My Mother's Daughter [A Brief Story from Kayaking on the Pacific Coast]

As I mentioned in my last post, over the three day weekend Kelsi and I embarked on a kayaking adventure to the Pacific Coast of Colombia. And I think it's now firmly in my top five spots in Colombia. There is just something undefinable about the extreme beauty that shines from untouched and undeveloped land. For those of you who have been, think Tayrona National Park only without a national park - just wild land with surprises around every corner.
There will be tons of pictures to share once I get them from our guide who brought his waterproof camera, but for now a quick story...about my own camera.

Just before coming to Colombia, I got a new camera which is hot pink in color and has been nicknamed the "Barbie Cam" by my friend Daniel, and various others. Whatever, it takes fabulous pictures and I absolutely love it, and on top of that it was expensive! So on Saturday morning when we arrived in Juanchaco after a 50 minute boat ride I was devastated when I couldn't find it at the bottom of my purse. I had only pulled it out to take one picture on the dock in Buenaventura and I was going to be so irritated if someone managed to steal it from me in that short time! I searched everywhere, dumped out my purse and then looked through my backpack as well. No camera to be found. Since my purse doesn't zip I then became convinced it was on the boat we had taken. Where was that boat? Slowly backing away from the dock...

Disaster.

I vainly attempted to call out to the man abroad, raising my voice to be heard above the crashing ocean waves to no avail. Now I was causing quite a scene on the dock and several people around me were discussing "the gringa who lost her camera". This friendly coast guard finally hears me and calls the boat back. I yell down to the man that my camera is lost and it's in a small blue case - does he see it? He scans the boat and says, "No, que peña (No, what a pain)."

Most people would probably walk away at this point after making a fool out of themselves yelling in a second language in front of a crowded dock. However, if my days as a young child listening to my mother call the Independent School District 196 transportation department looking for lost mittens, it's that nothing is ever lost, only misplaced. Before the guy had time to yell at me I jumped back aboard the boat to take a look myself. Just below where I had been sitting, wedged under the boat dock was my camera, somewhat dampened by waves, but overall intact and functioning. SUCCESS! The guy looked at me like I was nuts, but I just tossed him a "Gracias!" over my shoulder, a wave at the coast guard man, and went running down the dock to meet the rest of my group.

Kelsi laughed at me and I said if my mother was here right now she would have done the exact same thing. And would now probably be telling me that St. Francis or whoever the patron saint of lost things is (Update: The patron saint of lost things is St. Anthony- I cannot believe I forgot that after working 7 years in religious goods retail - thanks Bridget!), found my camera. At the end of the day, no matter how much we claim we will never grow up to be our parents, sooner or later we realize, we are exactly like them. In more ways than one, I am my mother's daughter.

God help me if I am calling bus companies in twenty years looking for lost mittens.