Looking down on the snack-stands at the downtown end of the canal.
Looking out of the city.
Banners proclaiming something that might be saying, "Greasy fried snacks here!"
The National Portrait Gallery of Canada, which has no home and exists as a group of works hanging out in the storage of the Library and Archives Canada, had put large reproductions of Canadian portraits relating to skating and winter-outdoorsy activities beneath a large bridge. It was pretty cool. There were lots of people looking at the pictures, and it was a clever way to raise awareness of the works in the Portrait Gallery's collection.
Flatmate Andrea, the Female Half of the Hungarians (which, obviously, are a pair).
At the lake, eating Nutella-covered Beavertails, a lady with an Irish accent and dressed in early 19th or late 18th century clothing came up to us and offered us a job working as barmaids. She noted our strong ankles, saying that she was always looking for girls with strong ankles. Then she winked, and said that the men who worked digging the canal liked to see a bit of the barmaids' ankles. We'd get a shilling a day and all the whiskey we could drink. I thanked her for her offer, it was very good, but said I wasn't sure if my mother would approve of me showing my ankles off like that.
Flatmate Andrea had never encountered a reenactor before, so she kept silent, wondering if she should give the woman money, as that's what she would have done back in Hungary. Afterwards, asking me what the woman wanted, she was shocked to hear my answer, "She just wanted to share some history with us". Flatmate Andrea shook her head, clearly in wonder.