium that will certainly please some, if not everyone.

The appeal of Stamford really came into focus midway through the third season of the show, as the two branches merged and some Stamford employees were offered the opportunity to relocate.

Jim Halpert: “You’d actually move to Scranton?”

Karen Filippelli: “Yeah, if they’d let me. I think I would.”

Jim: “New York City is 45 minutes down the road from here…and you want to move to Scranton. I dunno. If I were you, I’d move to New York.”

This illustrated the tradeoff, but I think undersold it. As we discussed, you don’t actually need to move to New York to take advantage of New York amenities. Western Connecticut is so well connected that you can visit every weekend. Scranton, by contrast, is not well connected to New York, Philadelphia, or anywhere. At least not by rail.

As fans of the show know, Karen followed Jim to Scranton, along with four of her Stamford branch colleagues. This was the least realistic part of the show. No one is moving to a small city in Pennsylvania to work for a failing paper company. In real life, they’d take the package and get a new job in the New York metro area. That, admittedly, would not make great television.

Scranton, PA

One unfortunately programming note. It rained most of the time I was in Scranton, so I don’t have as many photos as I’d like. Most notably, I didn’t manage to get a shot of the Penn Paper building that you’ll recognize from the credits. But I think I managed to get a good flavour of the city, which I rather enjoyed.

We’ve already established that geography isn’t as kind to Scranton as it is to Stamford. Scranton is three times as far from New York, and there isn’t another major economic anchor it can latch on to. Infrastructure can help shrink geography. But there isn’t even an Amtrak line at the moment. The Scranton-New York route was cancelled in 1970. However, there are plans to bring it back.

Scranton looks close enough to New York on a map. Indeed, it isn’t that far. It’s 122 miles west of Penn Station. That’s almost exactly the same distance as Kingston to Ottawa - a drive that few would think twice about. But with New York metro area congestion, it’s no joke. The drive through the Bronx is soul crushing. I’m rarely in a car within the boundaries of New York City, since getting around is easier by transit. Since there is no transit option, we had no choice. I can’t imagine anyone doing this drive unless they absolutely have to.

We arrived in Scranton without much of an agenda. I wanted to get a flavour for the city, but I didn’t know much beyond some scattered Office references.

One thing I was curious about was the old Amtrak station. I knew it still existed, but not where it was. As we arrived at our hotel, I saw it: the train station is the hotel now. No joke. I accidentally booked myself a night at the old train station.

The hotel is gorgeous. Much of the station is still in tact. The old benches are used as seating in the common spaces. It feels a bit haunted at night, though that might have been because when I asked about the history of the hotel the front desk clerks informed me that the place is haunted.

Keeping with the haunted and potentially murdery old hotel vibe, the hotel has an old cocktail bar that, if primed by ghost stories, might seem a bit like the bar from the Shining. It was quite lovely, assuming it wasn’t a merely a haunted delusion.

The bar is adjacent to the tracks. The old chandeliers are in place. It’s everything a train nostalgic could want, apart from the trains.

Speaking of trains, Scranton has two train museums that share the same parking lot: the Steamtown National Historic Site and the Electric City Trolley Museum. Believe if or not, Scranton was a streetcar pioneer. Nowadays, there is no rail passenger city of any kind in the city. For now. You may recall that one Joseph R Biden hails from these parts, and Amtrak Joe is pretty keen on reconnecting smaller cities to passenger rail.

The lack of passenger rail was somewhat surprising to me. Equally as surprising was the presence of streetcars in Scranton, operating or otherwise. I didn’t realize that Scranton was home to the first North American streetcar, which operated until 1954. Today, well, they seem to have some buses. But not much in the way of a mass transit system. Sigh.

Despite the dearth of mass transit, the city is surprisingly urban. While Stamford has many blocks downtown that feel like blocks adjacent to downtown in a relatively large city, Scranton feels a bit like its own city. I chalk that up to the remoteness, and the fact that it urbanized in a time when passenger rail was the default intercity transportation method. Parts of the core feel very much like they could be within the New York Metro area.

I had a pretty good time in Scranton. Stamford had more amenities obviously tailored to an urban guy in his 40s. But Scranton had its own character. There’s the bar adjacent to the old rail tracks. The Barcade imitation arcade bar that serves an “Italian Wedding Ramen,” or the various working class downtown bars that haven’t existing in most big cities since the 90s.

My favourite example was a bar my friend and I rendezvoused after I went to Cooper’s (more on that later). I was trying to keep myself to two drinks a night, since it was a long trip and I wanted to return home in good shape.

I was nursing my second glass of orange juice. A man who looked like a former linebacker who’d just finished a factory shift entered my orbit. He had two glasses in his hand, and was cheersing everyone. I kept my gaze ahead to avoid contact. No such luck.

The man eventually got our attention. He made some vague pleasantries as I sized him up. Could I take him down if I have to? I had theories. He seemed nice enough, though.

How’s yer night?

Good…good.

Whatcha drinkin’?

I’m taking it pretty easy.

Rumpleman’s!

Sorry…

Rumpleman’s! I’ve had like forty of these tonight.

The bartender looked at me like I wasn’t the first guy roped into this conversation.

Bartender! Three double Rumpleman’s!

I didn’t know precisely how my plans were about to be derailed, but the fix was in.

Ah. Rumple Minz. A peppermint schnapps. I stared at the plastic cup in my hand and thought about the life choices that lead up to this moment. I suppose there are worse fates.

We all took the shot. It wasn’t bad. Our new friend was pleased. I was mysteriously feeling a little better about my quasi-sobriety. He was fun. Couldn’t make heads or tails of who he was, given his state. But he managed to carry himself alright for a guy with a belly full of schnapps.

Eventually he took off, as though he was punching out from a shift. That was that. On to the next place for him, I assume. Godspeed.

Had I learned something from this interaction? Had I been initiated into some ancient Appalachian ritual? Maybe he was just a nice guy with interesting tastes. Probably nothing learned here. Oh, well. On to the next place.

Our destination that night was Cooper’s. It’s a kitschy looking seafood place that got a few mentions on the show. My suspicion is that it has only survived because of the show. It’s a bit space, meaning they need to do a lot of volume. And old school seafood restaurants aren’t exactly on trend. Indeed, they leaned into the show. They have multiple references to the show posted inside and outside.

As much as it looks like a tourist trap - and clearly markets itself to tourists - it’s good. Whether it’s a chowder or a plate of shrimp scampi, you’re going to leave happy. It’s a reminder of the value of tourism. Something in short supply there. Something made more difficult by the lack of rail access.

One of the great things about infrastructure is that it can, in some cases, make up for geography. Think of the Erie Canal, for instance, which connected Western and Central New York to New York City. Without it, we’d never have heard of Buffalo, for instance. Geography can shrink distances, creating opportunities further from the great centers of commerce.

Amtrak plans to do just that, albeit on a limited scale. They plan to provide three daily round trips between Scranton and New York, which should come in at about 3:25. Certainly useful for occasional travel, but not a reasonable commuting distance. Still, under 3.5 hours to New York beats the total flight time from most places west of Chicago. If there was a three and a half hour train from Toronto to New York, you better believe I’d used it. It takes longer than that to get to Ottawa, and I do that trip regularly.

Even if it’s not a reasonable daily commuter distance, the new Amtrak line should make living in Scranton a more viable option for some. If you need to be in the City now and then, but not every day, having the option to get the train in and out a few times a month might be enough. Given the extreme discrepancies in housing prices between much of the New York metro area and Scranton, this could unlock some badly needed reasonably affordable housing. It’s not free - the estimated capital cost is $2.9 billion, with an annual operating budget of $87 million - but you’d be shocked to know how much governments are willing to spend on far less useful projects.

Of course, there’s some skepticism. Steamtown is adjacent to the likely location for the Amtrak stop. It on the rail line and adjacent to the bus depot. So, by process of elimination, this is probably it (unless they plan to reposes the hotel).

I happened to bump into a man who worked for one of the rail companies. I asked him about the Amtrak project. He chuckled. It wasn’t the first time there were rumours of a new Amtrak service. I told him there is actual funding attached to it this time. He told me he’d believe it when he saw it. Fair enough.

Turning around smaller cities outside of major metro areas isn’t easy. But having the right infrastructure is a necessary, if not sufficient condition. Not everyone wants to use the train, but if you want to give people access to high paying urban jobs and attract new residents who are tethered to those jobs, people need options. No one would bat an eye at spending $3 billion on a new highway. No reasons the government can’t provide basic train service.

Scranton will probably never be Stamford (sorry, Michael). But better connection to the New York metro area should help shrink the income gap with the New York metro area, at least a bit. I hope, anyways.

A microcosm for America’s small cities

What really fascinated me about the two cities is how clearly they captured the divide between small cities within and outside of major metropolitan areas. This is often portrayed as a gap between the coasts and flyover country, but in reality, proximity to any major city - whether it’s New York or Oklahoma City - is a major economic advantage.

One challenge that is somewhat unique to American cities is that the country is dotted with old single industry towns, much like Scranton, whose primary industry no longer exists. They’re often remote, and their infrastructure was oriented more towards regional than national or global trade. That makes participating in a global economy oriented around major hubs and ports challenging.

One potential answer for some of these cities is finding ways to plug into bigger economies. That might mean slightly better infrastructure to make periodic trips easier, or perhaps becoming attractive destinations for people with niche interests, or flexible workers who would be happy to live in a smaller center in exchange for a lower cost of living. None of these will turn Scranton into Stamford. But they could be part of the puzzle.

Of course, we often get caught up in discussions of talent attraction, rather than providing a good quality of life for existing residents. I’m at least as guilty as the next person. But for declining towns, attracting and retaining people is crucial. If towns like Scranton are going to preserve their quality of life, they need to maintain a stable tax base. If you can’t staff the paper company, you’re going to run into trouble.

Finding creative ways to stabilize smaller, more remote communities is one of America’s central challenges right now. America operates on easy mode. It’s the world’s dominant economy. They can afford to make a lot of mistakes and still create an immense amount of wealth. The trouble is, much of that wealth finds its way to a few major metropolitan areas. Americans need to find a way to help more communities participate in the new economy. Because no matter how well the broader economy is working, leaving behind large swaths of people can bring a country to dark places.

That’s a bit of a pessimistic note to end on, especially for someone who is extremely optimistic about America’s future. But rather than try to drag this to a cheerful conclusion, I’ll just leave you with a fun video of Scranton’s second most iconic landmark. You’re welcome.

A quick programming note, and an overdue explanation. As some of you may know, I recently joined the Institute for Research on Public Policy to work on an exciting new project. It's a bit of a departure from my work on transportation and housing policy, but it's not my first such pivot. Since it's a long, deep dive project, my public writing will be limited for the foreseeable future. I will, however, continue to write pieces here occasionally, mostly during my travels. I will aim for a short post every couple of weeks and some more detailed pieces every month or two. I have several in the queue that I think you'll like. For now, an explanation of my weird fixation on Long Island.

If you're not interested in my overly long personal journey and digression on hockey, but are interested in things Canadians (particularly Ontarians) can learn from Long Island, jump to the section “Get to the point, Steve!”

What's with the Islanders thing?

If you know me from Twitter, but not in real life, you've probably noticed the occasional out of left field reference to Long Island. If you've been following me long enough, you might even recall that I used to Tweet far too much about the New York Islanders. I'm sure that all seems extremely random for someone who's never lived in the New York metro area. It comes up often enough when I meet online friends IRL, so clearly some of you are curious.

