Spring sprung in a Portuguese bakery

It’s the start of spring and the showers seemed to be a thing of the past. The vampire-like heat of Australia for three months before arriving in Toronto had exhausted me, knocked me flat in fact and arriving in the below freezing temperatures in Toronto seemed like torture to an African child like me. Familiarity is another universe away.

I was attending first aid training and being early, I decided to go to Tim Horton's for a French Vanilla coffee. As I walked out the door, after dropping my belongings at St John’s, I quickly assessed my time and decided to head to the Portuguese bakery down the way. As I walked there in the Spring morning sun rays a sense of well being filled me. You know the kind, the sense that this would be a perfect day no matter what. When complete peace takes over the senses, it carries the promise of paradise with it.

The bakery, Crusty Breads, can be easily missed. It’s situated in an industrial business hive just off a main arterial that pumps people into the city. The trees overflowing, on their route up toward more sun, have swallowed up easy views of the entrances, slicing into the pavement. It also doesn’t help that the signage boards whose sole purpose is driving life blood (customers) in, have blocked the view from the street. It is a place where either they know your name, or you drive past.

I walked in and the place was pumping. Clearly the Portuguese community all knew of and supported the existence of Crusty Breads. It reminded me of the movies, movies like Chocolat, where small village bakeries or hangouts are frequented every day by the villagers. It’s clearly a place where the ex-pats go to because it’s familiar – the smells, the language, the conversation, the place where marriages are made and broken. It is a place where everyone knows everyone else’ business and in small village tradition, it’s discussed to death.

As I sat among the lemon yellow walls, the sunlight streaming in through the lace curtains gives Crusty Breads the home away from home feeling – cozy - I smile to myself watching the families, the older folk interacting. A long way from home, any sense of community, any sense of familiarity becomes a welcoming refuge… for at least the time it takes to drink a latte.

As the day promised, it was perfect. I scored full marks for my exam and I walked away a happy, latte coffee-filled South African first aider qualified by the Ontario Council.