Jennifer: My name is Jennifer. And the first time I left home was when I was 19 years old. I was in college, and I met a man in a band. This was 1999. I don’t mind saying the name of the band, the Bloodhound Gang. Actually, maybe that is embarrassing. I fell in like with someone in the band. And at the time, my mother, who is a fully recovered drug addict, was still using, so there was a lot going on in my personal life. So the fact that I got attached to a man in a band that had an album called Hooray for Boobies should surprise absolutely no one. And we kept in touch after he came through the town where my college was. And I visited him in Los Angeles. And I decided that I wanted to live there. So in early January 2000, I packed up everything I owned. My mother wanted to know where I was going, I said I was going to see a friend for a little bit. And I flew to Los Angeles with no plan, showed up at his doorstep and was immediately told that he was leaving the country to go on tour, I couldn’t stay with him. And I ended up living in a youth hostel on Hollywood Boulevard. I stayed there for three months. In exchange for room and board, I worked at their front desk, got a job at an internet company. This was during the dot com boom for all you youth out there. And I ended up staying for about nine months before crawling back home again. The good news is that I almost immediately got into another relationship and ended up back in California for another four years. So to be clear, as awful as this might sound, I think that I was sort of projecting a lot of things onto these relationships and really just wanted to leave an already tumultuous home life. I don’t recommend dating anybody in a band, especially if one of their songs has a line about “something something animals” and “the Discovery Channel.” If you know, you know, as the kids say.

Samantha: Hi, my name is Samantha. I grew up about 45, 30 minutes south of Chicago. And I grew up very, very Mormon. When it came time to go to college, I put all my eggs in the Brigham Young University in Utah basket. I had never been to Utah. That’s really it was in my mind Mormon Mecca. So I got in, drove across the country with my parents to go to BYU, had no problem saying goodbye. So they left. I’m at BYU. Long story, how I got into this apartment off campus, but I ended up in an apartment with me and four blonde people. I’m not blonde. A lot of Utah Mormons are blonde. And did the Utah thing. Coming from the flatland, Utah was just magic to me. It was—I couldn’t believe mountains, and how beautiful mountains were. And for the first time, I knew which direction things were because the mountains made it very clear what’s north, south, east and west. I was in love. I was in love with Utah. I was in heaven having everybody there be Mormon and having their billboards that were Mormon oriented movies, bookstores. I had never seen that before in my life. Ironically, Utah, BYU and Mormon culture led me out of the church, eventually. I got married at 19, much like a lot of Mormons do. By the time I graduated from BYU, I wanted out so desperately. Me and my husband were so, so—we would have done anything to get out. So we ended up getting a job teaching English in Japan. So we moved over to Japan. So that was a whole other experience of living in a culture that I had never been in and learning a lot of things about that culture. So that’s my “when I moved away” story.

Alex: Hey guys, my name is Alex and I currently live in Rockaway Beach, New York City. But the story of my first time living home actually will go back to my junior year of high school. My family moved to Brisbane, Australia during one of my dad’s work trips. And while I was living there, I really got into the sunshine, beaches and doing lots of photography. So when I graduated high school, I wanted to go to school in Australia for university. But the cost as an international student was just kind of too much of a risk. So I’m back home in Washington State. I went to college in Bellingham. And I really enjoyed it there. Bellingham is an awesome town. But only a couple hours from where I grew up in Tacoma, I don’t really consider leaving home. But when I graduated college, I decided that I wanted to live by the beach again, try to find that taste of Australia. So I applied for several jobs in Southern California. And basically to get any interviews with these companies, I had to lie to all of them and say that either I already lived there or had family I could stay with there. And it kind of got to the point where I was so desperate that I bought a one-way Greyhound ticket to Santa Monica so that I could apply for an interview for jobs in person. But in the end, I really lucked out because I ended up getting a great job offer for a marketing job in a travel company. And that offer came on a Thursday. And two days later, that same Saturday, I had a little going away party with my family, packed up my old 1997 Ford Ranger, and started driving down 1,500 miles from Tacoma, Washington to Huntington Beach, California. And that was on Memorial Day weekend. And now every Memorial Day weekend, I try to take a road trip of at least 500 miles to commemorate that move. And even though I haven’t made it back to Australia since high school, somewhere I have it in my mind that I might end up back there someday. And I still have a really strong love for that culture and where it’s kind of taken me in life since then.

Dylan: Yes, today we give our tribute to Ivan the Terra Bus. I’m Dylan Thuras and this is Atlas Obscura, a celebration of the world’s strange, incredible, and wondrous places. And today we are taking a journey to the end of the Earth. We’re taking a ride in a big red bus named Ivan across the icy, icy landscape. And we’re going to learn why after more than 30 years as this iconic fixture of this polar research station, Ivan is finally bidding farewell to the southern continent. It’s a story of heroic valor and maybe tragedy.

