Sometimes when I walk into centro I like to take what I call “my shortcut” – away from the grid of busy streets and crowded sidewalks, down a steep, scrubby, winding, stony path to a soccer field on the other side of town. This shortcut is likely no shorter, in terms of steps or distance into town, but I prefer it because it takes me back in time.
On weekends throughout the year and especially on our summer breaks from grammar school, we kids – a small pack of neighborhood girls of which I was the eldest by one year and therefore the leader – were always outdoors, exploring back roads and trails through woods and fields, searching for shortcuts to that day’s chosen destination. We were feral. We were free. We were fearless. We were forever up for adventures, unfettered by adults’ eyes and strictures. Now here I am at eighty – far from that eight- year-old me — still reveling in such childish freedom.
So the other morning I took my San Miguel shortcut to get to an important appointment I had across town. My computer had suddenly seized up that morning, and I needed my tech guru to fix it so I could continue to function. How dependent we’ve all become on technology – like dogs on short leashes — I often think.
It was a coolish and overcast morning, having rained heavily the night before – the first serious rains of this new rainy season. But I was enjoying my solo walk down this off-the-beaten-path, path. I felt free.
As I got closer to the bottom of the hill, though, I heard gushing water. Then I saw it: The shallow gully that’s dry and easily passable in the dry season and gingerly passable over slippery slabs of stone in the rainy season had overnight turned into a fairly wide and fast-flowing river-like stream. The stepping stones I’d always hopped, like an eight-year-old, in previous rainy seasons were submerged, out of sight. I stood on the bank of this new barrier frozen, staring at all that loud, dirty, fiercely flowing water.
Should I retrace my steps? I wondered. Did I have time to climb back up the stony slope and walk into town the other way around? Or take a taxi, if I could find one? Would I arrive late and lose my appointment with my favorite techie? …
Then out of nowhere, as if dropped from the sky, a young Mexican man, maybe in his twenties, in well-worn jeans and a baggy tee, appeared behind me. I turned and looked at him, and together we studied the situation for what felt like a long time.
“Nadamos?” (Shall we swim?), I asked him, paddling my arms and smiling stupidly.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he got in front of me, crouched down with his back to me, and patted his shoulders.
“Noooooo…,” I said, thinking this would not be possible. After all, he was smaller than I and even skinnier, and I was carrying stuff – my always-heavy backpack, a satchel with my even-heavier laptop in it, and a big umbrella, in case the skies were to reopen. He insisted, patting his shoulders again.
How could I refuse?
I climbed onto his slender back, and he slowly, carefully, expertly – like a Himalayan Sherpa — made his way through the more-than-ankle-deep rushing water to the other side. No hay problema for him.
“You are brave,” I whispered to him in Spanish. My face was an inch from his ear.
He didn’t respond. He just kept slogging, slowly, sure-footedly, through the raging stream. I knew he wouldn’t drop me. My laptop, my backpack, my umbrella and I would not land in the dirty water and wind up bumping down the stream. I was in good hands.
As he carried me across, I tried to think of a time I’d gotten a piggyback ride as a child. Nothing, nada, came to mind. This was a first.
Before I had a chance to ask his name (let’s just call him Angel) or give him a tip in addition to my “MUCHAS GRACIAS!!!” to thank him for depositing me and my weighty belongings safely on dry land, he’d danced away, in his wet jeans and soggy high-tops, across the soccer field, and out of sight.
This is my beloved Mexico.
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Love it! Only in Mexico.
Thanks, Pat. Yes! We’re so lucky to be here in Mexico’s arms. Hope you’re doing well.
What a lovely story, la Bonnie! Such nice, helpful people. Y siempre con una sonrisa.
Si, Te, Mexican people are so wonderful. Always kind and helpful. Norteamericanos could learn a lot from them.
Oh, Bonnie! I love this story so much!! I mentioned in another WOW that I was catching up late a night and I literally laughed out loud here in my bed when I read “Nadamos?” (Shall we swim?)”. I love you. And I love your “Angel” for taking care of you. He’s a regular Sir Walter Raleigh! Bless his genuine chivalrous heart. ❤️
I love you too, dearest Michael. Yes, and there are many, many such chivalrous men here in Mexico. It’s so beautiful.
Thank you. I take that route sometimes. You made me smile.
That makes me happy, Scott. 🙂 Thank you.
Ahh truly Mexico! 🙂
Yes, Rae! Isn’t that the truth!
It truly is the beauty of the Mexican people. I loved this story and always enjoy your musings. Thank you!
Thank you, David! Yes, such beautiful people. I’m soo glad you liked this true story. — BB
Hi Bonnie – Great story with insights about Mexico that ring true. I’m happy you made it across safely.
Thanks so much, Mikel. I hope you’re doing well. — BB
Muchas gracis for sharing such a special experience!
De nada, dear Rhoda! Glad you liked it. And it’s all true, as you know.
LIKE a fairy tale or a Buddhist tale retold as a parable of goodness and trust.
Gracias, Bonnie!
What a wonderful connection! Thank you, dear Patrice.
What a beautiful adventure you had, and yes, only in Mexico with the very special gente that they are. It is a special place you are living in. Maybe will join you at some point.
Yes, it certainly was, Theresa! And I just HAD to share it. Seems to me that SMA is calling you… — Best, BB
I’m so relieved you are safe as well as dry. Your occasional reports are truly bright spots on a horizon filled with devastation. Thank you, thank you for sharing.
Thank YOU, Marie. Yes, he truly was an Angel — and he’s not the only one in San Miguel. 🙂
Wow, your adventures make me smile.
And that makes me smile!
What a great story. One of the best things about it is that we probably all have similar stories about how our neighbors in our host country have leant a hand. Love Mexico. Thanks Bonnie!
Yes, thanks, Kim! What good is a personal essay if it doesn’t have a universal angle? I’m so happy this post has struck many readers’ chords. 🙂
Dear Bon,
What an astounding story. To be rescued by a young man who appears as if out of nowhere to to save you from the raging cataclysm. It’s right out of a storybook! And how glad I am that he materialized just at the perfect moment. I can’t help wondering if such a gentlemanly act of kindness could be found here? Are young men here capable of the empathy needed for such an act? Still, it does my heart good to know such kindness is possible where you live and was extended to you. I read this as I was eating breakfast, and I know it will put a smile on my face for the rest of the day. Thank you for sharing this lovely happy ending to your adventure.
Love,
Paul
Yes, dear Paul, this is a true Mexican story, similar to others of its kind because Mexican people are so kind! Especially, I’m finding, to older women. It’s so refreshing — and, as you say “astounding.” When I told this true story to my Sketchers group the other day, all of the women nodded, as if to say, “Yes, that’s the Mexico I’ve come to know.” We are enormously grateful to be here. Here we are not only not invisible, as we would be as older women in the States, we are cared for. — Love, BB xx