Before we left Nelson, a dear friend, Liam, said a prayer for us. He didn't ask for a journey free of hardship, or for a perfect path. He only asked that we'd meet the right people, at the right times.
Since then, we've carried that quiet faith that the road reveals what we're meant to receive. The more we travel, the more we realize that the real riches are the places and, above all, the people we meet along the way.
This is a story about synchronicity.
Maya & Mila at San Felipe, Baja California
The first meeting
It all began in San Felipe, at the start of our Mexican chapter.
The night before we left, Maya, our eternal social mascot, did what she always does: went next door to the neighbouring palapa (an open-sided, thatched-roof shelter) looking for pets. That's how we met Toño and Susy.
We spread the map of Mexico across the table and the conversation flowed like we were old friends. They showed us routes, told us about places we couldn't miss, and more importantly, warned us about stretches to avoid, especially a few towns in Sinaloa. They spoke of the country's beauty, of the spirituality of the Mexican people, of ancestry, of the pyramids, and of the living legacy of Maya culture.
Toño and Susy are from the Guadalajara area. Toño is a passionate road traveller, almost always out exploring the continent by motorcycle. He'd just come back from an expedition all the way to Alaska, and Susy had come to meet him in Baja California so they could ride the last stretch home together.
We talked about the Yukon, about the wildlife of northern Canada, and about that curious kinship shared by people who choose to live on the road.
Before we said goodbye, we shared WhatsApp numbers, and they made an unexpected offer:
"When you get near Guadalajara, stay at my father's place. On Lake Chapala (the largest freshwater lake in Mexico)."
The next morning, they left early, before the wind and the heat took over the desert. We headed a different way.
Bahía de Los Ángeles
Our destination was Bahía de Los Ángeles.
Fernando had arranged to meet Dalio, a friend from our Outward Bound Brazil days. We arrived in the late afternoon and soon spotted the Galileo, his catamaran. Dalio, Brooke, Neve, and Lua welcomed us, along with the dogs Solo, Maru, and a kitten so shy she stayed nearly invisible our whole stay.
The next two days were a gift.
We sailed, we dove, we laughed, we played music, we talked for hours, and we shared dinner aboard Going Merry after playing in the small rapids at the end of the beach. We slept under a sky completely full of stars, lulled by the sound of the sea, getting to know a family that breathes freedom, simplicity, and love.
It was Brooke who shared a passage from John Steinbeck that seems written for anyone who chooses to travel without trying to control the time:
"Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.
And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us."
From that day on, that line stayed inside Going Merry: "We do not take a trip; a trip takes us."
We have only one clear destination: to reach Brazil in roughly six months. Everything else belongs to the journey itself.
Crew of the Galileo and Going Merry, all aboard.
Special mention to 'Captain' Maru, the little black dog steering the ship.
Invisible choices
We continued on to La Paz.
That's where the practical tasks came in: an oil and filter change, cleaning out Going Merry, tidying the bedrooms, and a trip to the vet for Mila and Maya's health certificates, needed to board the ferry.
Only one thing was left to decide:
Which ferry to take?
We could land in Topolobampo, in the heart of Sinaloa, or in Mazatlán, further south in the state. We looked into schedules, prices, and distances. We chose Mazatlán.
A simple decision. Or maybe not.
When Fernando and Miguel went to pick their VIP seats, they glanced sideways and started laughing.
Sitting right there were Toño and Susy.
Of all the possible routes. Of all the days. The same ferry. The same VIP cabin.
I spent the crossing in a small rest capsule, while the girls travelled in the section for animals. Between cups of coffee, we found our friends again and went back to swapping stories and tips about the roads still ahead.
The next morning, we disembarked without managing to say goodbye. I just thought: "Good thing we have WhatsApp."
Little did I know the goodbye hadn't come yet.
The Caseta miracle
We left Mazatlán on the free road (the toll-free route, as opposed to the caseta, or toll road, as it's called in Mexico).
There's a heavy police and military presence in that region. At most checkpoints, they simply ask where you're coming from and where you're headed. Fernando could never remember where we'd come from, and I always had to remind him. They almost never ask for papers. Oddly enough, what we felt was far more protection than intimidation.
Highway 15 (the free route) and 15D (the toll route) cross each other several times, and somewhere between one podcast and the next, without noticing, we ended up on a tolled stretch of the highway.
We reached the caseta (the toll booth).
The sign said they accepted U.S. dollars.
They didn't.
Pesos only, and we didn't have enough. It was an expensive toll.
While we tried to figure out what to do, the officer asked us to back up, what is not a simple thing to do with Going Merry. We started to slowly move back the RV, and then the same officer began calling us again:
"Pueden venir! Su amigo va a pagar la caseta." (Come on back! Your friend's going to pay the toll.)
Fernando and I looked at each other, confused.
What friend?
Then we saw a familiar motorcycle parked a few metres ahead.
It was Toño.
And before we'd even processed what was happening, Susy was walking up to the booth, paying our toll.
We were completely speechless.
We tried to pay them back in dollars. They refused, smiling, gave us a few more tips for the road, and rode off toward Playa Chacala, near Puerto Vallarta.
We carried on to La Manzanilla.
Nuestros Ángeles
Today they're a few hours ahead of us. We'll spend four days in Puerto Vallarta working on our courses, then head to Toño's father's house, honouring that invitation made on our first night in San Felipe.
We don't know if we'll cross paths again on this trip.
But some encounters don't need to last long to stay with you forever.
From that day on, Fernando and I stopped calling them just Toño and Susy.
Now, affectionately, they're Nuestros Ángeles (Our Angels).
Because sometimes synchronicity doesn't arrive as some grand sign from above. It shows up as two generous people, on a motorcycle, right in the toll line, exactly when you need help most.
And in that moment, Liam's prayer came back whole, straight to the heart: that we'd meet the right people, at the right times, along the way.
As a closing thought, the second part of that Steinbeck passage Brooke and Dalio shared with us:
Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognized can the blown-in-the glass bum relax and go along with it.
Only then do the frustrations fall away.
In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.
— John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America
I keep coming back to this polarity between "controlling and letting things happen", and how synchronicity seems to live in a different space, and it's there that the most beautiful part of the story shows up.
What about you? What have you tried to control and, in losing or letting go of that control, ended up receiving a gift instead?
Carolina Ribeiro de Almeida
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