There Are Free Lunches

I don't believe in coincidence, not anymore. Thinking as I do, I do not believe in fate or chance; but in ordained moments. Or as a friend likes to call them, divine appointments. I didn't used to believe in them, but now I do.

I travel for work internationally, less than before the Covid lockdowns, but I still travel more than enough. It feels like a lifetime ago I crossed paths with three individuals. Three people who changed how I view travel, trust, and generosity.

Before meeting these three, I would close myself off to those around me, focusing only on myself, my needs, and my space around me. The words about looking not only at my own interests but also at the interests of others were outside my vocabulary.

In 2015, my job flew me to all points of the US, parts of Europe, and South America. And I was solo, flying without a net. This trip, my first genuinely long-distance international trip, I would be visiting southeastern Brazil, close to the Uruguay border.

I'm a native English speaker. I know some German (including several choice phrases, thanks to a German friend from Koln, who found it amusing to share sayings guaranteed to start a bar fight). I know a few words in French and Japanese but no Portuguese. Down where I was going, only a few people spoke English.

This trip was my first flying internationally without a local's help guiding me. I hoped and prayed the week-long trip would go off without a hitch. The flight from Miami to San Paolo was overnight, and I do not sleep on planes to this day. I was awake all nine hours, bleary-eyed and weary. And, of course, when I landed in Sao Paolo, I had a rushed connection, less than an hour.

Landing in Brazil, there was a palpable sense of tension on the plane and in myself. The Brazilian Entry Security was tight. I had to have special permission to enter the country and could only stay a few days. Americans traveling on business were granted limited access.

I carried a letter and a special pass the Brazilian embassy in Chicago gave me in my pocket. Waiting in line, I relaxed as best I could. The seconds counted down quickly as I waited for my turn.

As with most things, the worry was wasted energy. The letter did its job. I was passed through with a smile and a warm "welcome to Brazil." My business trip was a harmless leadership and training conference. I was there to learn and participate in several special sessions. Why worry?

Walking quickly, I followed the signs to baggage claim. I relaxed considerably after passing through the checkpoint until I looked at the clock. I was down to 45 minutes to make my next flight. In the States, that's cutting it close. In Brazil, I was to learn it was plenty of time for an internal flight.

Our luggage was finishing offloading as I arrived. All my co-passengers gleefully grabbed their bags, heading out to their unique destinations. I searched through the three or four bags left on the carousel, then saw a large pile of bags off to the side. I searched through them fruitlessly. I realized my suitcase had not arrived.

I needed my luggage. I went in search of someone to help me. After speaking with three people, I finally found someone who spoke some English (berating myself the entire time for not learning a few Portuguese phrases). Tamping down my frustration, I mentally gave up on my next flight.

Her name is Isabella. She and everyone else was friendly, gracious, and apologetic, and she told me after a few taps on her keyboard that my luggage was on the next plane. It would arrive in a little over an hour.

I had about 25 minutes to my next flight and mentioned this. The woman conversed with her colleague in rapid-fire Portuguese, then asked me to follow her. As we walked through the terminal, bypassing lines and security, Isabella asked me to trust her, that it was important I not miss my flight, and that she would have someone find me at my next stop with my luggage. Even though I did trust Isabella, mentally, I wrote off my suitcase. At the gate, we shook hands and said good luck.

Boarding my next flight was different than I expected. It was quick, efficient, and alarming. For my flight and several others, there was no passenger walkway. We were let out of the "gate" onto the tarmac, where three planes waited. How was I supposed to pick the right one? Searching for some sign, I looked down. There was a yellow line with a single number written on it, just once, and I followed it to what I hoped was the correct plane. It was.

The flight South could not have been more uneventful. I landed in Florianopolis and waited. I stewed about my suitcase, spending the week with the clothes on my back. Again, I wasted energy worrying. About two hours after I landed, a man came wheeling my luggage through the airport, yelling my name.

Isabella kept her word. Most people keep their word given half a chance. It also was a reminder that I should always keep my word. After Isabella and a few others like her, I trust people until they give me a valid reason not to; what does it hurt?

