As I stand on the corner of Dufferin and Lawrence waiting for a bus, cars whizzing by, people hurrying across the intersection, I find it hard to believe that only a few days ago I was paddling through Killarney’s backcountry. In fact, if it wasn’t for the bruises on my shoulders from schlepping the canoe around, bug bites around my ankles and a slightly darker complexion, I would think I dreamt it all up: Killarney’s signature white cliffs, blue lakes and mournful loons. A beautiful dream, one that keeps me going as I try to elbow my way to the back of 52A bus.

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