Musings from Mexico
Normally, when I write my columns, they are composed in the den of my home. Sometimes, however, they emerge from a coffee pub. This one, however, comes from my room on a cruise ship off the coast of Mexico. As I write, I reflect. It goes back to my first trip to Mexico, which was in 1967. It was a suggestion made by a friend. We had graduated together from Castro Valley High, and then did the same at California State College, Hayward (now CSUEB). He said that we should do something different to celebrate our recent graduation from college. His idea - go to Mexico! Neither of us had been there. His target was Guaymas, which resided on the Sea of Cortez. Off we went with another friend. We imagined good times on the beach, along with imbibing beer and tequila. With luck, we might romance local senoritas.
Before departing home, I put a book in my pocket. It took two days to arrive in Guaymas. The first day was to drive to San Diego. We then boarded a wayward bus that meandered its way to our destination. Once there, we went directly to the beach. Although the water was pleasantly warm, the book I brought with me captured my attention. My friends noticed attractive senoritas a short distance away on the beach. Enthused, they started the game of flirtation, motivated by the hope of getting lucky. The book, however, captured my attention. It was about the rise of mass movements, fanaticism, and terrorism. I opted out of the romantic pursuits to read. They thought there was something wrong with me. Perhaps there was. They did not get lucky, yet I did. I learned from the book.
Now, as I sit in my room on the cruise ship, I read and write. A chest cold has made me indolent regarding participation in the activities taking place on board the ship. The person overseeing rooms on the floor where mine is located, expressed her concern. Was I okay? I told her that I went to the doctor on the ship. He diagnosed me with bronchitis. He provided medicines, and recommended rest. With that, I told her that I was not lonely. I had good books as companions. Her expression articulated a perception of oddness to my behavior.
She asked what I was reading. When I said that one book is about Einstein. Another is about the birth of modernization and progress, which started about 400 years ago. Enthused, I told her another one is a book of poems. Her perplexed look reminded me of my friends from my first trip to Mexico in 1967. My launching pad for both trips was Castro Valley. During the half century in-between, things have changed in both locations. Yet, there is much that has not changed in either location. The same appears to be true with regard to my behavior. Maybe, despite the passing of time and the aging process, I am still the same guy I was in 1967.
As I conclude my thoughts, along with this composition, I wonder how much any of us change. Although we age and have a lifetime of experiences, perhaps we retain more of what we were long ago than we realize. If so, maybe I am younger than I think. If that was the lesson I learned from this trip to Mexico, it was well-worth taking. I also realize that when I read a book, it takes me on a journey. Reading can be adventurous. With that, traveling and reading may be more closely related than realized. They can also make good shipmates.