(Some of) the truths of travel

While not everyone believes it, I am basically an introvert, having no difficulty entertaining myself or spending significant chunks of time alone, and in need of daily quiet to recharge the batteries ( no doubt a major reason why I never had any desire to rear children). But I am discovering that travel, particularly solo travel, activates a different skill set.

First, as addicted as I am to natural scenes (and I am loving the nearly-uninterrupted view of the Gulf of Mexico from the covered patio where this is being written), I notice people, particularly women alone. Striking up conversations is easy, and everyone has a story. (Of course, in Merida's centro, handsome young men tend to wander up wanting to practice their English, and then attempt to steer one toward the only authentic shop in the area, which always happens to belong to a friend, but that is a whole 'nother experience.)

People reach out. Random strangers share important information, like the best restaurants for fish, the best bus, or the cleanest public restrooms. A compliment to a chef who spoke no English brought the revelation of his secret ingredient for the best marinara sauce I had ever eaten. Chatting up another solo female elder on the beach yesterday resulted in an invitation to stop by the house she and some friends bought a decade ago when they realized that they would not be able to afford Vermont winters on their pensions.

Friendships tend to happen quickly; you find yourself sharing personal details with people you just met. A chance encounter at a lecture on architecture last January led to three sixtysomething women taking an impromptu bus trip to a city several hours away, where we wandered 18th-century streets, toured a museum on pirate history, and made a spectacle of ourselves flagging down a taxi and then running madly along the malecon to find exactly the right spot for sunset-watching. Tonight the three of us will meet up with my birding buddy from last year for a wine-tasting event sponsored by the Merida English Library; tomorrow we are meeting the owner of last year's guesthouse for lunch at a favorite French café. Because I am staying at the beach and they are in different Merida neighborhoods, we are doing overnights in each other's rental homes. When is the last time most of us had people we (if we are completely honest) barely know spend the night?

What seems to be true: even in this ugly time, most people can still be trusted.