This is an edited transcript of the Atlas Obscura Podcast: a celebration of the world’s strange, incredible, and wondrous places. Find the show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and all major podcast apps.

Dylan: Allegra is Atlas Obscura’s community editor. As you heard, she is also an Antarctica super fan. Maybe let’s start with that. How did you become an Antarctic stan, maniac, lover of all things Antarctica?

Johanna: Yeah, I don’t know.

Amanda: That’s going to be his responsibility for the trip.

Johanna: Maybe he’s trying to be kind?

Amanda: Maybe.

Dylan: Yeah.

Amanda: Communication. But this came up a lot in this question.

Dylan: And I think some people just despise trying to get their bag in the overhead luggage compartment. It’s too stressful. They’re just like, would much rather drop it off and pick it up. I mean, I’m the opposite. I’m an insane person who tries to carry on every single thing all the time.

Johanna: Yeah, you’re like, anti-rolly bag, right, Dylan?

Amanda: You’re wearing the Bass Pro vest with all the pockets.

Dylan: Yes. I have four shirts on, so that I don’t have to pack them.

Johanna: Yeah, he’s wearing eight layers of clothes.

Dylan: I’m just in my hole. Yeah, I’m very hot. I’m sweating a lot. No, I mean, it’s sort of funny because actually this is how we—I travel with a carry on, I travel with a backpack. But when I’m traveling with my family—and so we have, there’s—then everyone else’s stuff is in one giant checked bag, because it doesn’t work for everyone. We may when we take—we’re taking a really big family trip this summer. And I think we’re going all carry on. I think we’re going to try and have four backpacks, because we just don’t want to lug a giant piece of luggage around.

Johanna: Four backpacks, not four rolly bags?

Dylan: No, no, I hate rolly bags, Johanna.

Johanna: God, sorry. How old are your kids?

Amanda: Can they carry their own stuff?

Dylan: They’re going to be eight and 10.

Johanna: You’re going to put huge—this is like a two-month long trip—you’re going to put two huge backpacks on that one—okay.

Lulu: OK, I’m so excited. Let’s squeak on the linoleum. Let’s bring it.

Dylan: Let’s go. Let’s go to the mall.

Ella Fetter: Underneath Toronto, there’s a massive underground mall called the PATH. It’s a 30 kilometer network of shops and banks and food courts that connect buildings in the downtown core. Apparently, it’s the biggest underground shopping complex in the world. And if you read the city’s website, it sounds like this thing has it all: 3.7 million square feet in retail space, 1.7 billion dollars in yearly revenue. What they don’t tell you is how boring it is. This is what happens when I tell my friend Jimmy I’m going.

Jimmy: You’re going to the PATH. Like, who goes to the PATH on a weekend? Like, who does that?

Ella: Is there anything that you would recommend seeing when I’m in the PATH?

Jimmy: No, really, I don’t know who would go in the PATH. Isn’t that like old stores and nothing of interest that’s happening in the PATH? I don’t know.

Ella: This is really helpful, thank you. This was the general reaction I got when I told people I was doing this story. The PATH? Really? Why? I took this as a personal challenge. How can a place so vast, so full of people and commerce, have so little going on? It’s basic probability. We multiply people by space and time, and something has to happen, right? And I was going to find it. This is Atlas Obscura. Usually on this show, we celebrate the world’s strange, incredible, and wondrous places. But in this episode, I descend into the commercial bowels of Toronto, to a place famously devoid of wonder, on a quest to find something of interest.

This is an edited transcript of the Atlas Obscura Podcast: a celebration of the world’s strange, incredible, and wondrous places. Find the show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and all major podcast apps.

Ella: Now, maybe I should have heeded Jimmy’s warning about the PATH. My assignment was to cover a place that got a bad rap, and the surprising truth behind it, not to cover a place that straight up sucked, which everyone assured me the PATH definitely did. I guess I was feeling cocky. Maybe other people couldn’t find something interesting in the PATH, but I’m a podcast producer. It is my job to make things interesting. There’s a long tradition of writers pulling pearls out of oceans of boring. David Foster Wallace, expert at this. One of my favorite essays of all time is about the totally generic cruise that he took. Tracy Kidder wrote a whole book about someone building a house in New England, devoting pages upon pages to fee negotiations and the arrangement of windows. And it totally works. And now it was my turn. And the PATH’s.

The PATH was mostly built in the last century, and not all at once. The real push to build underground started in the 60s, when cities were very interested in how they could separate people from traffic. Starting at rush hour, Toronto’s sidewalks were getting so crowded, people were spilling into the roads. So the city decided to create an underground pedestrian network. And why not sell them some stuff while they’re down there? And the PATH quickly grew from there.

