Scarberians are EVERYWHERE.

What´s the likelihood of meeting someone from your hometown on a train through a foreign country?

It happens, you´d say.

What about someone from your hometown, from the same part of town, who went to the same high school?

That´s exactly what happened last night (or early this morning).

I lugged my suitcase up into the train, and struggled to my seat. As I was trying to sort myself out, this guy plunked his backpack next to me. I noticed the big Canadian patch right away.

“Canadian,” I declared, more than asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “You?”

“Me too. Where from?”

“Toronto,” he said, looking at me as I also acknowledged it. “What part?”

“Scarborough!”

“Me too! Did you go to Ryerson?” he asked. I said no.

“Did you go to Campbell?” he asked, referring to my old high school. I nodded, incredulously.

Turns out he was two years behind me, which was hilarious. And he and his friends were apparently at the same hostel in Valencia the same time I was.

So I think we spent the first hour of our trip chatting, which was great.

The last time I saw him and his friends was at the train station, where we were all trying to sort out our travel tickets with little or no Spanish whatsoever. I think they were headed for Malagá, then Italy.

But it was so nice to be able to talk to someone from the same place, at least for a little while.

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