Canada's first Chinatowns, in the British Columbia cities of Victoria and Vancouver, were formed by the thousands of immigrants from villages in Kwantung Province who came to work as labourers on the Canadian Pacific Railway. Their willingness to work long hours for much less pay created a growing animosity; rampant unemployment and the perception that the Chinese were taking the local jobs brought resentment and discrimination. The two west coast settlements grew out of that prejudice and enmity; they were as much bastions as communities.
When the railway was completed, many Chinese headed east, to cities like Toronto, ironically escaping racism on the railway built to unite a nation.
By 1900, there were two hundred Chinese residents in Toronto, and most worked in laundries. Chinese Canadians now comprise the largest ethnic group in what the United Nations has designated the world's most multicultural city. After English, Chinese is the most spoken language in the homes of The Greater Toronto Area. The small pocket of hand laundries at the turn of the century has evolved into six distinct Chinatowns with a combined population of half a million And they no longer do laundry. 
Chinatown Toronto1. Downtown Chinatown
Toronto's original Chinatown was located in the area now occupied by the twelve-acre complex of the "new" city hall. During its construction in the early 1960s, the Chinese community, by then the third largest in Canada, moved to its present site at the crossroads of Spadina Avenue and Dundas Street.
Downtown Chinatown has all the vitality and hustle bustle street energy that is characteristic of similar neighbourhoods around the world. The wide promenades of Spadina become extensions of stores and narrow to single file in front of makeshift stands displaying fruits and vegetables, labelled with Chinese characters drawn on pieces of cardboard. Lychees and rambutans hang in bunches from canvas awnings; a sliced durian is displayed, the foul odour hanging like a fetid cloud. It seems like every other store has barbequed ducks and whole pigs hanging in the window. Wing Fong, Hong Fok, Ting Hing, Po Chi Tong, Chung Mee -- trading companies, herbalists, and restaurants have names that form a tone poem. 
Chinatown Toronto
Chinatown Toronto
Chinatown Toronto
Chinatown Toronto
Neon signs flash the message "Herbalist and Acupuncturist on Duty". There is a clamour as a press of jostling customers throng around a hole in the wall shop, which is selling assorted vegetables on a foot long bun for a dollar each. A monk in a grey robe stands in the middle of the people-thick sidewalk, an alms bowl on a box in front of him; the crowd flows around him like water around a rock. His hands gesture towards the bowl with choreographed, ritualistic, articulated moves; a serene smile is locked on his face.
Merchandise lines the steep steps to the basement location of the Tai Kong Supermarket; inside, the narrow aisles are bustling. On the floor, a small Buddhist shrine protects against evil spirits. The miniature temple has a golden dragon motif and is strung with red lights; tiny golden cups of tea and pieces of apples and oranges have been placed as offerings. Numerous sticks of incense fill the air with wisps of sandalwood
In a doorway, two elderly women in baggy pyjama-like pants and Mao style tops sit on their haunches behind overturned cardboard boxes on which are displayed a few bunches of chives, a couple of white radishes, and several stalks of Bok Choi. One is clipping her nails, both are smoking, and neither seems interested in making a sale as they speak, simultaneously, in low tones.
Near a passenger shelter jammed with people awaiting streetcar number 510, a monk in a saffron robe, his head freshly shaved, paces while talking on a cell phone.
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