The Farmer's Wife Abroad {Part 1}

October 9, 2015

A large part of adventure and travel is discomfort.  

No one ever tells stories of easy flights, acceptable food, or calm touring. It's always the nine hour layovers in Newark, roaches on the wall of the villa, or bumpers being torn off the rental car that get the air or page time, right?  This travel adventure of mine is no exception.  

And on that cautionary note, we begin.

I'm going to skip the whole check in the airport in Billings, flight to Denver in 45 minutes part.  There's absolutely nothing remarkable or interesting about any of it, except to say that my traveling companions had twice the luggage I did, being scuba divers who were spending a week on a Caribbean island.  

I was traveling with Ivan and Jenny Jasper, their two kids David and Yulena (twins, age 10), and a gentleman I only ever knew as "Doc" who was a family doctor from Sheridan WY. (Truly, I never did find out his last or given name. Ivan seemed to think he looked like a tall Ernest Hemingway, but I didn't see that resemblance. He certainly wasn't as rough as Hemingway, and his sentences were much longer.) 

We had what seemed a longish layover in Denver, but in reality it was a just-right layover...enough time to buy a good snack, stretch our legs, and regroup before flying on to Newark.  Even so, I couldn't take much of the sitting and waiting, so I told the others I was going for a stroll to stretch my legs and took off down the concourse. 

At the end of the concourse, rounding the corner just ahead of me, was an elderly lady in very classy clothes, taking her carry on and purse for a walk on an airport cart.  I still have not learned the traveling rule that one does not talk to just everyone one encounters on the journey, so as I rounded the concourse and was about to pass her, I said, "Are you talking a walk for exercise?" (being concerned that perhaps she needed help across the airport and having time to do so).  Why, yes, she WAS, although she was a bit embarrassed to be caught with what looked like a walker. I confessed that I was stretching my legs as well and asked if we could share a few yards as it's much better to walk with someone in that sort of place.  

We exchanged the usual pleasantries and I asked where she was bound. 

"Boston, Mass. to visit my old friend who is house bound, now." 

I was so tickled that I stopped walking and nearly did a happy dance!  

"That's my favorite city! I love Boston!", I exclaimed. 

"What do you love about it, dear?", she queried, quite interested in my response.

Well, we really didn't have the time for all that I love about Boston, but I quickly rolled through Fenway and the Red Sox, the Museum of Fine Arts, seafood twice a day, Engine 8 Ladder 1, the Freedom Trail, Make Way for Ducklings....

When I took a breath, she laughed and revealed to me that she'd grown up in Boston (well, NEAR Boston, in Quincy) and that she loved many of the same things. 

As we walked and visited, she asked where my destination was on MY trip and I told her I was going to Bonaire to cook for scuba divers.  At that, SHE stopped walking and nearly did a happy dance....she had been a scuba diver back when scuba diving wasn't all that popular, in the 1950s.  In fact, when she was on a trip with one of her pals, she'd gone snorkeling and sent her husband-to-be a telegram informing him of this thrilling activity; he was concerned and asked everyone in his office if this was a decent thing for a young woman to be doing, as he had no idea what the word even meant! 

By the end of our little encounter, I had a new friend.  If I'm ever in Cheyenne, WY, I'm to look up and stay with Mrs. Joanie H.  We must report back on our trips over coffee.  (I need to do it soon, though, because she's 93 and only has about 10 more years of good health, according to her.  This is quite true, and I must tell you that I almost fell over at the revelation of her age.  She LOOKS about 75, I promise you, and shows no signs of allowing Father Time to place speed bumps on her current path.) We said our goodbyes, bade each other safe travels, and reluctantly parted ways.  I wish now that I'd taken her photo.  

As I boarded the plane for Newark, I thought to myself that I wanted to remember that someday I'd be telling MY life adventures and stories to people who came to visit me in the nursing or retirement home, or to whippersnappers in the airport, and I need to live a life worth telling.