Surfing Through Some Wonderful Encounters

Years ago, my dad and brother went to Mexico. One day, they were in the nearest town for supplies when my dad ran into a woman in the grocery store who gave him a recommendation on mango juice. They chatted for a bit, then said their goodbyes. Later, they were in the parking lot, and the woman walked by. She noticed his license plate, and they discovered that they were from the same area of islands in Canada, though she had been living in Mexico for several years. So they exchanged contact information, and my family returned to camp.

A couple weeks later, my brother was surfing on his short-board. During a wipeout, his board went between his legs, and the fin sliced his calf rather deeply. Someone in camp bandaged his leg, while another fetched Dad from out in the water. Dad threw his mattress into the back of the truck, loaded up my brother, and drove to Guerrero Negro as fast as he could (which couldn’t have been at all pleasant for my brother, considering it’s a one- to two-hour trip, 30 minutes of which on a very bumpy dirt road).

Eventually they reached town and got him to a doctor, at which point Dad called the woman he’d met at the store to help him with translating. When she arrived, all the work had been done, and Dad wasn’t sure what to do about payment. He had her ask about it, and according to her, the doctor laughed and asked, “We charge for this?”

Afterwards, my dad returned to camp while my brother stayed with the woman and her family, since it seemed cruel to have him lying on the beach, watching everyone else in the water, doing what he couldn’t. He was with them for a month, and made good friends with the daughter, who was about our age.

Dad stayed in touch with them over the years, and a decade later, I went down with him and got to meet them. When I mentioned the story to the daughter, she was really surprised about how it happened. Apparently, my brother told her he was attacked by a shark, and she believed it right up until I told her otherwise.