Kindred Spirits, Generations Apart

I wrapped my cardigan around myself, crossing my arms to keep the wind from blowing it open as I walked along the malecón. It wasn’t cold, but the wind off the Sea of Cortez gave the night a slight chill. I wanted to walk a little before grabbing an Uber home. I’m nearing the end of my time in Mexico, and while I know leaving is the right decision, it still feels heavy. I’d also just parted ways with two new friends–people I’d met the day before but who already left an impression.

We enjoyed a long dinner where conversation flowed from Spanish to French to English, sometimes all in one sentence. We shared stories and laughed for hours over a platter of fried calamari, tomato and burrata pizzas, and plenty of wine.

And then, we said our goodbyes–always a bittersweet reality of traveling. There were hugs and promises to do it again.

But would we?

Bérangère would return to her small French town near Perpignan and Natalia to her home near Xochimilco in Mexico City. And soon, I will hopefully be in Paris. We agreed that our reunion should be in France–it just makes sense.

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The day before, after an unproductive morning, I decided to take a break and finally visit Playa Balandra, which is considered to be one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. With its shallow crystal-clear waters, powdery white sand, and the rugged red desert hills that surround the bay, the place is stunning. There are no vendors, no chairs, and admission is restricted. This only adds to the idyllic nature of the place.

The bus dropped off a group of us near the gate about 15 minutes before the afternoon session began. (The bay is a protected area, so they only let in a limited number of people two times a day.)

While waiting, I struck up a conversation with two women–Bérangère, a 70-year-old French traveler, and Natalia, a 23-year-old from Mexico City. Three women, three generations, three languages.

We quickly discovered that each of us knew a bit of the others’ languages, so our conversation became an unpredictable mix of all three. It was unexpected, yet it just seemed to flow. We connected so effortlessly that once the gate opened, we found a spot on the beach together, without even discussing it.

The ease with which we got along was so apparent that a man sitting nearby asked how long we’d known each other. I think he was confused about how we came together. “You could be a family–una abuelita, una hija, y una nieta,” he mused. A grandma, a daughter, and a granddaughter. We laughed. I hadn’t considered this, but he was right. Bérangère is near the age of my mom, and Natalia is the exact age of Emma. “Nos conocemos desde el autobús,” I told him. We met on the bus. He laughed.

Bérangère’s stories spanned the globe. She’d fallen in love in Bolivia, felt there’s no place like India, and picked up Spanish from her many travels throughout Latin America.

We talked about the things we love and miss about the places we’ve visited. “I miss French cheese and wine,” I told her. She had an instant solution–the Merlot from a nearby store and blue cheese from another. “But if you want bread, forget about it,” she said with a scoff that only the French can truly master. “The bread is terrible here.”

Natalia, like so many in their early twenties, is trying to figure out what she wants her life to look like. She’s in La Paz because she loves to travel–so much so that she’s volunteering in a local hostel to experience this region of Mexico. She’s passionate about the environment and has even started her own skincare line of natural products. The Caribbean seems to keep pulling her back, and she wonders whether she’ll have kids one day.

I told her that having kids doesn’t mean she can’t travel and shared stories of all the trips I’ve taken with Emma and Oliver. Bérangère doesn’t have kids. “I just followed life where it led me, and it never led me to kids,” she shared.

I loved that perspective so much that I immediately wrote it down, not wanting to forget it. She let life lead her–what a simple, beautiful way to move through the world.

Perhaps, that’s the magic of friendships that span generations, countries, cultures–there’s so much to learn from each other.

I could listen to Bérangère’s stories all night and found myself in awe of Natalia’s insightfulness at such a young age. She already knows that a traditional path won’t quite suit her, but she doesn’t know exactly what that means yet. Can she create a life full of travel and adventure, while still embracing some sense of stability? I think she’s going to create the perfect life for herself, and it’ll be exactly what she needs it to be.

“What a gift to be young,” Bérangère told her, and I nodded in agreement.

Realizing we had one more night in La Paz before heading off in different directions, we made plans for dinner the following evening.

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As I walked along the malecón after dinner, I thought back on the moments I shared with these women over the past two days. Travel opens you up in ways that daily life rarely does. It’s what makes it so enriching. You meet people with an openness that is different from the way you approach connections in your everyday life. You share meals, conversation, and laughter.

And then, you say goodbye.

But instead of mourning what’s temporary, you learn to cherish these moments for what they are–snapshots in a life full of them.

Taking a page from Bérangère’s way of thinking– if life leads us back to each other, we’ll have a grand time in the south of France.

And if not, this was enough.