Although I grew up in Manor Park, I\u2019ve always loved New Edinburgh. It seemed urban, almost gritty in comparison. The houses \u2014 as mismatched as laundry hanging from a back-alley lane \u2014 are all scrunched together, giving the neighbourhood an authentic, unplanned feeling. It wasn\u2019t developed in an architect\u2019s office, but was built from the ground up, by emergent necessity. It\u2019s an old area, one where fussy heritage types seeking to preserve each house and the eccentric accretions they\u2019ve accumulated through ages of do-it-yourself homeownership blossom amid a scattering of itinerant renters.<\/p>\n
The houses, like those who live inside them, are imperfect and have the tendency to shape the lives within, rather than the other way around. Unlike Rockcliffe, where you can build a glittering palace to your vanity, you can\u2019t always get exactly what you want in New Edinburgh, but sometimes have to live without a garage. You\u2019re still rich, of course, but you get to have an everyday complaint or two so that you can feel connected when you head down to Beechwood, the main artery that serves as the de facto line between Vanier and not Vanier.<\/p>\n
Running through two oppositional demographics, the street gives birth to a confusing litter of shops and bars. Neither high-end nor low-end places really work along this strip, and so there is an eccentric and hopeful mix of places that really wish they were located somewhere else \u2014 somewhere better or somewhere worse, as the case may be.<\/p>\n
On the street, there will be a bar for those with money and then another bar for those with less money, neither establishment drawing quite enough of a clientele to be the success they wanted to be. Every business here seems to be in the process of becoming rather than being, if you know what I mean.<\/p>\n