I've been meaning to write a long post about Long Island since I started this little writing project. Now is as good a time as any, I guess.

There are a lot of directions I could go with this post. I'll start with hockey.

People are always confused when I tell them I’m an Islanders fan. It seems totally irrational. Someone ten years older than me could plausibly be a dynasty era holdover. Bossy! Potvin! Trottier! I was four years old when Mike Bossy retired, so I didn’t know the glory days. In fact, they’ve been terrible for most of my life. So, what gives?

Sports fandom is usually quite simple. Most people cheer for the home team. I was an army brat, so there really wasn’t a logical home team. My hometown is Canada. There was no automatic team for me to cheer for from birth. We moved to Eastern Ontario when I was ten, so I became a Canadiens fan for awhile. It was good timing. I got to see Patrick Roy lead the Montreal Canadiens to an improbable Stanley Cup win in 1992-93, the only time a team I've cheered for has won a championship. That year also planted the seeds for my future Islanders fandom.

History is written by the victors. We all know about the guys who won the Stanley Cup that year. The story that really captured my imagination was about the losers. More specifically, the team that the Canadians beat in the Prince of Wales Conference (now Eastern Conference) finals.

On paper, the New York Islanders had no business being in the conference finals. The glory days of the 1980s were long behind them. The organization was drifting. They were a few years out from one of the most disastrous periods of management and ownership in the history of professional sports. This was the last gasp of a once great franchise before entering a very dark period.

The 1992-93 Islanders had two things going for them. The first, was future Hall of Fame center Pierre Turgeon. Turgeon wasn't the biggest star on earth. He wasn't a Lemieux, Gretzky, or even Yzerman. But he was very good. That's what Dale Hunter was thinking when he took a run at Turgeon in the first round as he celebrated a goal. With Turgeon in the press box, the Islanders only had one thing left going for them: legendary coach Al Arbour.

Al Arbour was the last vestige of the glory days. He'd coached the team to four straight Stanley Cups. I tend to think coaching is a bit overrated, but the depleted New York Islanders team was getting ready to face off against the defending champion Pittsburgh Penguins in the second round. On paper, it should have been a four game massacre. And, yet.

No one thought the Islanders had a chance to win the series. No one, except Al Arbour. Before the series began, he sat his players down.

He looked around the room and asked Pat Flatley: “Can you tie one shift against Mario Lemieux? Just tie it, we don’t need you to win anything.”

“Yeah, I can tie one shift, sure,” Flatley said.

Arbour turned to Ray Ferraro.

“Can you tie one shift?”

“Of course,” Ferraro answered.

Arbour repeated the bit with the rest of the locker room. “There you go, first period’s done. Now for the second period...”

He repeated the exercise. When he finished, Arbour looked around the room.

“If that’s our philosophy, it’ll come down to Game 7,” he said. “And we only have to win one shift.”

Sure enough, they went on to win the series in overtime of Game 7. They won that one shift. It was arguably the biggest upset in the history of hockey. Childhood Steve can probably thank them for that Canadiens Stanley Cup win.

That was filed away in the back of my brain for years. I can't help but cheer for an underdog story. I became less and less engaged with hockey in adulthood. I watched it, but after years of disillusionment with my childhood team, I didn't have strong feelings. I vividly remember one time as an undergrad sitting around with a good friend, who recently passed away. Talking heads on TSN were roasting the New York Islanders organization, which had been a complete dumpster fire for years. They'd recently named the backup goalie general manager. I kind of thought they were being unfair. I thought of that years later, as I stepped in the old Nassau Coliseum in Uniondale, New York.

This is where hockey merged with my North American travels.

Hello, Long Island!

Long Island isn't the first place most Canadians think to visit in the New York metro area. The western portion of Long Island, Nassau County, is thought of as a bedroom community for New York. Unless you can afford to vacation further east in the Hamptons, the only time you're likely to step foot on (but not in) Long Island is if you're visiting Brooklyn, which is part of the physical landmass of Long Island, but not the political jurisdiction (it's one of New York City's five boroughs).

I became a frequent visitor by chance. As an undergrad, I happened to make a good friend from Long Island who was studying in Canada. His parents have a place in Nassau County that he often housesits during winter. He suggested I come to New York to catch a couple of hockey games. Why not?

This coincided with a weird phase where I'd almost entirely stopped watching hockey, other than to watch the twilight years of some of my favourite childhood players. My favourite forward as a kid was Chris Drury, a jack of all trades centerman who happened to be playing out his remaining days as captain of the New York Rangers. He'd embraced a limited role as a faceoff specialist and penalty killer, despite coming over on a giant contract. I've always been fond of skilled players who embrace the defensive side of the game.

So there we were in Madison Square Gardens. This was only my second or third time in New York, certainly the first time I was there for fun. The game was fantastic.

Rangers/Bruins. Even game, went to a shootout. Several rounds in, still tied. Then it happened. Chris Drury stepped onto the ice. I was probably the only guy in the building excited about this development. But my enthusiasm was infectious. All of a sudden the building lit up, and he scored to win the game! Couldn't have scripted it better.

Nothing was going to beat this. Or so I thought. The next day, we drove out to Nassau Veteran's Memorial Coliseum. Imagine a concrete building loosely inspired by the Roman Coliseum in the middle of a suburban parking lot. It doesn't automatically inspire awe. The interior, even less so. That is, unless you're a hockey nostalgic.

The old Coliseum seemed like a scaled up version of a junior hockey rink. It didn't have any of the modern arena frills. It was cold and loud. Instead of video montages and pump-up music, we got organ music and an applause meter. The organists and the fans were the soundtrack of the building. I fell in love with it immediately.

The thing that really got me was the fans. This was a pretty low-stakes game. Islanders/Thrashers. No one here was in the playoff race. You wouldn't know it from the fans. It was a fun game. The kind of high scoring affair that wasn't common in that era. I think it was about 5-2. The fans were absolutely nuts. Who were these lunatics, cheering on this hopeless team?

You really had to be hardcore to be an Islanders fan in that era. The roster had been systematically dismantled by a riverboat gambler of a general manager, ownership turmoil resulted in the organization being bought by a conman who massively exaggerated his personal wealth in order to secure financing for the team (he remains incarcerated to this day), and the new owner knew absolutely nothing about hockey (he famously pontificated about hiring a sumo wrestler to play goalie, but instead offered a disastrous long term contract to Rick DiPietro, whose career was cut short by injuries). There wasn't much reason to stick with these guys. Yet, some did. They’re my kind of people.

I'd been to a few hockey games before then. I'd never been in a building with fans who were that universally engaged. It was infectious. I've gone to a few games a year ever since. It’s a big part of what got me interested in exploring North American cities. There’s so much to learn from the New York metro area - not just the City.

Get to the point, Steve!

Alright, so I've explained why I spend time on Long Island. I still haven't made the case for why you should care about it. Here goes.

It probably won’t surprise you to hear that it comes back to urbanism. Or, I suppose, suburbanism.

A popular Canadian columnist wrote a piece last year arguing that Canada is a “suburban, car-commuting nation.” I wrote about it here. In short, he has a point. Around 2/3rds of Canadians live in suburban communities. While I’ve spent most of my time over the past few years arguing for better cities, making better suburbs is probably an even more important task in Canada.

Frankly, Canada’s suburbs could use a lot of work. We don’t have many of the kind of commuter suburbs you see in the New York metro area. Admittedly, New York is an exception on the continent. But with the investments we’re making in commuter rail, the New York metro area could be a preview of Southern Ontario’s future.

The suburbs of New York are far more connected by rail to the City than most North American suburbs. Whether it's Long Island, western Connecticut, or northern New Jersey, the suburbs of New York City are build around commuter rail. The vast majority of people own cars, and use them to get around their towns. But they can get into the city without getting stuck in traffic by wandering to their local train station. You can get dropped off at Mineola Station in the morning, and be at Penn Station in 35-40 minutes. On the way back home you can walk across the street to Recovery Room and get a beer while waiting for your partner to pick you up. If you want access to a big city labour market and amenities but want some room to stretch your legs without enduring commuter hell, you can't do any better than Long Island.

I’m not a big suburban guy, but even I find myself thinking that if we had something like Garden City in the GTA, I might well live there. It’s the kind of suburb we can and should build.

Canada doesn’t have anything like Long Island. Not yet, anyways. Canada's suburban areas largely emerged in the post-war, car-first planning era. We have some traditional streetcar suburbs, like my neighbourhood in East Toronto. But we don't really have commuter train suburbs. What we do have is commuter train stations that serve communities orbiting Toronto. The station tend to be isolated from the communities, floating in oceans of parking. Moreover, they tend to have fairly limited schedules. For now.

Arguably the most exciting thing happening in Canada from an urbanist perspective right now is the GO train buildout in the GTA. Once we get to two-way all-day service levels, it will be much easier to live the Long Island type commuter lifestyle here.

Take Guelph, for example. Guelph had all of the ingredients to be a Nassau County type commuter town. The GO station is in the center of town, surrounded by amenities within walking distance. Unfortunately, limited scheduling means it's not a practical means for daily commuters. Once two-way all-day trains are available on a frequent basis, it will be an incredible place to live for people who need to work in Toronto but want a smaller city feel.

Of course, most GO stations aren't quite so conveniently situated. They rely more on park and rides to funnel people into the trains. But those parking lots are valuable space that could be used to help address Southern Ontario's dire housing shortage, and to provide other amenities. Part of the challenge is a lack of imagination. We can re-think these stations by looking to places like Nassau County to see what works.

I'm optimistic about the future of the GTA suburbs. It'll take some time, but I think we'll get there. Spending time on Long Island makes me optimistic, because I see that there is demand for the commuter rail lifestyle.

Take Farmingdale, for example. They've got a cute, walkable mainstreet with new condos a short walk to the train station. It's a lovely little community. Could Brampton's Innovation District look like that some day? I don't see any reason why not. Downtown Brampton has a walkable, if underused core. So do several communities in the GTA. There’s no reason we have transit-oriented suburbs here!

Every place is different. But we can get some clues from looking at places that have already been there. If you want to get excited about the GO buildout, look no further than Nassau County.

Despite the fact that Nassau County is fairly oriented around commuter rail, it sports were not - until recently. Remember I mentioned the old Coliseum? That's because the team has a new building. One of the big flaws of the Coliseum was that there weren't really any public transportation options. It's part of why during the team's darkest days attendance was sparse. You couldn't even down a few beers to paper over your disappointment without risking a DUI. The new building at Belmont Park has an Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) stop (and another nearby with shuttle service to the games). Islanders games were famous for parking lot tailgate parties because there weren't any walkable amenities around. Now fans show up largely by train and can tailgate outside if they choose, taking advantage of the food trucks, vendors, fire pits, and so forth. Or they can just walk inside to numerous bars and restaurants. The old parking lot tailgates were fun. But I don't think anyone would really want to go back to it, if we're being honest.

Now, I'll admit. I'm a bit of a commuter train romantic. But it's not just aesthetic, or even my own lifestyle preferences. Or, the environmental and safety benefits of reducing car dependency. It also gives people opportunities to socialize, and mix with people they might not otherwise be likely to meet. It's hard to build community when we're all stuck in cars alone.

The beauty of commuter rail, unlike a subway or a streetcar, is that people are on the train for awhile. They almost have no choice but to socialize. I think it's especially important for older folks. Let me give you a recent example.

A few weeks ago when I was on Long Island we decided to pop over to New Jersey for an afternoon Devils game. LIRR to Penn Station, New Jersey Transit train to Newark. Easy.