To prepare for my trip, I read everything I could about the PATH. It pored over old newspaper articles, academic papers, Reddit threads, and one very helpful interactive map that showed every store and restaurant. Through all this research, I basically learned that the PATH is a way to get around. That it’s warm and dry. That it has nine Tim Hortons and it’s really easy to get lost in. None of which made it an interesting place to visit. It seemed like if there was something interesting down there, I was going to have to find it myself. And so one Saturday afternoon, I put on my most comfortable walking shoes and ditched the sunscreen.

Now, walking all 30 kilometers of the PATH in one day would be a stretch, especially since I plan to stop and see things. Interesting things. So I decided to split it up into two days. On the first day, my downstairs neighbor Lexi agreed to join me. Lexi is exactly who you want for this kind of expedition. She’s very easily entertained. She likes slow arty movies where absolutely nothing happens, and, I recently learned, reading about private investment infrastructure. But even Lexi has her limits. We met up in the stairwell. You excited?

Lexi: Meh.

Ella: Meh? I thought that you’d be like the one person who would actually be excited about this. You love things everyone else hates.

Lexi: I know, but this one’s actually like, just a little too drab. It’s too drab to even be a thing everyone actively hates.

Ella: Still, Lexi could use a walk. So she’s in. We decide to start at the northernmost end of the PATH. We should pull out the map. We’re in a pretty quiet corner of the mall.

Lexi: OK, so we’re walking past. Tim Hortons. Yeah, athletic store, perfume store.

Ella: Yes. You know what? I’m going to spare you a lot of the details of what we saw next. What we saw was a mall. My favorite part, and this is saying a lot about what we were working with here, was a set of screens by Scotiabank explaining what money can do for you.

Lexi: “Belonging, certainty, connection, contribution, independence, and potential.”

Ella: “Money helped me live my best life.”

Lexi: It’s kind of interesting that they feel like they need to make a pitch for money.

Ella: And that was it. Technically, day one was a bust, but I wasn’t feeling discouraged. We were just laying the groundwork. I decided to come back on Monday morning. OK, this is sort of the start of the PATH. This time, I start at the south end, near Toronto’s waterfront. I see another food court, some people in business clothes. Is that a living room as well? It looks real. All in all, it’s pretty pleasant here, but not super interesting. And then, just a few minutes in, I see it. Huge ad for a fancy health clinic. Oh, big mirror wall. Oh my God, the Banksy.

It’s inside a huge glass case, next to a health food store, towering over me. A Banksy. A real one. I’d only seen pictures before. Lexi had actually mentioned this, that she’d heard something about a Banksy in the PATH, didn’t know if it was still there. But it still catches me by surprise, just sitting in this dead corner of the mall. It’s a stencil of a policeman on giant slabs of concrete. He’s pulling a pink balloon dog on a leash. And I’m not sure what it’s saying. Some kind of dig at the police state? Or at Jeff Koons? Or Jeff Koons for collaborating with the police state? I can’t tell.

A plaque says that the Banksy was salvaged from a building that got demolished in 2011. And so, there we go. There’s something in the PATH I think a lot of people would find legitimately interesting. But for me, this Banksy is falling flat. Locked inside this box in the PATH, it feels contained and irrelevant. If it’s a swipe at capitalism, its corporate landlords do not seem to care. People walk past it without looking. They probably see it every day. It’s obvious what I need to do. I have to start talking to people. If anyone knows what’s interesting about this place, it’s the people who work in it. Basic part of reporting. But personally, I hate bothering strangers and asking for something. I tend to approach sideways like a crab, lowering my gaze so as to be non-threatening. Hi.

Worker 1: Hi.

Ella: Sorry to bother you.

Worker 1: That’s OK.

Ella: I’m actually not shopping. I’m doing a podcast about the PATH. And if anything interesting has ever happened in here at all.

Worker: Sorry. We’ve been here 20 years, so nothing interesting.

Ella: All right. Good to know. Thank you.

Worker 2: Um, I don’t think there’s anything interesting that’s happened here.

Ella: Nothing?

Worker 2: Uh, not that you can think of.

Ella: OK. Is there anywhere interesting to go in the PATH that you’re aware of?

Worker 2: Uh, no.

Ella: Yeah. That’s rough. OK.

Worker 3: Nothing happens here.

Ella: Is it nice working underground with no light?

Worker 3: It’s kind of depressing. You don’t see light. You’re down here all day, right?

Ella: No plants can live, but you have lots of plant pictures. OK. All right. Well, enjoy.

Worker 3: Take care.

Ella: You too. Oh, it’s the Soup Nutsy—not nazi, Nutsy. They don’t look friendly. Huh. Very intimidating. The Soup Nutsy, inspired by the Seinfeld episode. The Soup Nutsy’s mascot is an angry cartoon chef with a nutsy mustache. Maybe that’s interesting?

