Flight to the North

In case you don’t know, I’m a traveler, and I occasionally relay stories from traveling. A few days ago I decided to take a trip to the north coast of South America again. This time, I wanted to explore Ecuador.

I booked a flight out of Cusco through Lima with a final destination of Tumbes, Peru. I’d need to spend a night in Tumbes then catch a bus to Cuenca because flying intra-country is the least expensive route.

The journey was smooth. First flight down and boarding on time for the second.

I found my seat. I’m in 2A near the front by the window. The plane filled up. A gentleman took 2C but the seat between us remained empty. It was looking like I might have a little extra room for the hour and a half journey.

Then, the attendant approached with an elderly lady, 2B was her seat. Oh well, not a problem.

She was small and fragile. The man in 2C stood to let her in. She couldn’t make it without sitting and scooting across his seat.

Her name is Blanca Zapata. I know this because it was written on a piece of folded notebook paper in her purse. In fact, Blanca had three items in her purse. The folded notebook paper, a state issued ID and a pack of ketchup.

Blanca’s purse had four zippers. She zipped and unzipped each one of them at least thirty times during the hour and a half we sat next to each other.

She’d open the zippers, remove the paper, unfold it, and read out loud, “Mi nombre es Blanca Zapata.” The paper also contained a phone number in case of emergency. Then Blanca would refold the paper place it back into her bag and re-zip the zippers, only to repeat the process every few minutes.

Six months in Spanish speaking countries has given me the ability to understand much, but I had a difficult time understanding Blanca. Her speech was mumbled and seemed to run together.

I explained to Blanca several times, “No hablo Espanol.” Didn’t stop her though. She kept talking to me.

I did make out the question she asked repeatedly, “Where are we going?”

I would reply, “Tumbes.”

She would say, “Ah, Tumbes,” and calm for a moment.

Before takeoff, the airplane taxied to the runway. We reached the edge but I could see two planes in front of us to go first. Our plane came to a stop. Blanca must have thought that it was time to get off because she put her purse strap over her shoulder and tried to stand. Little did she remember the attendant fastened her seat belt a few minutes before.

She was never disrupting or angry and didn’t cause commotion. She was simply lost in insecurity and confusion.

Being in flight seemed to relax her a bit. She didn’t speak as much but continued to check her purse for her ID and name reminder.

The flight was quite beautiful, hugging the coast the entire way. The left side window was full of blue sky and blue water of the Pacific, while the right was shore and flat land giving way to mountains in the distance.

I wondered what series of events lead Blanca to being on the plane next to me. I imagined one of her children possibly sending her to live with another, but it was unclear.

Maybe she had come to Lima for medical treatment or to visit family before returning home. I thought about how difficult it must have been for her family to put Blanca on a plane all by herself. In Peruvian culture, elders are highly regarded and cherished.

I took comfort in imagining someone who cares for her being at the gate waiting when we arrive in Tumbes. However, while we were on the plane I felt responsible. I was taking care of her! I opened crackers, saved her from spilling tea and smiled with, “Esta bien,” (It’s okay) every time she got nervous.

She didn’t use the sugar packet in her tea, so it joined the ketchup pack in her purse.

I thought how much like a child she behaved, a very young child in capacity.

In the end, I was glad I got to sit by Blanca. She was friendly and sweet, and even though we found it tough to understand one another, we had a kinship.

Blanca was greeted by three family members at the baggage claim and the flight attendant made sure she got there safely. I gave her a wave as I passed on my way to the taxi zone. She smiled in return.

The experience reinforced my passionate opinions about our power to think. What an enormous, robust, and vital tool we possess: THINKING. We should never take this ability for granted and use our power to think to it’s utmost every single minute of every single day.

Traveling can lead to the most amazing stories.

I write daily post that uplift and inspire because thinking matters. Click here to learn more.