Reunited with my luggage, I arranged for a car service as the resort I stayed at was over an hour further South. The driver was terrific. While we reached speeds of over 100 mph (Kim) at times, weaving in and out of lanes like an F1 driver, I never felt unsafe. The man knew his business.

The rest of the week went off without a hitch. The resort was on the beach next to a rainforest. I went for a two-mile hike at one point through the forest. The foliage was thick and green and felt ancient. I expected a velociraptor to step out at any moment. I loved it there. Great people, great food, beautiful country.

At the end of the week, the agenda on the last day changed. The final mandatory session ended late. If I kept to my original plan, it would be challenging to arrive at the airport on time. I had signed up for a bus back to the airport with most of my colleagues, but after the schedule change, I would not leave in time to make my flight.

I arranged for a driver that accepted credit cards. I was down to my last $60 US and only had a pocket full of change (local currency). My driver arrived on time and said very little initially, only introducing himself in a familiar but hard-to-place accent. I could call him Michael, and we were off.

Ten minutes in, he asked me for my credit card. He tried running the card several times, but it wouldn't work. The credit card magnetic strip needed to improve. Or that is what we both assumed. My corporate card had gotten a workout that year. Thankfully I had the $60 in cash, which he happily accepted.

Driving on, Michael asked me a question I didn't quite catch. His English, while excellent, came with a heavy accent. The strong accent made it a challenge. Before repeating himself, his cell rang. Excusing himself, he answered his phone in German.

"Ah," I said aloud. Glancing back, Michael spoke quickly into the phone before hanging up.

For a moment, he hesitated, then asked in Hochdeutsch, "Do you speak German?"

I nodded and answered, "Yes, I speak a bit of German."

For the next hour, as he took his time, assuring me he would make sure I would not miss my flight, Michael and I had a talk that was a mixture of English and German. We talked about work, about our families, and finally, he asked me about my faith.

At the question, I felt a burst of energy bloom in me and, with it, a thought. This conversation is the real reason I was in Brazil. Not for work, not for money, but for this chat. Nodding again, I shared what I believed, and we discovered we were of the same faith.

The conversation we had was only for us. We both came away believing this was a divine appointment, and we walked away, encouraged in our faith and in fellow believers. I have never looked at talks with my drivers the same again.

It's easy to forget as we travel that there's a fellow human behind the wheel. Someone with hopes, fears, needs, and dreams, as unique as there are people on the earth. Someone needing encouragement like Michael and I did. I always ask the driver their name, and we chat. After fifteen-plus years of travel, I could fill a book with all my conversations, from coffee farming in Guatemala to Cricket to how a man spent 18 years driving at night, saving every penny so his daughter could go to any college she wanted, fully paid.

After arriving in San Paulo, my layover was three or four hours. I had time to eat. I had eaten brunch several hours earlier, and I was hungry. Frankly, I was hangry.

Finding a sandwich shop near my gate, I ordered a sandwich and grabbed two bottles of water and a snack for later. Handing my card over, I hoped the card strip would work this time. The card was run three times and declined each time. The worker even tapped the number in manually twice but declined. We tried my other travel card, but it also did not work. Finally, she asked if I could pay any other way. I shook my head no. I was tapped out of cash, and the change in my pocket wasn't enough.

Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A man about my age introduced himself and said, "Excuse me, sir, I couldn't help but overhear. Would you mind if I bought you lunch?"

I, of course, said yes. The man introduced himself. I did the same. I'll keep his name out of this story, as that is how he would want it. We finished our orders.

Gathering our food, he led me to a small table, cleaned it with a napkin, then invited me to sit. We talked and ate about our work, why we were both in Brazil, our food, and a bit about soccer. He also asked if I had told my credit card company about traveling to South America. He shrugged and said, "My guess is your credit card company shut down your card automatically. It happens; sometimes, they miss the note on your account."

Before we parted, and as delicately as possible, I asked him if I could repay him. He shook his head and smiled. "No, someone bought me lunch once; just make sure you do the same." I have and will.

It's a small thing buying someone lunch, inexpensive too. But it means so much. I know.

I've never seen Isabella, Michael, or the man who bought me lunch again. I learned more about Trust, Encouragement, Generosity, and Humanity on that trip than on all my other trips.