Travel Buddies (Part 2)

“Travelers, it is late. Life’s sun is going to set. During these brief days that you have strength, be quick and spare no effort of your wings.”
-Rumi-

The mop-headed little boy about eight years old looked apprehensive. Sitting next to Fred and Catherine Nemo on the flight to Cabo San Jose, his left leg was shaking uncontrollably, and he could not concentrate on the Magna comic book bouncing around in his lap. Every now and then he lifted himself up, peering over the seat, trying to make eye contact with his family several rows ahead. All this punctuated by deep nervous sighs.

“First flight?” asked Fred.

“Huh? Ahh, yeah. You?” the boy responded cautiously.

“Nah, we’ve been on a plane dozens of times. You feelin’ a bit nervous about stuff?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Those airport people couldn’t seat us all together. My Dad’s down that side and my mom and sister are further up. And…and…” He sighed, his lip quivering as tears ran down his cheek, “They didn’t give us parachutes…and I don’t know ‘bout my little sister.” His body shaking with uncontrollable grief and deep sobs.

Fred put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and gently said, “Hey, hey little dude, it’s okay. You know what they say, right?”

“What?” He sniffled.

“That flying is actually safer than driving in a car? And did you know that soon after we take off the flight attendant will be by with free snacks and soda for everyone?”

His voice still cracking the boy whimpered, “Do we get parachutes then…my little sister, she’s only three?”

“Nah, don’t worry. We don’t need ‘em. These planes are flown by military trained pilots with professional air traffic controllers guiding us all the way to our destination.”

Wiping away a tear, the boy sighed saying, “You talk like a grandpa.”

“Yep, and Catherine’s a grandma. We may be old but we got superpowers like some of the folks in your comic book.” The boy looked up skeptically. But knowing how easy this was going to be Fred boasted, “No ‘airport people’ gonna’ mess with us! You’ll soon be flyin’ like an eagle—your sister too. So, try to relax for a minute, okay buddy?”

Catherine whispered, “Yeah Fred, we gotta’ fix this.”

“Right, let’s go.”

After speaking with the flight attendant, they arranged a seat swap with mom and little sister. As his family sat beside him, the young lad was all smiles, waving excitedly, arms stretched out as if he were flying, laughing as Fred posed a Spiderman landing in the middle of the aisle.

Then his dad yelled over from across the way, “Hey, thanks Gramps!”

Fred smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

“I owe you guys. Can I treat you to a couple of snack boxes?”

“No need Dad. But when you get a chance, make sure you pay it forward.”

“Copy that, for sure. Thanks again, Pops.”

Settling into their new seats, Catherine chirped, “I think we did good Fred.”
“Yeah, it ain’t easy being Superheroes, hey Cat?”

“Yep, kinda’ makes you hungry. Let’s order one of those snack boxes. What do ya’ think?”

Fred simply nodded, mumbling a knowing “Um-hmm.”

The well-dressed man in the window seat, working on his laptop, peered at his new seat mates suspiciously as if deliberating, “What next? I go from one annoying little brat to a couple of crazy old boomers...if I’m lucky, maybe they’ll fall asleep.”

And they did, Catherine’s head snug against Fred’s shoulder.

****

Deplaning at the Cabo International Airport, Fred and Catherine followed the crowd headed to the airport exit and into a shuttle provided by the resort.

After checking in and hurriedly unpacking, they hit the “Taco Shack” for some Nachos, guac and a pitcher of fresh lemonade. Then they settled into lounge chairs under a Palapa, a structure with a thatched roof made from dried palm leaves, used to provide shade for guests hesitant about working on their tans.

That day a haze partially hid the mountains bordering the Sea of Cortez on two sides. Pelicans were hunting fish, flying along the edge of the water. Magnificent Frigates shared the airspace, both birds soaring in a constant circle, now and again gathering and flying in beautiful formations, periodically thundering down through the waves to grab their prey.

As Fred braved the crashing waves, he noted dozens of small silver fish surrounding him. In calmer water, on a sand bar, a school of fish blasted up from the water, startling him and making him laugh loudly, grateful to be one with nature, the sand, the sea, and the salty air.

