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The Southwest Coast Path, and lots of drinking. Exuberant Camino Reunion Glosses Over Pain and Hardship April 15, 2019 Exeter, UK – The rose-coloured glasses were out in full force Monday when a group of friends who had met on the Camino de Santiago reconvened more than 5 months after completing the 800 kilometre trek across northern Spain. Despite the fact that the 2 English, 2 Canadian and 1 Slovakian had all experienced extreme levels of pain, exhaustion and moodiness throughout the 5 week ordeal, observers reported that a disproportionate percentage of the conversation focused only on happy memories and good times. “To listen to them talk you’d think the whole Camino was just one big slumber party with a bit of strolling and wine drinking thrown in here and there. What about the blisters, the knee problems, the boredom, the relentless smells from the communal bathrooms? Apparently no one…

London, England was the next stop in our long, arduous attempt to see all of Europe entirely on short layovers on flights that eventually would take us somewhere far cheaper, and with, hopefully, fewer men in terrible sagging skinny jeans. We were meeting up with my sister, Andie, her boyfriend, Mark, and a guy named, Jesse, who was either Mark’s roommate, Andie’s personal assistant or a kind-hearted but down on his luck male prostitute. I can never remember which. After leaving Saskatoon we stopped briefly in Toronto, spending several minutes enjoying the lively debate between two idiots from Ottawa over what time 19:35 is. The woman behind us eventually settled the argument for them. Whew. From there it was either an evening or overnight flight to London, depending on which time zone you want to use. Bottom line, we arrived in Heathrow at 8:30am London time, took the Tube (I…

The sun was already well up in the sky, the morning church bells of London already on their second go round when he finally began to stir, eyes creaking open grudgingly like day old grilled cheese sandwiches. He ever so slowly sat up, pillow creases lining his face like the crumpled twenty in a hooker’s front pocket. He looked around in a daze, seemingly bewildered to find himself in the same room he’d woken up in thousands of times going all the way back to his first memories as a precocious young bed wetter. A couple hard, but decidedly unsuccessful, blinks were followed by a quick glance at his watch, a double take, then a wince as the pain in his temples rushed to catch up to the carelessness of his actions. Slowly shuffling across the huge chamber, one hand on his ample forehead, the other with a strong grasp…

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