The train was busy that morning. Turned out there was a college basketball game at the Garden. There were at least five groups of people chatting in our train car. Three of the groups near us were older men. They were all having a great time speculating about the game, chatting about whatever. There was a pair of guys who were probably in their 70s having a coffee across from us, having a grand old time. I couldn't help but think that if it weren't for the train, none of these people would’ve been going to Manhattan for a basketball game. If the the train didn't exist, some of them might not have left the house that day. It's kind of sad to think of them sitting at home watching the game alone. It's hard to have functioning communities without incidental social interactions like these. I'm not saying car dependency is responsible for the deep current of alienation running through large swaths of America. But it sure doesn't help.

Back to optimism. The GTA is going to have a lot more commuter rail options down the line. I look forward to more people having the chance to not only get to work without traffic hell, but also to have more options to get around the region. I want to be those old guys on the train when I’m 70! More mobility options are an unalloyed good. Especially when they bring people together, even for a moment.

So that’s the Long Island thing. I hope in a few decades I’ll be saying the same thing about the 905. I’m optimistic I will.

I was standing on the platform of the Innovation District GO Train station in Brampton. The 3:47pm Kitchener line train to Toronto was due soon. That was my guess, anyways. My phone had died, and there wasn't anywhere apparent to plug it in. And there was no clock at the station.

I didn't want to hassle my fellow passengers, who were clearly as impatient as I was. So, I just stared periodically down the somewhat straight tracks out into the distance. West, I presumed. The sun was going down, so it had to be.

A train appeared in the distance. Finally.

"Excuse me," a young woman said in what I presumed to be a Ukrainian accent. "Is this train to Union?"

I chuckled. "I hope so." Hopefully I didn't sound like a jerk, but I was tired. In and out of Brampton isn't exactly a quick jaunt. Not from my place in East Toronto. Not yet.

The young lady and her boyfriend jockeyed to get a spot on the train, which blew right through the station.

We looked at each other, and I shrugged. We weren't getting off that easy.

Five minutes later, maybe ten. The crowd had grown. Several restless young men on bikes were now hanging around. The train was scheduled to arrive at Union at 4:28pm, just in time to start the dinner time delivery rush. Or that was the plan. Time is money in their line of business, and the clock was ticking.

A friendly looking man who appeared to be in his 30s sidled up to me. He casually titled his phone towards me as he looked at the train schedule.

"Hi there, are you waiting for the train to Union."

Once again, with slightly less patience: "I hope so."

The man laughed. I felt bad for not having an answer, so I turned to the increasingly agitated crowd I'd tried to avoid disturbing.

“Yes…”

There's my good deed for the day.

The man was looking for a conversation. He took note of what he assumed was a corporate badge tucked in my breast pocket.

"Do you work in Brampton."

"No, just here for a meeting."

I wasn't in the mood to chat, but he seemed nice. Besides, he wasn't going anywhere.

"How about you?"

He had a pretty classic Brampton story. Arrived three months ago from Punjab. Brampton was his landing spot since he had friends there. He was heading to Toronto for a job interview. Seemed extremely prepared and polished. Hope he got it.

As time dragged on, he casually moved on, knowing that me and my dead phone weren't going to answer his most pressing question: would he make it on time for his interview?

Every now and then I'd see a flicker of light in the distance. Or at least it seemed that way. When your brain is looking for patterns, it finds them. After my false hope had been exhausted, I finally saw what was, in fact, the train.

We all piled on and got into Union about at 5:12 - 44 minutes late. So Brampton to Union in 1:25 rather than the posted 41 minutes. That’s the difference between being much faster and much slower than driving at rush hour (Google’s estimate at 4:31pm is 1:07). It’s an appealing service, if it’s on time. That’s a huge caveat, as I found out.

I’m optimistic things will improve as GO rolls out two-way all day trains every fifteen minutes, eventually. But when? I was in Brampton to find out. The badge in my pocket was from the Mayor’s State of the City address. I hoped I’d get some clues there.

I became fixated on the Kitchener Line out of annoyance. I’ve had to cancel two trips out to conferences in Waterloo because the morning train schedule wouldn’t get me there in time. I happened to vent about this to a rail advocate in my network, and as we went back and forth I started to realize that this is also an issue for (and in) Brampton. So I went out to meet him to discuss the project, and to see if I could tease some answers out of local pols. I still have more questions than answers.

Here's what I know. The Kitchener line, like most North American commuter rail, has to navigate tracks owned by freight companies. We’re a big country that exports to global markets. The best way to move most goods to the coasts is by rail. Canada needs our freight rail companies to be fast and efficient to get our products to market. That presents a challenge for passenger rail, since freight rail gets priority over passenger trains when they conflict.

That’s a big problem for Brampton GO riders. Some of the major pinch points for the Kitchener line are in and around Brampton. They’ll cost money to resolve. We’ll have no choice but to resolve those issues if we’re going to achieve the government’s goal of two-way all-day service every 15 minutes on the Kitchener line.

The challenges aren’t insurmountable. We need an extra track segment, and a tunnel outside the city core. That’s not earth shattering. It will cost money, but nothing too serious. The Government has allocated $1.4 billion to improve travel times (and frequency) on the Kitchener line. For a project that enhances connectivity between Toronto and several large (and small) GTA cities including Kitchener, Guelph, and Brampton, that’s not bad. We should do it sooner rather than later.

Two-way all-day service every 15 minute would be a game changer for Brampton commuters.  No more showing up at the station, hoping the once an hour train doesn’t get stuck behind a freight train. And with increased frequency, there’s less need to arrive early since you can always catch the next train. That would make a tangible difference in the lives of the people I was stuck on the train platform with, and the many people who would prefer to use the train, but are stuck in traffic instead. For now, they wait. And wait.

Late last year I decided to fly down to Florida to try out the (relatively) new Brightline passenger train between Miami and Orlando. It caught my attention for a couple of reasons. First, it’s the first privately funded passenger train North America has seen in quite some time. Second, it’s branded as high speed rail. As a market urbanist, I naturally had to check it out.

I went to South Florida expecting to come back talking about speed. Instead, I want to talk about comfort.

I didn’t do much research on Brightline before booking my trip. Had I done so, I might have changed my mind about visiting. The train wasn’t all that it seemed.

I was sitting on a train to Ottawa in early December, about a week before my trip to Florida. I decided to compare the travel time to my current trip. According to Google Maps, the distance between Toronto and Ottawa is similar to Miami to Orlando (402km vs 380km). The posted travel time for my Toronto to Ottawa trip was 4:28, compared to 3:25 for my upcoming Florida trip. In other words, an hour and three minutes longer for an extra 22 kilometers. Certainly faster, but the difference was less than I expected. For context, Via Rail’s high frequency rail plan (often panned as too slow) aims to get people between Toronto and Ottawa in under three hours. In other words, Florida’s high-speed train isn’t that fast.

This was a deflating revelation. Florida was never at the top of my travel agenda. I hadn’t been since I was a kid. But I’m glad I went. Because despite the relatively modest speed of the train, it was by far the best travel experience I have ever had.

After a fun few days in Miami with a friend Planes, Trains, and Automobiles experience that nearly ended with me missing the train while stranded on the Miami monorail in a torrential rain storm, I just wanted to get home. I arrived a few minutes before the posted departure and, what do you know - half hour delay. Not a great start.

Then I arrived at security. That was unexpected. I’m used to just being able to walk into a train station, but it’s Florida, so I guess you never know who’s armed. But there was no line, so it was only a minor annoyance.

Things started looking up once I passed through the airport like security. The station is nice and bright, and has reasonable amenities, including a bar/cafe and a shop with some grab and go snacks.

All that was fine and good, but I had lounge access (after polling my Twitter followers, I splurged on a $139 business class ticket). They had a decent spread of charcuterie and some non-alcoholic beverages. Nothing special, but comfortable. Also felt a bit futuristic, at least compared to North American comparators. Just scan the QR code, into the business lounge you go.

When the train arrived, boarding was a breeze. I wish I'd taken a picture (I had my hands full), but the process was refreshingly simple. They rope off the escalators until the train arrives, pull it back, and everyone just walks onto the train. No elaborate boarding process. They just scan your ticket onboard. That's a much nicer experience than my home station in Toronto, where people need to queue up (unless you’re in business class).

There’s something civilized about just walking onto a train. Airports are always a bit of a process. Arrive early. Wait in the security line. Kill time sitting in an overcrowded bar, or maybe a bench by the gate if you’re lucky enough to get one. It’s nice just walking into a downtown station and wandering casually on to the train. It’s relaxing, even.

The revelation came when I sat down. The seats. My God, the seats! Twenty-one inch wide hand stitched leather seats, and an unbelievable amount of leg room. I didn’t even bother putting my bag in the overhead compartment since I had room for it in front of my legs. Pure luxury.

Apologies for the low-quality video (and the shot of my bare legs), but here’s a quick look at the interior from my seat. Look at all that room!

Then comes the service. Pretty good food, if a bit plain (I initially forgot to take a picture, so here’s what it look like part way through). And a couple of exceptional Florida beers on offer. What more could I ask for?

Things chugged along at a pretty good pace. I wasn’t able to verify whether we hit the top speed of 200km/h, but it sure felt like it at times flying up the coast. Of course, the high(er) speeds are limited to segments with dedicated track. So there were definitely times when it felt like a typical North American passenger train, speed wise. We also ended up being a half hour late, owing to our delayed departure.

Honestly, I didn’t even care about the delay. I had an incredibly comfortable seat, a nice view of the coast, two excellent Florida IPAs. It wasn’t much different than hanging out at a nice lounge. Needless to say, I was satisfied (though tired, as you can see).

The station in Orlando is even nicer than the Miami side. High ceilings, a nice cocktail bar. I tried to get into the business lounge, though apparently passes only work at the originating station. You’ll have to take my word that it’s nice.

The weird thing about the station is that it’s actually attached to the airport. I suppose this would be quite handy if you were flying into Orlando and taking the train on to Miami. I’m assuming that’s a minority of trips, but I suppose a nice option.

The downside to the airport location is it’s a beast of a trip downtown. Apparently there’s a rail station a 15 minute drive away, but if you need to get an Uber anyways, might as well just go right downtown.

Ordinarily when we compare rail to air travel, we focus on travel time. On that metric, Brightline does ok. Three hours and twenty-five minutes isn’t bad, considering it’s an hour and ten minute plus flight. Build in an hour of cushion at the airport and it’s 3:25 vs 2:10. The plane still wins, and you can get an economy seat in a low-cost carrier for about the same as Brightline business class. But if I could spare the extra hour and fifteen minutes, there’s no question I’d choose Brightline.

Brightline isn’t only more comfortable than flying, but the time is more useful. There’s plenty of room for your laptop, no need to worry about sketchy airplane WiFi, and you can take a call if you need. It’s like your own roving office, but with drink service. It’s a WiFi hobo’s dream come true!

Until and unless we get more dedicated track in North America, trains won’t be able to compete on speed. Brightline’s new project between LA and Las Vegas will be the first legitimate high speed rail line in North America, which may inspire further investments. For now, we should focus on what rail can do better than air travel: comfort.

Canada is in the grips of a serious housing crisis. While it started as a South of Bloor phenomenon, it quickly spread out to the entire country over the past several years. It’s no longer something we can ignore. Happily, it’s an issue politicians finally began to take seriously in 2023.

