I would say that moving from Vancouver to Toronto was a relatively smooth transition — if you ignore the language, weather, water, transit, housing, culture, and basically every rung on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs I haven't yet mentioned. So yeah, not so smooth after all.
Even with all that's wildly different in the two cities, somehow they're still in the same country.
Here are ten things that left me confused, concerned, and occasionally Googling "can you get homesick for filtered air?" when I made the move from the West Coast to the “6ix”.
Bagged milk
Yes, it's real. Yes, people buy it. Yes, many Torontonians own a little vintage-looking pitcher to pour it into (or worse, place the bag into and just slice a hole in the corner).
East Coasters carry about their days as if cosplaying a 1984 cafeteria is the most normal thing ever.
Streetcars
The motto of public transit in Toronto? The TTC says it's "The Better Way." Based on personal experience, I’d beg to differ. The streetcars stop in the middle of a multi-lane road, and you (the passenger) are expected to step out into oncoming traffic.
It's a fight for one's life to dodge a rogue Uber, angry Toronto "mans," or cyclist going 40 km/h just to get to the safety of a sidewalk. I understand that the streetcar is on tracks and can't logistically or literally pull over — but this doesn't make the 15-minute experience of travelling from Kensington Market to Trinity-Belwoods in the winter any easier.
The slang
I could write a whole article on just this topic alone. If it's true that language tells us who we are…Toronto has some explaining to do. A few key oddities I overheard in my time here. Instead of saying “what are you doing at 7?” a Toronto local might ask “what are you saying at 7?” which just means what are you doing, and for no particular reason, “doing” is swapped with “saying”. A few others to think about:
"I'm cheesed" means I’m mad or angry. “Link up” means to meet up, and “Lowe it” is the laziest possible way to supposedly signify I’ll allow it.
The mystery drip
If you’re out for a summer walk in Toronto and suddenly feel a wet something drip on the top of your head — it's probably not rain. Lucky for you, it's probably not bird poop either. No, it's most likely AC runoff trickling down from someone's apartment window, casually turning your cute afternoon thrift-store jaunt into a drippy shower of lukewarm condensation. Refreshing? Not exactly. Unavoidable? Absolutely.
The houses
I'll say it: Toronto has better houses. Charming rows of red-brick walk-ups, complete with bay windows and cozy little porches? Vancouver's never heard of her.
The abundance of character homes gives Toronto this romantic, vaguely New York-esque flair… a certain je ne sais quoi. The kind of home you picture when you're a cosmopolitan girl with "big dreams" (think Carrie Bradshaw or the entire cast of Friends).
Vancouver, for all its natural beauty, leans heavily on glass skyscrapers and those decidedly hideous three-level specials that were put up in the 70s. Vancouver is beautiful despite the houses, not because of them.
Elevator etiquette
In Vancouver, stepping into an elevator is a silent, efficient ritual: press your own button, avoid eye contact, carry on. Everyone’s got a smoothie to blend or a midday dog walk to power through — there's no time for small talk or pleasantries.
So you can imagine my surprise when I moved to Toronto and entered an elevator, only to have a complete stranger not only acknowledge me, but ask what floor I was going to, then press the button for me. It felt oddly formal, like I'd wandered into a hotel concierge experience (minus the tip and complimentary water). After some time, I have to admit this little act of kindness grew on me.
The apartments
An addendum to my commentary on housing. If you're looking for an apartment in Vancouver (unless you're living downtown or in Olympic Village), expect to find no concierge, no AC, and coin-operated washers and dryers. In Toronto, if your building doesn't have a gym, in-unit laundry, a man at the front desk that becomes your new best friend, a designated mail room, and probably a pool, chances are you're getting gypped.
Personality differences
In Vancouver, people are polite but reserved. You might get a quiet smile, maybe a nod on a sunny day, and then radio silence (unless you're my Nana Lyn. Everyone smiles at her. She swears West Coasters are the kindest bunch she's ever encountered).
In Toronto, people are abrasive, loud (by default to be heard over all the city sounds), and more unfiltered. But they'll also walk right up to you, compliment your jacket, and keep moving like it never happened.
The energy
If each city had its own slogan, Vancouver’s would be something along the lines of: “Get up early and scale a mountain (sleep is for the weak), but also did you meditate and take care of your soul today (?), drink your smoothie, wear a matching Lululemon set in case you want to break out into a half marathon after lunch with everyone else on the seawall.”
Toronto's, on the other hand, would be: “Work hard, play hard, yell while talking on your phone, *sirens blaring*, drain savings by going out for dinner every night (it’s worth it), accidentally buy a third top this week during a ‘quick window shop’ (you deserve it).”
Translation: Vancouver is about wellness, Toronto is about momentum.
The winter
I can't say the Eastern Canadian winter necessarily confused me when I first moved to Toronto, but it definitely came as a shock to the mind, body, and spirit.
Nobody prepared me to act out a scene from The Revenant every other morning in February on my way to class. You show up wind-battered, cheek-burned, and looking like you narrowly survived an animal attack — and that was just the five-minute walk from residence.
Moving across the country is disorienting (even when you’re technically still in Canada). To be completely honest, living in Toronto confused me in the best way: it's bold, buzzy, and braving the elements somehow makes you feel like a tougher, cooler version of yourself — like you've earned your place there. And sometimes, just sometimes, on a grey, wet, Vancouver day in February, I even catch myself missing it. (But don’t tell Vancouver I said that.)
The views expressed in this Opinion article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