By the afternoon, things aren’t looking good for my story. The highlights so far have been the sad, ignored Banksy. The Soup Nutsy, where I was afraid to talk to the workers. And a functional toddler-sized toilet facing the adult-sized toilet in the all-gender bathroom. Have not seen that before. But after five continuous hours underground, watching business people stroll around in their business clothes, I feel so bored and numb. I just have no sense of what’s worth talking about. I buy two hash browns from Tim Hortons and take a seat at a food court. And I start questioning my life choices. What was I thinking, picking this story? Deciding that I was the one who could make the PATH cool? What was this hubris?

Then, I start to get annoyed with myself for feeling bored. I mean, what’s so bad about this place, really? The PATH isn’t the problem. Tracy Kidder wouldn’t be bored here. Because he, unlike me, isn’t boring. He’d look at the design of this food court—the way the chairs were molded, the metal beams welded and suspended from the ceiling—and he’d have something to say about human aspirations and conflicts. Or David Foster Wallace, he would have struck up a conversation with that mean-looking soup person and turned out a hilarious and profound comment on consumption and pride in one’s work. But not me.

Under the PATH’s artificial light, things have become painfully clear. This bout of self-pity goes on longer than I’m proud of. But I do eventually pull myself together. So I pick up some coffee and a chocolate cookie to rev me up. And instantly, my hands are covered in chocolate. I try to wipe it, but it won’t come off. So I have to go back for extra napkins. And then I’m wetting them with saliva, but it still won’t come off. Shortly after that, I trip and spill coffee all over my shirt. A little while after that, I give up. It’s a mall.

By this point, I’ve recorded about two hours of audio inside the PATH, and the most exciting thing that happened was being smeared in food. I wasn’t sure I could turn that into a story that anyone would want to hear. Maybe David Foster Wallace could have, but I’m not him. And so at 3 p.m., I emerge. It’s drizzling, cold, really refreshing. It’s only been six hours, but suddenly it feels so good to be outside. The overcast sky is blindingly bright. The cold air in my lungs, invigorating. I see cars, dirt, and people. It’s invigorating.

I see cars, dirt, pigeons, bare trees starting to come back to life after a long Toronto winter. It’s just like the city I left that morning, but now it’s wonderful. And then I’m reminded of a line from Moby Dick. A book that, appropriately, I found incredibly boring and didn’t finish. But this one line has stayed with me for years. The narrator is on a whaling ship, cuddling in bed with Queequeg, a Polynesian harpooner. They’re cozy and warm under the blanket. And Melville writes that, “To enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold. For there is no quality in this world that is not what it is nearly by contrast.”

So basically, if you’re always comfortable, you’re not going to feel it. Life is felt in the contrasts. Having been ensconced in warmth and mechanical ventilation, I can now appreciate the wind and the rush of traffic. I didn’t enjoy the PATH, but it helped me appreciate the not-path world by contrast. And standing there on the sidewalk, reveling in harsh wind and car exhaust, that’s when I finally solved it. The key to the PATH is in the contrast. So take this couple that I met the first day. They were studying a map of the PATH when I approached them. Clearly not from around these parts. I asked them if they’d seen anything interesting so far, expecting to get the same answer everyone else gave me.

Woman: Everything, really. It’s so fancy.

Ella: Really? OK.

Man: For us it is. I mean, we come from—

Woman: Niagara Falls.

Man: We live in the country, so yeah, this is a pretty fancy shopping mall.

Woman: It’s very fancy.

Ella: That’s right. People with access to the natural wonder that is Niagara Falls think this place is cool. The PATH is not inherently good or bad, interesting or boring. The goodness of the PATH depends on where you’ve come from. If you’ve seen a zillion shiny, well-lit malls, they become tedious. But if you’re from Niagara Falls, apparently, it might just be fancy. And you can have this experience in the PATH, too. You just need the right contrast. So here’s what you gotta do. First, go somewhere else. Someplace deserted, cold, smelly. Maybe by a dumpster behind a restaurant or a vet clinic. Make sure there’s nothing to eat or drink and no cool anti-capitalist art to look at. Then, head to the PATH. Take a stroll through 30 kilometers of shops, fast dining and entertainment. You’re welcome. You’ve just found the best place in the world.

Listen and subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and all major podcast apps.

Our podcast is a co-production of Atlas Obscura and Stitcher Studios. The people who make our show include Dylan Thuras, Doug Baldinger, Chris Naka, Kameel Stanley, Johanna Mayer, Manolo Morales, Beaudelaire, Amanda McGowan, Alexa Lim, Casey Holford, and Luz Fleming.