After a few futile attempts at body surfing, trying to catch one of the larger waves he hoped would propel him toward the beach, Fred realized he needed to approach this differently. As he walked back to the Palapa he saw the solution.

“You know what I need, Cat?”

“Hmm?” Catherine mumbled, savoring the Chocolate yogurt she bought from a vendor hawking treats on the beach.

“A boogie board,” proclaimed Fred resolutely.

Popping back into the moment, Catherine asked, “And why exactly would a very old dude—one such as yourself—want with a child’s plaything? A death wish perhaps?”

Fred responded self-consciously, “Well, umm, it looks like I can’t body surf anymore. I can’t seem to catch up to the cresting waves. Besides if I do nail one, the swells aren’t quite strong enough to propel me forward. But a board would help me catch the breaks. I see the kids do it all the time.”

Catherine, eyeing him intently finally said between licks, “You know what, go for it. We’re here for two weeks. It’ll keep you out of trouble for a few hours each day. And, before you ask, no, I don’t want one and yes, we’re still going on a cruise.”

“Done,” declared Fred, adding, “She’s the best…that wife of mine” as he bent over to deliver a kiss on her forehead.

The next morning, they went to the marina town bordering the resort. They savored a couple of breakfast burritos, downed a few cups of café con leche and stopped into one of the shops that dotted the main drag. The store featured normal tourist fare, refrigerator magnets, Cabo coffee cups, tee-shirts and scary looking dia de los muertos statuettes, along with quality leather goods, silver figurines, porcelain, and other collectibles.

And there in a far corner was propped a singular boogie board. It featured a smiling dolphin crashing joyfully through the pounding surf. It was light but sturdy with a lanyard to secure it to the wrist. In Fred’s mind, it had his name on it. In broken Spanish and English, the haggling began.

Turning toward the proprietor Fred asked in his best Spanglish, “So, cuanto, Senor?

“Es solo 700 pesos.” (about $40 US.)

“Es muy mucho” said Fred flipping his hand in feigned disgust, turning toward the exit.

“Wait Senor, today….500 pesos para ti.” (about $25.)

Fred considered, finally saying, “Ah, okay, muy bien, gracias.”

After paying the shopkeeper, he cocked the board under one arm and said to Catherine excitedly, “Let’s go to the beach.” Catherine merely shook her head, wondering if the travel insurance they bought would cover self-imposed nautical catastrophes.

Once on the beach Fred secured the lanyard and immediately hit the water. Heading out about fifty feet, he ignored a few tepid waves but soon spied a large gathering swell and prepared himself to launch forward. Lowering the back of the board and tilting the front slightly upward he kicked away from the swell. The wave crashed upon him flipping him off the board and sending him crashing into the sea floor as the wave crested and made its way up to the beach.

Fred was undaunted as he righted himself, wiping the water out of his eyes and vigorously shaking his head to get water out of his ears. He noted a group of teenagers pointing in his direction and laughing hysterically at this feeble attempt at boogie boarding. Smiling broadly, he flipped them a V-shaped peace sign, even as he struggled not to flip them a “middle finger salute.”

Fred knew he had to gauge the waves differently to stay afloat for a good ride. Watching the kids he noted they did not try to catch the wave’s swell but rather launched off as the wave broke, riding the white water to shore.

As the day wore on, Fred got much more successful, holding on for dear life while easing into the breaking waves. Finally, he mastered the white water and several times found himself propelled rapidly toward the shore.

Heading up the beach to their lounge chairs he broke into a happy dance, singing to Catherine, “Oh yeah. All right. I got it. I got it.”

“No broken bones?” teased Catherine.

“Nope, it’s not as violent and unpredictable as body surfing, but if you catch that white water, the rides are pretty cool.”

“Nice, how about we hit the mercado and grab a couple of lattes and yummy Palmiers?”

Returning from the beach, boogie board in tow, Fred and Catherine ran into a couple who appeared to be somewhat older than they were, perhaps in their mid-to-late '80s. He was walking with his wife who steadied herself using a three-point cane. Like Catherine, she was “knockin’ the natural,” proudly wearing her snow-white shoulder length hair. He was balding and slightly bent, but still had a look that Fred quickly recognized, one suggesting he was still in touch with his mischievous inner child. They linked eyes, and pointing to Fred’s boogie board the gentleman said, “That one’s cool. I got the one with the marlin racing a boat.”