Not only have politicians finally got the message that we’re in a housing crisis, but they’ve started to act. It started with small things, like Ontario’s Bill 23 that challenged the taboo against upper levels of government getting involved in municipal land use policy.1 The new federal minister of housing, Sean Fraser, started using the Housing Accelerator Fund to entice cities to end single-family only zoning in many large and medium sized cities. Then the Government of BC, motivated by the most imbalanced housing market in the country, passed the most ambitious housing reforms in North America, legalizing massive amounts of density near transit stops.

Of course, these reforms will take time to work, especially given the combination of tight financial conditions and a tight labour market. There’s not a lot of slack out there. As interest rates gradually fall, it will get easier to finance projects. But unless a lot more Canadians put down their laptops and pick up hammers, it’ll take time to recruit enough construction labour to meet our goal of doubling housing production.

This post isn’t meant to be any kind of comprehensive overview of housing progress this year. I wish I’d found the time to write that post. Rather than being bound by the calendar, I’ll probably wait until the Housing Accelerator Funds have all been allocated.

For now, I mostly wanted to push back on some of the pessimism out there. We are making progress. If you’d told me 18 months ago the federal government would succeed in convincing most big municipal governments to end single-family only zoning and the Government of British Columbia would turn NIMBY Vancouver into a YIMBY success story, I would not have believed you.

The idea of provincial, let alone federal, intervention in local land-use policy was extremely controversial last year. Now federal and provincial politicians are competing to show that they will do more than their opponents. That’s a major change, and one that YIMBYs in particular should celebrate. We’re winning! Let’s do more of that in 2024!

If 2023 was the year we started taking housing seriously, I hope 2024 is the year we start sweating the details. Legalizing more density is a big step. But there’s often a gap between legality and viability. We need to make sure that adding density is financially viable, and that it can be done fast. That’s our task in 2024. Let’s get on it!

I don’t usually do this here. Or maybe I do? I’m still figuring out what I’m doing with this thing. But a recent Globe & Mail column has spurred a lively debate on the future of the suburbs - a topic that motivated this whole endeavor. Naturally, I have some thoughts.

Globe & Mail columnist John Ibbitson’s recent column Politicians Need to Remember That This is a Suburban, Car-Commuting Nation unsurprisingly got some attention from urbanist Twitter. Given the title, it might surprise you to hear that I generally agree with the premise.

Like it or not, that is the reality of current day Canada. Moreover, the typical North American family is enamored with the suburban ideal. Urbanists may not like it, but the dream of detached home ownership - or something like it - isn’t going away any time soon. Politicians ignore this at their peril.

However, I’ll argue that our current growth patterns were not the inevitable result of consumer choices, that we’re hitting the limits of auto-oriented sprawl in Canada’s largest metropolitan areas, and that tomorrow’s suburbs probably won’t be exclusively car-oriented.

Ibbitson’s argument, as I interpret it, rests on three key pillars.

1. Liberal politicians increasingly ignore the suburbs and abhor suburban development.

2. While there are downsides to suburban sprawl (pollution, infrastructure costs, detrimental health outcomes), they do ultimately provide a decent quality of life for families, and that is the bottom line for most people.

3. Meeting Canada’s housing demand “means building cities out.”

I largely agree with points one and two. Point three, I’ll push back on a bit.

People often assume that sprawling subdivisions are a free-market outcome. In reality, the suburbs as we know them are the product of heavy handed government regulations like single-family zoning and heavy investments in direct financing of post war homes and indirect subsidies through infrastructure spending.

I don’t think that Mr. Ibbitson would disagree with that (he notes, for instance, the cost of infrastructure required to build and sustain the suburbs), but it’s worth laying down that marker since it’s pretty common for people to claim that density is some kind of social engineering, while sprawl is the natural human impulse. Mixed-use, moderately dense housing development has existed since the dawn of human civilization. It took governments to invent car-only suburbs.

Where I’ll start to actually disagree with the author is that sprawl will continue apace. I do think, for reasons that I’ll get into in future posts, that some sort of urban expansion is going to be inevitable. but I don’t think that cul-de-sacs are going to ever be the dominant form of housing expansion again. After all, we’re running up against some serious logistical limitations.

Let’s put aside the Greenbelt for a second. We’ll also ignore the costs of connecting infrastructure like highways. Suppose a future government was bent on reverting to the GTA’s old sprawly ways. Problem: traffic is already a nightmare. Funneling more cars into the Old City of Toronto isn’t going to work. Traffic is worse than it was pre-COVID, even with people only going to the office 2-3 days a week. Unless we start to tunnel new highways under the city at an unfathomable cost or knock down the very buildings that bring people and commerce downtown to widen roads, it’s just not clear how we’re going to get more cars into the city core, where the jobs are. Even if we did, we’d soon run into the Fundamental Law of Road Congestion: if you add more lanes you’ll get more cars, leaving congestion unchanged.

And, let’s be clear: current levels of congestion are brutal, even if they don’t get worse (which they almost certainly will. Here’s a little example. Milton, Ontario is one of the fastest growing Canadian suburbs. I just checked Google Maps how long it would take to get from the heart of the Canadian economy to Milton at 3pm on a Thursday. An hour and eleven minutes. Not great. Add tens of thousands more cars heading into Toronto each year, and it gets much worse.

Now, here’s where I go back to potentially agreeing with the author (you can’t fully know a man based on a column!): most families do want something approaching suburban housing, and it will come whether urbanists really want it to or not (note: most of us aren’t actually against detached housing). I just don’t think it’s going to be quite as car-oriented and uniform as it is now.

There are a lot of reasons to expect change. For one thing, federal housing Minister Sean Fraser is going around the country ending single-family only zoning one city at a time. He’s also got competition. Provincial governments are making their own moves, particularly in British Columbia where Ravi Kahlon is busy setting the standard for housing policy reform in North America. The days of developers being legally limited to building either subdivisions or high rises1 is coming to an end.

Moreover, attitudes are changing. The ideal of a backyard and a decent amount of square footage still prevails among Millennials. Only, it looks a bit different than it used to - at least in the GTA, the Lower Mainland, and Greater Montreal, which account for more than a third of the population and around half of the country’s job growth. Young professionals on Bay Street who can afford their pick of neighborhoods (or could, before the housing crisis got truly out of hand) gravitate towards inner-ring suburbs like my neighbourhood, Leslieville. Duplexes around here routinely go for over a million dollars.2 In other words, around the same price as a large detached house in Milton. Even as Millenials age, we still seem to value walkable amenities more than Baby Boomers did. I’m betting that Gen-Z will continue this trend towards prefering more traditional, mixed-use neighbourhoods.

That isn’t to say the suburbs are going to die. But they’ll have to adapt.

Legalizing fourplexes will help add incremental housing units that can offer an alternative to apartment living at a lower cost. We can also make suburbs les stiflingly car dependent. I spent my childhood living in various suburbs. Those suburbs tended to have amenities like convenience stores and restaurants within walking distance, largely because there was still land available to build suburbs near mainstreets. There’s no reason we can’t incorporate more commerce into suburban areas, if we legalize it.

We can also make it easier to get around suburbs by incorporating better sidewalks and more bike paths - a trend there’s at least anecdotal evidence for - and to commute by transit all or part of the way to work. Ontario is building out the GO Train network, for instance. That presents opportunities not only for density near the stations, but for people to park and ride into the city (much like you see in the New York Metro Area). The automobile will always be part of the suburban experience for most people, but it doesn’t have to be the dominant part. We were made for better things than sitting in traffic.

Anyways, the author made an important point that people are often reluctant to admit: the suburbs are here to stay. He’s right that urbanists and liberal politicians need to recognize this. But, where I’ll perhaps differ, is that the recent car-only suburban trend is going to last. I think we’ll return to more traditional mixed-use suburban communities. The kids nowadays, after all, value convenience. There’s nothing less convenient than having to fight traffic to grab a coffee.

Like most people living South of Bloor, I’m not from here. Neither is my partner. So travelling to see family is often complicated. It got less so when we moved to Toronto, and both of our parents moved to Southern Ontario. But still annoying enough that we’re not travelling on Christmas this year.

It’s not that we’ve gone all Grinch-y or anything. We’re doing two Christmases, just not on December 25th. My general rule about travel is I try to zig while other people are zagging. We don’t have kids, so our life isn’t as regimented as most. If we don’t have to jam into Union (or the airport), why bother?

Our families agreed, so my partner returned from visiting her mother the morning of the 24th, going against the direction of traffic (her train was a bit late, but tolerably so) and we’re visiting my parents in the new year.

This all dates back to last Christmas. As you may recall, it was a bit of a logistical nightmare. Flight cancellations, massive train delays across North America. People getting stuck on the side of the highway. It wasn’t pretty.

We didn’t get the worst of it, but we came close. We decided to incorporate a visit to Ottawa into our travel plans last year. We’d get the train to Kingston, then hop back on to Ottawa then spend New Years’ Eve in Montreal. Easy.

And, yet, there I was stuck on a train for two hours on Christmas Eve. All told, I arrived three hours late.. My partner was scheduled to join on Christmas Day. Cancelled. The rest of our trip was planned to the hour, so we weren’t just going to let it go. We managed to book her the last seat out of Billy Bishop to Ottawa. She spent Christmas alone (though I’m told she had a lovely day).

Other friends got stuck at American airports, or on the side of the 401. We can look around for someone to blame, but there’s the inescapable reality than late December weather is often hostile to travel. And if one flight gets cancelled, dozens people are jockeying for mostly sold out backups. If an airport delays or cancels all of it flights, thousands of people are making a John Candy like dash to the rental car counters. Or, more likely, they’re not going anywhere.

We did manage to salvage the rest of our trip. I got to Ottawa on time, and on to Montreal. Here’s a video from somewhere between Kingston and Montreal mere days after we all got stuck. The weather passed, things worked fine - as they usually do.

Well, that’s not entirely true. We got stuck for two hours on the way back from Montreal due to an electrical issue on one of the old Via trains. The new fleet can’t roll out soon enough.1

We can argue until we’re blue in the face about whether Air Canada is a bad airline (it isn’t) or if Via Rail is meeting up to our expectations (it’s not, but many of the reasons are beyond their control). Delta and Amtrak got just as stuck as they did. The reality is when every method of transportation is stretched thin and weather is volatile, bad things can happen.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t strive to improve transportation policy. But some things are beyond our control. All it takes is a storm in the New York Metro or the Midwest to throw off North American air travel. If your plane is stuck at LaGuardia, you’re not leaving Toronto. The airline industry is a finely tuned machine, but all problems can cascade through the system. There’s not much we can do about that - especially at the busiest times of the year, when airports are running at capacity.

We should be grateful for modern mass transportation, but we also need to recognize it’s fallible - especially in winter. There’s very little anyone can do if trees fall on the tracks, or an airport gets clobbered by a snowstorm. This might not happen every year, but the specter of chaos always looms over holiday travel. It’s winter - not much we can do about that.

Of course, things look fine this year. Turns out we chose the wrong year to make alternate plans. But we’ve got a very non-traditional Christmas dinner planned for just the two of us, between turkeys. I’m looking forward to it, and relieved to be avoiding the rush. Christmas dinner will taste just as good in January.

Merry Christmas from South of Bloor!*

*Technically, South of Danforth

I came to South Florida to ride a train. Two trains, actually. It wasn't for fun. I'm not wild about the sun, heat, or urban sprawl. I hadn't been to Florida since I was a teenager, felt no need to check the box. But they built a fancy train - which I am very much enjoying at the moment - so here I am.

