Whenever my sister comes to visit, we seek out adventure. I would feel bad parking her in front of a screen for our allotted togetherness hours, and so, with a fairly shallow coin purse, I try my best to find something of interest to captivate her 12-year-old enthusiasm.
Last evening, the plan was to eat, get gelato, do some facemasks and then finally watch some reality TV. We ate a delicious spaghetti Alfredo with wonderful bacon from Aubrey’s Meats and garlic bread on a baguette from the Boulangerie Français- a wonderful treat around the corner. We then scraped the dishes and set off to Sugar Mountain for some gelato, stopping in at a few of the small shops that make the market so hip and quaint. She picked up a rhinestone-encrusted “H” necklace at Sassy Bead, and I picked up some Apple tea at Teastore. Come arrival at our destination, she chose a chocolate Skor-flavoured gelato, and I went for what I thought was a more summery raspberry-kiwi. (Though on reflection, icy, rich chocolate is a quintessential summer taste too).
The sun was just creeping behind the restaurants and apartment buildings, enough light to still read a book, but certainly not enough to lie under on a blanket. My sister spotted one of her favourite homeless-person turned street busker attractions: the man with two impeccably trained Jack Russell terriers who wear sunglasses and goofy hats. He was on a street corner opposite the Beavertail stand, showing off the dogs’ impressive ability to pose with hotdog bits rested upon their noses for minutes at a time until given the command to eat them. She gladly deposited 50 cents into his colourful mug and we sat down at a table in front of Rocky Mountain chocolate factory to dig in to our gelato.
After what seemed like an appropriate amount of time eating gelato with the almost child-sized plastic spoons and laughing at all there is to laugh at in that area of the market, we decided to head to the park. I thought it might be nice to show her the courtyard, and I am so glad I did. As we passed through the cobblestone street, through the packed restaurant crowds, I heard the echo of loud, smooth music. We looked around to see if it came from speakers, and lucky for us it did not. We spotted a jazz trio playing, and luckier still there was an empty bench to sit upon. We did, and enjoyed the medium-paced jazz music of a guitarist, bassist (stand up not guitar) and percussionist. I couldn’t believe how wonderful it was to have stumbled upon a tucked-away, free musical treat like a jazz trio on a beautiful summer night, eating gelato.
We stayed a few songs before my sister’s chocolate mustache surrounded her mouth and her cup held a brown liquid, no longer gelato. I applauded the band, gave them my compliments and I left smiling the huge grin I can’t get rid of whenever I experience great live music. (It’s been with me at Jason Mraz, Coldplay and most recently, the Jamie Cullum concert).
We strolled lazily and happily back to my apartment, up the flight of back stairs into the oven-like heat trapped inside to watch Canada’s Next Top Model. We applied my Lush Seascrub to our faces and sat with a fan pointed at us each. At the end of the night, I melted happily into my bed, ready to see what song lasted until nighttime, stuck in my head, to carry me into sleep. It was not lyrical, but smooth, accented jazz music echoed by surrounding stone courtyard walls.