Fred responded, “Nice, congratulations. There aren’t too many of us old dudes out there. I call it, ‘Boogie boarding while ancient.’” Chuckling and nodding in agreement the man replied, “Hey, there you go! I like it. How about, Boogie board ‘til you die!” Fred nodded his head in agreement. Catherine noted the man’s wife was shaking her head in disbelief, with a look that seemed to say, “Another one! Crazy old fools.”

After exchanging goodbyes Catherine said, “Hurry up Fred we gotta' catch a boat.”

****

Fred and Catherine joined about fifty other tourists for a sunset dinner cruise on a giant catamaran at the Cabo San Lucas marina. The late afternoon sky was clear, and the sea calm, holding a promise of smooth sailing. The cruise included a pass by “Neptune’s Finger” a rock formation on the way to the iconic “Arch” (El Arco) a granite formation located where the Pacific Ocean met the Sea of Cortez. Along the way, they passed a colony of sea lions playing and seemingly posing for the tourists as they passed by snapping pictures.

The early evening’s menu featured a buffet of beef & chicken fajitas, rice and beans, salads, guacamole, chips and salsa, along with plenty of cerveza, mixed drinks and Topo Chico.

Catherine, wolfing down her meal said, “Let’s have seconds!”

Fred simply responded, “Si” as he scraped the last nibble of rice and beans off his plate.

As the sun dipped down below the horizon passengers were treated to an amazing red and gray sky that stayed with them for quite some time as the late afternoon evolved into evening.

When they docked a young crew member jumped onto the boat’s transom, calling for attention. “Mis Amigos,” he said. “Please, when you go back to America, tell your people we are not all killers; we don't all drink tequila, do drugs and are not criminals.” We are just working people, and are so glad you came to vacation with us.”

Fred was touched by this young man’s plea, and felt a need to shake this crewmember’s hand, and to wish him the best of luck in the work he so clearly enjoyed. He told him, “We’ve been to Mexico many times, and like most Americans we know about the Cartels, but there was never any trouble anywhere we went. Not a criminal, or a murderer in sight. As you say, folks are just working and middle-class people, hustling like most Americans, trying to make a living.”

This was not the first time Fred and Catherine heard pleas for understanding. At the resort they met a professional woman in her late-twenties who was terrified to make another visit to the United States. She told them, “I am so upset about what’s happening in your country. Me and my friends frequently make trips to America. We fly in American planes, stay in American hotels, and spend money at American venues. But this year were not going to go. I am afraid I might end up in a place like ‘Alligator Alcatraz’ and not be able to get back. I just don’t know what might happen.” Sighing, she said ‘I have a good job here and I can’t risk not getting back.’”

Another time, when talking to the resort’s concierge, Fred again felt the need to apologize and express his embarrassment about what was happening in the United States. He said, “The racist rhetoric, the anger and violence coming out of our country and directed toward immigrants is just so unbelievable.”

The concierge shook his head and said “No, no. American people are not like this. This is only behavior that comes from your government. We know the American people are better than their leaders.”

Fred could only smile, and, reaching out, shook the man’s hand, thinking, “This is wisdom. This is forgiveness. This is solidarity between neighboring countries.”

After boarding the plane for their return trip to America, Fred turned to Catherine and said, “The land we love seems so lost, so angry, so disconnected. We need to get more involved in the nonviolent resistance, to join with other concerned citizens and make our voices heard. Hell, in our youth we fought for civil rights, ended the Draft, and stopped that awful Vietnam war…”

“And fought for women’s liberation,” added Catherine.

“Right,” continued Fred. “The country needs us, again. This is America, we can do this.”

“Superheroes!” barked Catherine, squeezing Fred’s arm and drawing curious stares from surrounding seatmates.

“Here’s what I know, Cat,” said Fred excitedly. “That inextinguishable American Spirit has been battered, but it is rising again, and together we can help make it whole.”

THE END

© 2025 Gerald R. Gioglio

Gerald R. Gioglio is the author of the social Justice and antiwar memoir, Marching to a Silent Tune: A Journey from We Shall to Hell No. Available from ActaPublications.com, and at Amazon.com.