I've got biases. We've all got biases. I don't think it's any secret that I'm not wild about current day Republican politics. This is a very red state, so I had my guard up. I spend a lot of time in red states, but Florida - Florida's a little different. The Florida Man stereotype is probably more driven by strong public records laws that give reporters access to all kinds of insane stories. I know that. But my lizard brain was still primed for weirdness.

I'm pretty chatty when I travel stateside - Americans, contrary to Canadian tropes, are very friendly. I expected to meet some…interesting characters. Maybe not Florida Man, but at very least his annoying cousin.

Things started off as expected. I summoned an Uber to the airport and, of course, it was an SUV. The driver - a very tall blonde man - looked like he was going to launch into a sermon about some vast left-wing conspiracy. I can deal with this. I'll just stare at my phone intently and we'll sit here silently for the next 20 minutes. Nope.

The man was indeed primed for a conversation. He had that zeal in his eyes. Only, he didn't want to inform me about the woke liberal plot to destroy America. He just wanted to convince me that South Florida is the best place on earth. That's fine, I guess. I can listen to a Ron DeSantis informercial if I have to.

Then the conversation turned. Did he just say his husband? What's that accent? He's Serbian. Just adopted a kid last year after moving south from New York. This was not Florida Man. This was a very nice man, in fact. You don't know people.

So far, so good I thought. Florida Man's weird cousin has yet to emerge. But I'm Ubering around Miami. Then, it happened. Sort of. I'd just polished off a cubano sandwich in Little Havana. Very good (though not as good as I've had in San Francisco). A militarized looking Chevy Suburban pulled up, adorned with thin read line flags. Here we go.

Only, I don't think the man spoke any English. If he did, it wasn't obvious. South Florida is heavily hispanic, so this isn't unusual. Not only did he not betray any political leanings, but we didn't talk at all. I subsequently learned that the thin *red* flag is different from the blue one, which denotes support for law enforcement (often support for law enforcement acting unlawfully). It's for first responders. Maybe his brother is fire fighter. Maybe he just thinks first responders deserve more respect. Who know? I don't know the guy.

Day 3. Still not a single conversation about politics. I usually rope people in to talking politics, even if I tell myself I don't want to hear about American politics. Hadn't happened yet. Until I saw the hat. No, not the bad one. The good one. Reagan/Bush ‘84. Look, you can criticize both of those men. But people wear this hat for a very specific reason. It's an anti-MAGA statement. I knew this guy! Well, sort of. I told him I liked the hat and he gave me a welcome to the team smile. That was the extent of our political conversation, other than his older friend (or father?) chiming in when my friend and I were loudly arguing about some MAGA nonsense. He laughed it off in a gallows humour kind of way. What do you do? I don't know him, I don't know them.

Maybe we'll just laugh about all of this nonsense in a few years. I sure hope so. It's hard not to take politics personally when a third of the most powerful country in human history seems to want to burn it all down. Of course, they probably don't actually want to. But it feels that way, and for good reason. The guy they're going to vote for does want to burn it all down. At the same time, politics isn't central to most people's identity. We shouldn't make assumptions. I shouldn't make assumptions.

This is mostly just a reminder to myself. I see other people's biases at work all the time. I need to recogize my own. I don't know people - not before I meet them, anyways.

The train is lovely, by the way. More on that later.

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Today, I'm going to walk over to one of my favourite Toronto establishments for the last time. If you're at all interested in beer, there's a good chance you hear recently that Muddy York brewing is closing their East York location. This unplanned closure comes as they're opening a new location in Stouffville (the subject of a future post).

This sad news makes me think of East York's transit future. Getting to Muddy York has always been a bit of a pain. Ironically, the new location in Stouffville will be quite easily accessible by GO Train while the original location - within current Toronto city boundaries was annoying.

The word current is doing some work there. Muddy York is based in East York, one of the six former municipalities that maske up the current City of Toronto. The old City of Toronto boundaries are a bit wonky. I'm just south of East York, but still within the boundaries of the old city. You can wander into East York from my place without even knowing you've crossed the former boundary.

The boundary is so permeable that I wouldn't have even noticed when I crossed in as I walked up Pape Street from Leslieville had it not been for this helpfully placed breakfast place just north of the boundary (Fulton Avenue).

I wandered up to O'Connor Street, one of the main east-west commercial streets in the old city. Or at least on the southeast portion. As you'll notice from the map below, East York is bisected by the Don Valley. Here's the Northwestern portion, as seen from Woodbine Brige. Yes, way over there.

The portion northeast of Old Toronto is functionally closer to being part of Midtown Toronto, so it's almost weird to lump it in with what is now very much part of East Toronto. The Don Valley is, in practice, a more meaningful boundary than shaded lines on a map.

I started at O'Connor and Broadview, which is the northwest corner of the southeastern section of old East York (if that makes sense).

Those of you familiar with the east side may hear broadview and think of streetcars. We're too far north for that.

O’Connor and Broadview isn't the most comfortable intersection from a pedestrian point of view. It feels like one of the busses careening around the corner could take you out at any moment.

Looking eastbound, this could be any street on the east side of Toronto. Mostly residential; moderate intensity; serviceable sidewalks; and mostly oriented towards driving.

The old city of East York does have serviceable local bus coverage, and many parts are well connected into the streetcar or subway networks south of the old city. It’s less serviceable if you need to get downtown. There are options. The Bloor/Danforth subway line runs just south of the old municipal boundaries. Woodbine and Victoria Park subway stations are on the fringe of East York’s borders (the parts that inexplicably duck south of Danforth). But it’s still a 22 minute walk from O’Connor and Woodbine to Woodbine Station, for instance.

There is also a GO Transit station at Main Street, just southeast of the old city. But there is no real convenient way to get downtown by transit from much of old East York.

Take where I'm standing now as an example (O'Connor and Pape). Here are three transit options to Union Station. Let's assume for a minute that these times are reliably correct.

The times range from 40 to 57 minutes, requiring one or two transfers. If everything works out, it's not awful if you're doing it once a week. Every day? That would not be great. Especially considering how unpleasant it might be to wait on a narrow sidewalk in winter after missing the bus.

Now, let's compare that to driving, also recognizing that traffic varies dramatically. Right now the estimated drive time is 15 minutes. Yes, it's Sunday afternoon, so ideal driving conditions. But that “40 minute” two bus trip would get stuck in rush hour traffic too, so it's not an unfair comparison.

While transit options for commuters aren't great right now, the Ontario Line will make life much easier for commuters - eventually. Cosburn Station will be right in the heart of East York. Given that the end-to-end travel time for the Ontario Line is estimated at 30 minutes, it’ll probably be closer to 15 minutes from Cosburn to downtown.

The Ontario Line will give East York residents fast and predictable access to Union Station. This will not only make it easy to get to the office, but also to access Downtown amenities and both airports. That's a pretty big upgrade!

The new transit options will also mean that the community can accommodate more people. To illustrate how much capacity there is, much of O'Connor Street looks like this:

There are stretches of moderate intensity (mostly one story) retail and some apartment buildings. But there's plenty of room to grow.

In the meantime, it takes about an hour and four minutes to get from O'Connor and Broadview to Muddy York Brewing on foot while writing a photo-heavy Substack post).

Visit while you can (it's worth it!). Or you can hold out for the Stouffville location (you'll know when it's open by following along here.

Farewell, Muddy York!

This was supposed to be a fairly straightforward piece about anglophone1 music in Montreal. Then, this week, Karl Tremblay, lead singer of Quebec band Les Cowboys Fringants, died at 47. Now it’s a convoluted piece about a complicated cultural divide, of which Montreal is the epicenter.

I have to confess right up front that, embarrassingly, I did not know who Karl Tremblay was until I saw a barrage of social media posts reflecting on his passing from my Quebecois friends and connections. Despite spending at least a few weeks a year in Quebec, somehow I totally missed out on the fact that French Canada had their own Gord Downie, and he was dying. Ninety thousand people turned out to the Plains of Abraham to see a stop on their last tour this summer. Almost no one in English Canada, myself included, knew this was happening.

Compare this with the Tragically Hip’s farewell tour. It was ubiquitous. They even got a shout out from Eddie Vedder in the middle of a concert. By contrast, I don’t recall hearing anything about Karl Tremblay on CBC radio. You’d think that English Canada might notice a “wave of love and sadness” running through Quebec. Alas.

There’s something especially poignant about French Canadians watching a cultural icon fade away on the Plains of Abraham without anglophones taking note. I took a tour of Quebec City years ago, and the tour guide noted that the Wolfe-Montcalm monument was the only statue on earth to both sides of a war. I have no idea if that’s true, but it’s a nice thought, and perhaps a metaphor for the state of Canada’s two official languages.

Canada is bilingual, in theory. We’ve got monuments to the French language everywhere from plaques to cereal boxes. It’s often a sop to francophones, and I’m sure it feels that way - whether it’s being greeted by an automated message on a flight from Toronto to Quebec City or not being able to ask simple menu questions at a restaurant in Montreal. Both generals are on the statue, but they’re not equal.

It’s easy for anglos to scoff at francophones who fret about the decline of French. That’s especially true when politicians make anglos out to be the bad guys. But let’s turn back to music for a second. What struck me the most about Karl Tremblay’s passing wasn’t the Premier or the Montreal Canadians sharing heartfelt remarks about a francophone icon I hadn’t heard of, but the fact that 46 out of the top 50 most streamed musical acts in Quebec are English. Imagine if fewer than 10 percent of the top artists in Ontario were English. Would we feel a deep cultural malaise? I suspect we would. I’m not confident we’d handle it better than francophones. They’ve at least had time to get used to it. General Montcalm went in the ground a long time ago.

Francophones are right to worry about the state of the French language in Canada. In my view, there’s a role for public policy to promote the French language both in Quebec and in the rest of the country. I’ve written about this twice for Policy Options. It’s something I care about. I believe so much in the importance of preserving the French language that I’m spending my free time trying to get back to bilingual, largely out of principle. People in Canadian public life should make an effort to speak French. Governments should encourage it. Wolfe and Montcalm. Downie and Tremblay. There’s room for both.

Both is important here. In their understandable zeal to protect the French language, Quebec politicians have on more than one occasion inflicted massive damage upon the provincial economy. Montreal was arguably the economic capital of Canada until the 1960s. Toronto was already catching up, but then came the 1976 election and hundreds of businesses fled over the newfound political uncertainty. Montreal’s loss, Toronto’s gain.

This gets me to the what I initially planned to write about: Montreal’s anglophone music scene.

While I didn’t know about the francophone Gord Downie, I’ve been listening to Montreal based bands for years. Montreal’s music scene in the early Aughts was on fire. Godspeed, Arcade Fire, The Unicorns, and my personal favourite, Wolf Parade. I was inspired to write this post, or the original version thereof, after seeing former Wolf Parade frontman Spencer Krug play in Toronto in late October (he’s still got it!). I’m not an expert, but I’d argue Montreal had the best music scene in Canada during the Aughts.

It’s also notable that many of the key figures in Montreal’s indy music scene came from outside of Quebec. Wolf Parade’s Spencer Krug and Dan Boekner (also of the Handsome Furs) are from BC, as were Nicholas Thorburn and Alden Penner of The Unicorns. Win Butler came from Texas. Stars frontman Torquil Campbell was born in England and grew up in Toronto.

I can’t tell you why anglo musicians have been drawn to Montreal. Migration decisions are complicated. Though at least two of the above mentioned artists, Win Butler and Spencer Krug, moved to Montreal for university (McGill and Concordia, respectively). I could speculate that the low cost of living and bohemian vibe help attract artists, or the fact that Montreal is the second most beautiful city on the continent (after Quebec City, of course). Whatever the reasons, a lot of anglophones are attracted to Montreal. They add to the culture, and they bolster the economy. Most places would kill to be an “it” city, and Montreal has been for a very long time.

