Archives /// Walking

I'm sore today, my body jolting me with pain when I make demands of it. Sandy and I went parkouring yesterday, on the first day that deserved to be called spring a tempestuous mix of showers and then sunshine, a barrage of soakings and dryings that made the world fresh again. "Parkour" brought a freshness to the world too, a new way to look at the city. I'd recently heard of the activity on the internet, the idea of using the city as an obstacle course, just picking a direction and running. Apparently "the art of movement" was invented by David ...

One day this winter, concerned women taped fluorescent orange flyers to lampposts on my street. The flyers warned of a rapist lurking in the area. They told of a woman who had been assaulted as she stepped out of a cab, and women being harassed while walking home at night. The flyers were meant to be a service, but the underlying message was clear: Women, watch your backs, and stay off the streets. The female pedestrian's experience has always been different from men's. For women living in cities, safety is a major concern, one that underscores almost every aspect of our lives. ...

When most of us go for a walk, we walk with the privilege of sight. It is a privilege that not everyone walks with. For Randy Firth, head of Communication, Education and Public Issues with the Toronto District Canadian Institute for the Blind (CNIB) walking this city's public space is a source of daily frustration. Wet cement, inaccessible traffic signs, silent TTC rides, unrepaired sidewalks, bicycles, mutliple cycle lights (advance greens), sharpened edges of transit maps, and a host of other barriers turn city streets into daily obstacle courses for the visually impaired. Firth states that one constant annoyance comes ...

Second only to Scarberia in Toronto's pantheon of suburban derision, North York is synonymous with goofball boosterism (North York City!), just-add-water-and-stir instant condo buildings, stubby office towers, and 401-fuelled car culture. Walk one block east of Mel Lastman Square and you stumble on a very different image. The towers lining Yonge Street give way to a regular street grid of one- and two-storey houses. Willowdale projects an image of exclusivity — there are no through-streets from Yonge and residents refused a Sheppard subway line station at Willowdale Avenue. Walk a half-block further, and you will find a narrow, landscaped walkway ...

From my home, the closest marked pedestrian crossing on Queen Street West is the traffic lights at Queen and Augusta Avenue. But it takes ages for the lights to change, so instead, I used to walk a block west to Portland Street and cross at the pedestrian crossover (PXO in City lingo) — you know, with the sign that tells you to point and the big black-and-yellow "X" hanging by a wire over the street. There, you could stop traffic and cross almost instantly. But even after pushing the button to get the amber lights flashing, I always put my toe ...

A few years ago, I had a girlfriend who lived in a house with a front porch. It was a classic — nice and deep, populated by some old furniture that was resistant or simply indifferent to the weather, scattered with old magazines. We would get together after work on nice autumn evenings, pour ourselves glasses of red wine, and chat easily or read as we watched people go by. There is something that feels profoundly right about being on a front porch or balcony. It's kind of like the beach — it feels perfect, like it's where you belong, and ...