Have you ever had the feeling you've entered the twilight zone? I have. And not only once but twice in the past two weeks did I have that surreal experience.
The first happened on the first night of my recent Mexican cruise. As is the usual custom on these floating palaces, after the initial evening's entertainment, the main staff is introduced to the guests. Most times it's a time for polite applause while most of the audience wonders how quickly they can beat their fellow guests to the nearest lavatory - fancy cruise talk for a bathroom containing two stalls and one very bored maid dispensing hand towels.
But I digress. This time the introductions certainly caught my attention. For up on that brightly-lit stage, who should appear but my niece? It seems Christy was the director of the youth and children's programs on board the wonderful ship Mercury.
For those of you who wonder how I could not have been aware of this miracle in advance, I have only one explanation.
I have four brothers and three sisters, all of whom, with the exception of my youngest sister, have families and busy lives. So, while I was aware Christy was working for a cruise line, I had no idea it was the very ship where I was lucky enough to be a passenger.
That might have been enough of a coincidence to have me scratching my head, but the second chance meeting was even eerier.
My husband had determined before we left home that, regardless of what else happened, he was coming home with a pair of leather boots from Mazatlan. To that end, we embarked on a walking tour of the marvellous Mexican city. After getting directions from a helpful young woman at one of the many McDonald's scattered throughout the city, we attempted to find the mall she promised had just the boots of Wayne's dreams.
And, as people frequently do in strange cities, we ended up going down the wrong street. Finally, at a corner of what seemed like auto row, we decided to stop and take stock of what to do next. While we debated, a crew cab truck pulled up to the corner. Because we were strangers in a far-flung city, we didn't pay much attention when the driver powered down the window. In fact, the first thought that went through both of our minds was, "What have we done wrong?"
I finally came out of my heat-induced fog sufficiently to realize we knew the driver - in fact, knew him well. There, live and in the flesh, was John Elsdon of Pender Harbour. For five years Elsdon had been a member of my husband's B.C. Tel crew.
It's a toss-up who was more surprised - John, who never went down that particular street, or the walked-out Roys. Fortunately for us, John turned out to be one of the best tour guides we've ever had.
We got the boots and much, much more - an insight to a fascinating city from someone who actually lives in it for four months of the year. We saw beaches frequented by the locals and markets where a pig's head and a heaping mound of liver covered by bloody towels were the norms.
We saw enchanting children with huge brown eyes and a million cell phone users.
If ever I doubted it's a small world, the past two weeks in the twilight zone changed my mind forever.