When you’re an “it” city, people will put up with a lot to live there. But there are limits. It feels like Quebec might be nearing an inflection point where it’s no longer just potentially annoying to live and do business in Quebec, but where it’s not worth the effort.

Take Bill 96, for instance. It requires businesses with as few as five employees to report how many employees speak French. Anecdotally, I’ve heard people in Toronto based firms that do business in Quebec say that they’re assessing whether they need to do anything to comply with the law. That’s not a great incentive if you want to attract remote workers or satellite offices. No company wants to have to track the linguistic competencies of their staff.

This isn’t just something that affects businesses. Economic immigrants are now required to speak French before they arrive. That’s going to make it incredibly difficult to attract tech talent, for instance. Depending on how strict the language competence requirements are, some people perfectly capable of working and functioning in Quebec might get turned away. Just the uncertainty around this could be an insurmountable barrier for some. Why bother when you can move to Toronto?

Then there’s the current linguistic battle: tuition fees. The government of Quebec appears set to double tuition for Canadians from out of province. The rationale is simple: they want fewer anglophone students in Montreal. McGill in particular is a magnet for students from not only the rest of Canada, but the United States.2 Half of McGill’s nearly 40,000 students come from out of province. Would the city be better off with 20,000 fewer students running around supporting businesses in English? I doubt the service industry thinks so.

Forget about musicians and businesses and students. Let’s talk about me for a second. My partner an I move around a lot. We probably haven’t made our last move. My first choice is Montreal. Hers is Quebec City (we met in Winnipeg - she loves winters!). But here’s the problem: we have no idea how far any of this is going to go. In the wake of Bill 15, anglophones worry they might have trouble getting access to healthcare in English. We’re both perfectly content to embrace the French language. But neither of us feels overly comfortable with the idea of one day having to make complex healthcare decisions in French. Those are hard enough to make in English. Is this a rational concern? I’m not sure. Will it deter us? I guess we’ll see. But if we’re thinking this way, imagine people who are less in love with the province.

Preserving and promoting the French language makes sense. But embracing the outside world is important too.

Montreal will only ever thrive as a bilingual city. Canada will only ever work as a bilingual country. We should focus on promoting French in all of Canada rather than punishing English in Quebec.

Canada doesn’t have to choose between Karl Tremblay and Gord Downie. Quebec can support both McGill and Université Laval. Montreal is big enough for Westmount and Le Plateau. Wolfe and Montcalm…well, I guess they couldn’t get along. But if they can share a statue, anglophones and francophones can share a country.

We should all try a bit harder to bridge these gaps - linguistic, cultural, geographical. That includes me. My first step is getting to know Les Cowboys Fringants.

I was standing under a monorail in West Virginia. It took several minutes for me to process this information. Here I was, walking down the street looking for a bite to eat. I looked up and saw train tracks. It seemed like a strange place for elevated rail, so I followed the tracks out of curiosity. Sure enough, there it was: a monorail. In West Virginia.

You don’t see monorails very often in North America. When you do, it’s usually at an airport or a theme park. I certainly didn’t expect to see one in a town of 30,000 tucked away in the mountains of West Virginia.

It’s a surreal scene. The tracks sit against the thick West Virginia foliage like a relic from an abandoned civilization, reclaimed by nature. No one from our epoch would build this, after all. Or so I would have thought.

Unfortunately, it was closed for the season (we’ll get to that later). So while I have visual evidence that it exists, I’ve yet to see it operate. Maybe it is just a relic. Civilizations come and go, after all.

I decided to do some research. So I popped in to Morgantown Brewing Company to have a beer and tuck into my phone. Instead, I got into a wide ranging conversation with one of the bartenders about the monorail, Morgantown, and West Virginia.1

To understand the monorail, you have two know two things. First, Morgantown is in a mountain valley on the banks of the Monongahela River. It’s difficult terrain. There are only so many roads you can build, and bridges aren’t cheap. Second, Morgantown is home to West Virginia University, which hosts around 25,000 students. Small town, large university, inhospitable terrain. That doesn’t leave a lot of options for moving people around.

That’s where the monorail comes in. Moving 25,000 students around a small mountain town is challenging. As the story goes, the University used to rely on vans to shuttle students about. Traffic congestion became a huge problem. An engineering professor, Samy Elias, had an idea: a Personal Rapid Transit (PRT) system.2

Then, like now, West Virginia had an influential Senator, Robert Byrd. West Virginia University managed to secure a grant for the system. President Richard Nixon took a personal interest in the project, viewing it as a potential breakthrough in urban transportation. The administration called for the project to be up and running in time for the 1972 election. That did not happen. The Morgantown Personal Rapid Transit system opened in 1975, a year after Nixon was impeached.

Not only did the PRT not help Richard Nixon win re-election - though he won anyways, only to be impeached two years later - it did not revolutionize public transposition. But there is a lesson here: sometimes seemingly ridiculous ideas work.

Context is crucial in public policy. Unique challenges often require bespoke solutions. Morgantown doesn’t have the luxury of endless sprawl. Having an automated monorail to move students, faculty, and staff between two campuses, two miles apart, seems to make sense for the city. It would be impractical most places. But it seems to work for Morgantown.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to ride the PRT since it is only open during the school year. The system is run by the University, largely for students. The vast majority of locals drive. There’s another lesson here: public transit can benefit not only riders, but drivers. The PRT carries 15,000 people a day. That’s 15,000 fewer people sitting in traffic in a town of about 60,000 when class is in session. It may seem fanciful, but the PRT plays a vital role in the city. Sometimes weird solutions work.

I’m not suggesting that other cities should rush out and buy their own shiny new monorails. It’s possible it could work other places that have severe geographical constraints but need to move thousands of people between a few fixed points at specific times of the day for part of the year. But it’s a good reminder that sometimes we need to think outside the box.

Conventional places usually require conventional solutions. Morgantown is far from conventional. Hopefully the next time I pass through I get to ride the PRT - if for no other reason than to prove to myself that I wasn’t just hallucinating.

I’m not much of a concert guy. It’s not that I don’t enjoy live music. I just don’t like planning three hours of my life weeks or months in advance. So I don’t see a lot of shows.1 Most of my favourite musical acts are pretty young still. I’ve got time to see them, I hope. The one big exception was Gordon Lightfoot. Was. Maybe there’s not as much time as I think.

If you’ve spent a lot of time wandering the middle of the continent, you can almost see Gordon Lightfoot lyrics. Canada is a big country - so big that it’s hard to know well. Few knew it better than Gordon Lightfoot. Whether you’re on the banks of Lake Superior or looking out at train crossing the prairies, the stories he told stare right back at you.

I was so close to getting to see Gordon Lightfoot before he died. He played Massey Hall in late November, 2021. I had two tickets in my cart. Price was steep, but acceptable. It was walking distance from our old place. But it was still COVID times, so we weren’t ready for indoor concerts. In hindsight, I should have went. Gordon Lightfoot wasn’t young, but it still felt like there was more time. But stories always end.

Gordon Lightfoot was born in Orillia, Ontario. It’s a town of around 30,000 overlooking Lake Simcoe, on the edge of the Canadian Shield. When Gord died, the town decided to honour him with ornamental guitars placed around downtown that would eventually be auctioned off. I wasn’t going to miss this. Well, reader, as you might have guessed, I sort of did. I had the auction day in my calendar. When I tried to confirm the date a few weeks ago, I saw that the auction was happening the next day. So I hit the road the next morning.

Orillia is an easy place to end up by accident if you’re driving to Northern Ontario. Miss that jarring exit to Highway 400 north of Barrie, and you’ll end up in Orillia. But it’s not somewhere I’d spent much time. I used to make the drive between Sudbury and Toronto a few times a month. When you’re putting in 400 kilometers each way, beating GTA traffic is paramount. It means you’re leaving really early, and not making time for stops. So I’m reasonably confident I hadn’t been to Orillia - at least not on purpose.

The drive was nice, once I got through the surprisingly intense mid-day Toronto traffic. The open road was a welcome sight, as were the fall colours after a long, hot summer. I had no time to plan, so I wasn’t really sure where I was going. So I did what I always do in these situations: I found somewhere to get coffee.

Great coffee can be a bit tricky to find in a city of 30,000 people, though it seems to be getting easier every year. After a few minutes of googling, I punched the Lone Wolf Cafe into my GPS. This was a very good decision. Great coffee, excellent sandwich, beautiful rustic ambiance. I could have stayed there all day.

I didn’t have a lot of time, but there were two things I wanted to see: the guitars, and Lake Simcoe. I knew the guitars were vaguely Downtown, but I didn’t see them around. I got back onto Facebook to clarify, and I saw that the guitars slated for auction had already been taken down. Another near miss.

Fortunately, not all of the guitars were auctioned off. A few seem to be permanent installations.

Walking around Downtown Orillia, I could see the appeal. It has just enough day-to-day amenities, and it’s close enough to Toronto if you only need to be there a few times a month. The pace of life is a nice break from Toronto. I like living in a bigger city, but when that city becomes one big logistical nightmare, well, I can see how people might prefer this.

I’m sure I’ve said this a million times in the short time I’ve been writing this publication, but there are few things I love to see more than well loved old small town mainstreets. Orillia has several of them. It’s got good bones, as urban planners would say.

Of course, it’s also got challenges. Remember what I said about proximity to Toronto? I’m not the first person to have that thought. The GTA real estate crisis is spilling further and further out. Six hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a one bedroom condo in Orillia? Did I read that right? I sure did.

Now, to put this in perspective, Orillia had a median household income of $71,000 in 2020 - $13,000 less than Toronto. Without family help, you’re not qualifying for a six hundred thousand dollar mortgage on seventy one thousand dollars. That’s a problem.

It hasn’t always been like this. I chatted with a tradesman who lives just outside the city. He told me that when he bought his house a few years ago for three hundred thousand dollars, his hands were shaking. He thought he might be making a catastrophic financial decision. He no longer feels that way after seeing houses on his street sell for twice that. It’s the classic southern Ontario real estate story. It’s a little jarring hearing it this far north.

Orillia is a fairly blue collar town. Gordon Lightfoot’s parents made it there as drycleaners. Gord worked for his parents as a teenager, and played concerts in nearby Muskoka for a few beers before he moved to LA to study music. This kind of social mobility isn’t easy to begin with, but it’s especially hard when middle class families can’t get a mortgage.

This is both the challenge, and the opportunity of Southern Ontario. The quality of life is so high that people from all over the country and world want to come here. It doesn’t hurt if you’re on a lake. It’s a good problem to have.

Cities like Orillia are going to have to adapt. There are already a number of condo projects going up that appear to be selling well. If they’re going to keep prices in check, they’ll need more. Besides, it’s beautiful. Plenty of people would love to live there.

On my way out of town I swung by Lake Simcoe. Real end of the summer vibes. Nice way to start the fall.

I’ll confess. It wasn’t just COVID that kept me from that concert. It also wasn’t the right venue. I know, Gordon Lightfoot was a mainstay at Massey Hall. But, deep down, I wanted to see him in some town somewhere. He was, after all, Canada’s everyman. Maybe in Orillia, or somewhere along the banks of Lake Superior. But the gales of November came early, as they often do.

With that, I’m off to see another band on my bucket list.2 There’s only so much time, after all.

