On a recent trip to Cabo San Lucas, I was reminded that every person we pass–a cashier, a stranger an Uber driver holds a life as rich, complex, and fragile as our own. When we choose friendliness and curiosity, even in a foreign country with a language barrier, we are reminded of our shared humanity.

We typically do not rent a car when we travel. Instead, we rely on public transportation, taxis and our Uber app to carry us to our destination. Ken loves to sit up front with the drivers and chat with them, while I sit in the back quietly witnessing the instant camaraderie my husband can create. His curiosity about their lives is genuine and effortless, and more often than not, they respond with warmth–eager to share pieces of their story with someone who is truly listening.

On one evening coming home from dinner, an Uber driver named Christian picked us up in his small compact car, meticulously clean and faintly scented with citrus.

After the customary warm hola, buenas tardes, Ken asked how long he had been driving for Uber. Christian explained that he had only recently returned home from the United States where he had been working and living for the past twelve years. He told us he had done many jobs there, then with a soft chuckle, “If you’re going to be a slave, be the best slave.” He quickly brought up photos on his phone that was mounted on the dash so we could all see–one of him in a restaurant balancing seven plates along his arms with astonishing precision, another of him spinning pizza dough high into the air, and yet another carrying a crowded tray of cocktails through a busy dining room. There were also photos from a construction site with men in hardhats and steel beams framing the skyline. His most recent home had been in Chicago where he was working twelve-hour days to send money home to Mexico.

We marveled at his skill and praised his work ethic. He smiled, clearly proud, but then his expression shifted as he told us what had happened next.

He said immigration officers, ICE, had taken him from the roof of a construction site in Chicago and brought him to a detention center in Tijuana. He was held there for four long days before being sent to Guadalajara.

He spoke quietly, without bitterness, but his sadness was unmistakable. He told us how much he loved working in America, how he had been sending money home to pay for a small piece of land he had purchased in Cabo, a future he had been carefully building piece by piece.

I asked him what the conditions were like in the detention center. He paused, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and simply said, “Not good.” He did not elaborate, and we did not press him.

In that moment, we were struck by his openness and his dignity. He did not blame us. He did not speak harshly of Americans or our politics. He simply said, “I could sit and cry, but it’s just the way it is. I must come home and get back to work.”

His acceptance was not merely resignation; it was resilience, carved from experience. We apologized, knowing there was nothing else we could offer him–no words could undo the hardship he had endured. All we could give was our attention, our listening, and our respect for the life he continued to face with courage.

Until that night, deportation had been something distant, something that lived in the headlines and political debate. I never imagined I would meet someone who had lived it. Sitting in the back of Christian’s car listening to his story, I felt my heart crack open as I fought back the tears. I have long loved Mexico, our neighbors to the south–a deeply soulful country where the people are warm and gracious, and full of quiet dignity. I will never forget Christian’s story and will carry it with me always.

Travel changes us. If we stay curious, it can broaden our perspective, deepen our compassion and leave us in awe of the natural world– reminding us of the beauty of life and our shared humanity.

Let’s get out there, explore and stay curious. With love from the Creek,

Kristi

Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends. –Maya Angelou