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I screwed up. Badly. I planned to go to Kitchener’s Oktoberfest for the first time this fall. I even made a bit of a field trip out of it. Floated the idea to some friends, all but one of them had something better to do. So at least I had some company lined up. All I had to do was figure out when the thing started. Alas, I failed.

Now, in my defense, anyone could have made this mistake. I checked the website to see if there was anything scheduled for September 28th. Sure enough, there was an event listed. That’s all I needed. So I hopped on the Go Train, and I was there in under two hours.1 Things were looking good.

As we walked down the rolling hills behind a strip mall on the east side of Kitchener, I had my doubts. Was this pastoral setting going to reveal to me a rollicking beer swilling festival filled with vaguely Germanic men huffing down sausages and clinking steins? I had my doubts.

My doubts were proven correct, albeit for the wrong reason. As we reached the bottom of the hill, there were indeed festival grounds. All the ingredients for a heart palpitatingly good time. Only, there weren’t any people. What gives?

I stood in disbelief, looking out into the empty grounds. A good time was about to be had by all. Just not yet. Why, though? I looked at the event invitation. September 23-30 (all day). It was September 28th. I got that part right. It seems that Kitchener Oktoberfest people and I have a different definition of all day. Mine includes 2:30pm on a Thursday. Apparently theirs does not.

I have no doubt that a few hours hence, good times were had. Lederhosen as far as the eye can see, and enough bratwurst and sauerkraut to pack Southern Ontario’s cardiac units. Alas, that was for other men. I had an agenda. I can’t serve you, my dear readers, while sitting around a parking lot all day waiting for the action. The largest Bavarian festival in North America would have to wait for another time. My associate and I had some exploring to do.

I wasn’t new to Kitchener. I lived in Waterloo for a year during grad school. But despite the fact that the two cities are glued together, I didn’t make it down King Street to Kitchener all that often. Kitchener circa 2007 wasn’t the most happening place. I was living on a student budget, and I had all I needed in Uptown Waterloo. So I only really ever made it down to visit an old used book store and to catch the Greyhound to Toronto (back when it existed). Despite my former proximity, Kitchener was a bit of a black box to me outside of the King Street corridor.

A lot has changed in Kitchener-Waterloo since I left. There has been a lot of development in both cities, and there is a lot more energy now. I’ll get into this more in a future post more focused on Waterloo. But what has remained the same - since well before I ever stepped foot there, is the German influence.

Before Kitchener was Kitchener, it was Berlin. Back in 1916, the heavily German town was confronted with a vexing problem: the Kaiser. It was war time, and the German’s were on the other side. So the city held a referendum on May 19th, 1916, and 51.32% of residents decided it was time for a new, more geopolitically expedient name. Who better to name the City after than the face of the British war effort, Horatio Herbert Kitchener. Thus, this deeply German town became known as Kitchener.

We didn’t have to go far to see the German influence. It wasn’t my first time back in Kitchener since I returned to Ontario in 2020. But this time, I had my eyes open for signs of all things German. There were signs of Oktoberfest coming, sure. But there were also permanent fixtures.

For instance, the Schneider Haus National Historic Site, which hosts the oldest building in Kitchener. The site was settled and developed by Pennsylvania Mennonite Germans. It still stands as a marker of the City’s German heritage.

If the name Schneider sounds familiar, it’s because it shares the name of one of the Kitchener’s longest standing businesses, Schneiders.2 Yes, that Schneiders. If you grew up in Canada, you’re almost certainly familiar with Schneiders’ deli meats. It might well be the most recognizable business of German descent in Canada.

While all the Germanic inflections were welcome, and interesting, there was something missing. I came to Kitchener for beer and sausages, after all. German beer and sausages. Fortunately, many of the local breweries were very much in the Oktoberfest spirit. Most places seemed to have one or two Oktoberfests on tap.3 As we sat enjoying some great local beer, I lamented my lack of sausages. Upon hearing of my plight, the bartender at one of Kitchener’s finest drinking establishments, Short Finger Brewing, informed me that there was an old school German food hall not far away. So off we went.

Now, reader. I can not express how unprepared I was for this experience. My expectations weren’t high. And I was perfectly willing to eat whatever microwaved sausage I could get my hands on. We were in an industrial area in the south end of town. I was expecting a dank beer hall in a basement somewhere. It wasn’t that.

Forgive the terrible photo. It was late, the lighting was bad. I’m a bit embarrassed to post this. But, well, look at that place! It’s not a restaurant. It’s a palace! A sausage palace, no less! This, my friends, is what life is about.

It was a bit of a surreal scene. It wasn’t empty. There were some guest who appeared to be regulars. Family gatherings, some men at the bar. But it was clearly well under capacity (mere days later I saw pictures from this very establishment on social media, packed to the gills with people more organized than I).

While the Thursday night atmosphere wasn’t necessarily what I made the trip out for, the food made it all worth it. They had all the classics. Sausages, cabbage rolls, schnitzel. Did I mention sausages? And - I kid you not - this magnificent feast was fourteen Canadian dollars. Fourteen! You can’t get a Big Mac combo for that! Not regular price, anyways. This might not have been the best meal of my life. But it was definitely among the most satisfying. Thanks, Germany!

Look, I respect you all too much to spin this all as some sort of happy accident, where I learned more about Kitchener’s German heritage by missing out on Oktoberfest. Actually, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Because I did! It’s one thing to trot out the brats and lagers once a year. It’s another thing to have fine establishments like this running all year long.

The following week, the Prime Minister showed up for Oktoberfest. Unlike SteveCo, the Prime Minister’s office has staff to sort out these details. They figured out all the logistics, and got the PM to Kitchener in time for the ceremonial tapping of the keg. While I wasn’t there to witness it, the thought conjured up an image. Not so much of Justin Trudeau pounding beers, but of how it would look to Canadians in 1916 - or 1939. Here is the Prime Minister of Canada, leaders of an allied power, surrounded by lederhosen and polka, celebrating German traditions and culture. They’d think that we lost the war or something. But, here we are all these years later, leaning-in to the German heritage residents once saw fit to obscure.

This also made me think of a recent controversy in Brampton. Someone shared a video from a high school of what I assume was Bhangra dancing.4 The poster was appalled that this is what Canada looks like now. It was the kind of fleeting Twitter controversy that gets supplanted five minutes later by the next dumb thing. But it stuck with me. Not because it was insightful, but because I had Oktoberfest on my mind.

A hundred years ago it would be unthinkable that the Prime Minister would travel to Kitchener to celebrate German heritage.5 Maybe in 50 years, or a hundred, people will flock to Brampton for an annual cricket match or cultural ceremony that no one outside of the South Asian community knows about right now. Even as the demographics of the community change, as they always do, the dominant culture today will leave behind artifacts, history, traditions. Who knows what future generations will celebrate. Times change, and so do we.

Canadian history is, to a large extent, the story of waves of immigration. The French and English, who settled Upper Canada. The Germans who populated swaths of Southwestern Ontario. The Ukrainians who settled the West. History is always unfolding right in front of us. Being a young land means traditions are constantly emerging right in front of our eyes. This is the new world - we don’t have fixed traditions going back hundreds of years. We take the best of the world and make it our own. That’s something to celebrate. Prost!

I’m pretty optimistic about the future of Southern Ontario, and the GTA in particular. We’ve got a lot of things going for us. Canada is one of the safest, most tolerant, and prosperous countries on earth. The Great Lakes is particularly well suited to adapt to climate change, and we don’t have major geological or weather risks. None of this sounds exciting, but they’re the boring things that give us a leg-up on the rest of the continent.

These advantages also come with growth challenges. People from all over the world want to move to Canada, and most of them want to be in the GTA. We haven’t planned for that growth, and it shows. We didn’t build enough transit, we didn’t allow enough density to accommodate newcomers. So we’re bursting at the seams.

I’m confident that we can overcome these, in time, and thrive. Some hard decisions will have to be made, though. We can’t keep trying to cram all of our growth into a few census tracts. We need all cities in the GTA to allow more density to meet our housing needs. Unfortunately, some cities aren’t ready to take the needed steps. That includes the region’s second biggest city, Mississauga.

The GTA has grown rapidly over the past few decades. Most of that growth, until recently, was single detached homes. That changed with the Greenbelt, which ensured that most new housing would have to take place in existing neighbourhoods. Unfortunately, zoning prevented much – if any – growth in large swaths of existing cities. Most of the residential land in cities was zoned only for detached houses, so that’s what we got. That meant that the majority of intensification in our largest cities has been on a small number of parcels. That’s how we got our “tall & sprawl” development pattern.

This development pattern is highly unusual. Traditionally, communities added a mixture of housing types and density that gradually decreased as you move further from the center. Think of the pattern like a hill, gently sloping down. Since land close to the center of the regional economy is expensive, in a relatively laissez-faire market you would expect developers to maximize their profits by building the most units near the economic center that the market would bear. That doesn’t necessarily mean rows of skyscrapers. In a liberal land-use regime where most parcels of land can host more than a detached house, land prices tend to remain subdued, meaning lower cost “missing middle” housing such as small apartments and townhouses might make more sense.

In short, tall & sprawl is unnatural. Unfortunately, it’s how we built Mississauga.

Mississauga sits on some of the most important urban land in Canada. It’s just under 300 square kilometers just outside of Toronto. There’s no better illustration of Mississauga’s role in the Canadian economy than Pearson airport. Pearson is by far the biggest airport in Canada, moving over 35 million passengers annually, employing over 50,000 people. It’s our primary connection to the rest of the world, and the entry point for many new Canadians. It’s the kind of infrastructure you’d expect to find in a big, dense city.

Mississauga is not, in fact, a big, dense city. It has served as an overflow valve for Toronto, which itself long embraced the tall & sprawl mantra. It has added around 400,000 since I was born in the early 1980s. The trouble is, they’ve run out of room to sprawl. We needed a Queens for our Manhattan. Instead we got a McMansion version of Levittown.1

This may sound harsh. But Queens has roughly the same landmass as Mississauga (280 km² vs 292 km²). Mississauga has a population of around 720,000 compared to 2.4 million in Queens. Maybe Queens is asking too much. It’s denser than Toronto, after all. But surely the city hosting our most important logistical hub could be denser than Levittown!

The lack of density wasn’t an accident. It was planned. Seventy-one percent of residential land in Mississauga is zoned only for detached houses. Density, to put it bluntly, was mostly illegal in most of the city. So they didn’t get the variety of housing types and density that you’d see in cities like Queens or Brooklyn that absorbed overflow growth from Manhattan. It grew more like a sprawly Sunbelt city like Dallas or Phoenix (minus the sun).

Of course, we can change this. Indeed, there is movement afoot. Canada’s housing minister Sean Fraser has been using the federal government’s Housing Accelerator Fund to encourage municipalities to allow more density. I won’t get into the mechanics of the program (which I describe as the Carrot Stick, since it can be seen as either an inducement or punishment), but you can read my thoughts here and here. It looked like Mississauga was primed to be another success for Minister Fraser. Then the vote happened. Five-five. Mayor Bonnie Crombie, who is supportive in principle, wasn’t at the meeting (she’s campaigning for provincial Liberal leadership right now), so the vote failed.

I’m not sure what the path forward looks like. If they don’t find a way to quickly comply with the terms to access Housing Accelerator Funds, I hope Minister Fraser brings down the Carrot Stick like the hammer of Thor (there’s reason to believe he will). We’re in a housing crisis. The federal government can’t afford not to make an example of Mississauga. It might not be fair to residents, but that’s on City Council. If the federal government doesn’t hold them accountable, other municipalities will weasel out of commitments. We can’t let that happen.

I’ll write something about Mississauga in the future that is more in-line with the theme of this little project (there are still plenty of opportunities for the city!). But, for now, I just want to express my extreme disappointment with City Council. This is a lost opportunity for Mississauga, the GTA, and Canada.

Part of what motivated me to start this little project is that while Canada is a vast country with widely divergent regional cultures and socioeconomic realities, decisions that set the course for the entire country are often made south of Bloor. I worry that this means that people calling the shots don’t necessarily understand realities of people outside of the Toronto and Ottawa bubbles.

For instance, the realities facing Indigenous Peoples. It’s worth taking time to reflect on this as we commemorate Orange Shirt Day and the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation.

Toronto is a global city. Diversity is truly one of its strengths. Take a walk down College Street. Little Italy isn’t just a historically Italian neighbourhood. It’s filled with Italian restaurants, often staffed by new Canadians recently arrived from the Mediterranean. Or head down Spadina, through Chinatown where you’ll see shops and restaurants run by multiple generations of Chinese Canadians. Or, if you’re an adventurous type, willing to cross the mighty Don River, you can find Gerrard India Bazaar (which is just south of Greektown). We’re surrounded by cultures from every corner of the world, and we’re better for it.

Visibility means relevance. When you’re familiar with a community, there’s a good chance you understand some of the issues they face. Maybe you’ve heard about some of the agricultural disputes in India facing the families of many new Canadians. Or maybe you’ve spent some time around Church Street and have some understanding of issues facing the 2SLGBTQ+ community. It’s harder to ignore an issue when you can put a face to it.

One group that isn’t particularly visible in Toronto: Indigenous Peoples. Part of it is that Indigenous communities are themselves very diverse. First Nations people are very different than Inuit, who are much different from the Métis People. Part of it is size. Indigenous Peoples’ make up less than one percent of the population of Toronto. Finally, there’s language. We’re used to hearing a number of different languages on the street in Toronto. Your odds of hearing one of the dozens of Indigenous languages spoken on the street are effectively zero, since there are only a few hundred Indigenous languages speakers living on Treaty 13 territory today.

It’s easy to forget we’re on historically Indigenous lands. We’ve all heard land acknowledgements. We might even recall from those acknowledgments that we’re on the traditional lands of the Huron-Wendat, the Seneca, the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishnabeg, and the Haudenosaunee. But given the lack of visibility of Indigenous Peoples, I’m not sure people really internalize the message. It seems like ancient history.

That’s not the case outside of Toronto. Indigenous Peoples make up around ten percent of the population of Winnipeg, Regina, Thunder Bay, North Bay, and Greater Sudbury, among other places. If you live anywhere northwest of Toronto there’s a much better chance that you know someone who is Indigenous. You’re probably slightly more aware of both historic and current issues facing Indigenous Peoples. Visibility means relevance.

My point here isn’t to chastise people south of Bloor. But Indigenous issues aren’t necessarily top of mind when you’re sitting in Commerce Court. That’s why days like Orange Shirt Day are so important. It’s an opportunity to learn and reflect.

We need to be humble when contributing towards decisions that affect communities we don’t understand. We don’t have all the answers here on Treaty 13 territory. We can’t make meaningful progress towards Reconciliation without doing more listening and incorporating wisdom from across the country, including from the original Peoples of this land.

One of the major differences between Canada and the United States is college towns. Canada has some relatively small cities with universities and colleges, but outside of Atlantic Canada we don’t have many small cities that are completely dominated by higher ed.

Ontario universities are mainly concentrated in large cities. We have universities in some smaller cities, but they tend to be small. By contrast, many of America’s largest, most prestigious public universities are in smaller cities. Consider Kansas State University (K State) in Manhattan, Kansas, a town of 54,000 about 120 miles west of Kansas City.

When I lived in Winnipeg, I spent a lot of time on the I-29 corridor, which runs from North Dakota down to Kansas City. I first visited Manhattan on a lark. My partner and I were planning to visit the Woody Guthrie Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The weather did not cooperate, to put it mildly. Massive floods shut down the highway, so we were stuck in Topeka, Kansas, wondering what to do for the night.

As I stared at the map, I recognized a name: Manhattan. No, not because it shares a name with the word’s greatest city. I recognized the name from the label of Tallgrass IPA. This was about a decade ago, when you couldn’t just walk into any town and find a good brewery. So, what the heck.

We didn’t expect to find much more than a brewery and maybe somewhere to get a decent meal if we were lucky. Instead we found wine bars, nice restaurants, and walkable urbanism. What gives?

One of the nice things about having a large university in a small city is it presents opportunities for good urbanism. In a typical American city of 50 thousand, you wouldn’t expect much walkable urbanism. But because Manhattan is a college town and most students don’t own vehicles, the City needs to make it relatively easy for students on campus to get around on foot. Did I mention there are 19,000 students at K State? That’s a lot of pedestrians and cyclists to accommodate for a small city.

It’s not just the students that make it usually walkable either. Or at least, that’s not my interpretation.

Manhattan has two night life districts. One of them - Aggieville - is right across from the K State campus. It’s where the students go, which is obvious based on the wings and pubs vibe. Manhattan Town Center is a bit more upscale. It seems more geared towards faculty and staff. Profs need somewhere to eat too! Faculty paychecks probably go pretty far in small town Kansas, which probably helps support the service industry. You don’t tend to see two walkable night life areas in comparably sized Ontario cities. Sometimes there isn’t even one.

The Ontario mind cannot comprehend American college towns. Ontario does have universities in cities that aren’t much larger than Manhattan. But the campus are neither as large nor as well funded.

The closest examples I can think of in Ontario are Sault Ste. Marie (72,000) and North Bay (52,600). They both have universities, but their student populations are a small fraction of K State (3225 and 4609, respectively). There are roughly 22 locals to every student in Sault Ste. Marie, and 11 to one in North Bay. In Manhattan, there are roughly three locals to every student. Factor in people employed directly by the school and indirect jobs in the service sector (from restaurants to medical services), and K State basically is the city. There’s no Ontario equivalent.

Now, K State isn’t Harvard. But no one will dispute that it is a high quality state university. It provides a full slate of undergraduate programs and a lineup of graduate programs that would make most small city Canadian university administrators blush. This is one of the hidden strengths of American higher education: you don’t need to move to Boston or New York to get a high quality education. You can get a good education in most states with a reasonable in-state tuition rate. Public universities are a major engine of social mobility in America.

Canadian universities are a very different story. We don’t have the low-quality degree mills that you can find stateside. But we have few universities outside of small cities, and we don’t invest in them. As we saw with Laurentian University’s financial challenges, higher education outside of a handful of prestigious schools is an afterthought in Ontario.

One of the reasons I keep coming back to American college towns is that they present an alternative to small town decline. We take it for granted in Ontario that smaller cities outside of commuting distance to Toronto are destined for failure. I disagree.

Most states have at least one great college town. Not just in big states like New York and California, but in smaller states like North Dakota and West Virginia. The formula isn’t that complicated. People go to universities for the school, not so much the city. In Canada, we just happen to invest our higher ed dollars in large cities. That’s a choice, and one we should reconsider as our largest metro areas get pricier and our smaller metro areas decline.

We’ve already got several smaller cities with universities. We should make growing them a long-term priority. Education doesn’t have to be a big city luxury.

Condo towers in Vaughan. I didn't really believe it. Intellectually, sure. Toronto is growing fast and doesn't have much room left to sprawl. So it makes perfect sense that a place like Vaughan would density. But, really? Vaughan? I had to see it with my own eyes.

I used to drive between Sudbury and Toronto reasonably often. When heading back North, Vaughan was the sign that you'd left Toronto traffic behind. Once you saw the roller coasters at Canada's Wonderland, you were in the clear. The only time I remember stepping foot in Vaughan (outside of Canada's Wonderland) was visiting the giant Bass Pro Shops with my dad. Didn't seem like there was much else going on. How times have changed.

I drove back to Sudbury recently for the first time in a decade. I was in a rush, so I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings. But the new condo and office towers jumped out at me. I did not expect to see 50 story buildings on the side of the highway. I stopped in for a quick look, and decided a proper visit was in order.

I decided to meet a friend who works in Vaughan Metropolitan Centre (VMC) for lunch. About a year ago casually mentioned that his new office was in Vaughan. I had to ask him to repeat that. It was a bit like if someone told you they bought a timeshare in Alaska. Sure, I knew the subway had been extended up there. But they have major corporate offices now? I had to see it up close.

Vaughan is directly north of Toronto, which sounds relatively central until you realize just how big Toronto is. Vaughan Metropolitan Station is a 45 minute subway ride north of Union Station. It is now the terminus of the University side of Toronto's Line 1 subway. It is home to offices of three of the four big global accounting firms, where a friend of mine works. It's a long commute from Union, and a longer one from East Toronto (about an hour and fifteen minutes). The man across from me was already boarded and sleeping when I got on. I nodded off a few times myself.

Vaughan is an example of the type of growth that needs to happen outside of Toronto. With the GO train buildout, the GTA had many opportunities for transit-oriented development. Building this type of cluster around subway stops not only brings more housing an amenities to suburban communities, but jobs. Having offices of three major accounting firms all surrounding a single subway stop (and serviced by two other regional bus services) is a powerful magnet. None of these employers would bother with Vaughan if there wasn't such a dense cluster of offices and housing units. It’s a bit of a chicken and egg problem. But in a severely constrained housing market, plunking down a bunch of towers near a transit station is bound to generate some interest.

A lot has gone right here. But there are still limitations. Vaughan Metropolitan Centre is still surrounded by old industrial buildings and strip malls. You can certainly walk to many of the surrounding strip malls, as we did (there's a nice Italian sandwich shop over about five minutes west). But VMC is better connected to the highway or subway than the surrounding area. That should change as it grows.

And grow, it will. There are thousands of more units planned for the area, including a new master-planned community expected to house 6500 new residents. You see that giant parking lot with the derelict building on the left in the image below? It won’t be there much longer. That’s going to be condo towers.

The City estimates that the number of residents and jobs in Vaughan Metropolitan Centre will roughly triple by 2031 to 25,000 and 11,500 respectively. That will give the area the raw ingredients to turn into a community, rather than a glorified office park.

Vaughan Metropolitan Center also has the potential to become a transit hub north of Toronto. Viva and Züm transit (representing York Region and Brampton) service the bus terminal across from the subway station. And the Finch LRT, scheduled to open in 2024, will connect to Line 1 a few stops south of Vaughan. So that will give people more commuting options to (or from) Vaughan Metropolitan Center.

Of course, it needs to be more than a series of office and condo towers with good transit connectivity if it is going to turn into a thriving community. As my friend noted when we were walking around, there aren’t many lunch options yet and there’s nothing to keep people there after hours. But that’s all coming. Not just restaurants and bars either. Greenspace too. There’s a ten acre urban park in the works. Have a look at the conceptual drawings. If it turns out half that nice, Torontonians are going to be mighty jealous.

Vaughan has really set the bar for other GTA communities looking to capitalize on the region’s rapid growth. It’s unusually well situated given its proximity to Toronto and transportation options, including a TTC subway stop. But other cities in the region can learn from their success.

Not every town with a GO train stop will achieve this level of success. But the basic ingredients should work most places. Allowing more density near train stops and building nice pedestrian infrastructure isn’t rocket science. People need to live somewhere, and if that somewhere has good rail access, some greenspace, and a few coffee shops and restaurants, it will look appealing to a lot of people. If you build it in the GTA, they will come.