We went over to the windward side of the island (Bonaire) this afternoon, foregoing our second dive of the day. The reason for this was because Mary had heard that every Sunday afternoon, the locals gather to listen to live music and eat island cuisine.

(For you land-lubbers, the windward side of an island is usually the more coarse side. It is the unprotected side, where the surf crashes, and the landscape is usually more barren and less populated. On most islands, the “touristy” sections are the leeward, protected sides, where the surf is calm.)

(All photos in this post taken by Mary Ellen)

Anyway, we drove over to Lac Cai today, on the windward side of the island to listen to mariachi music and drink beer with the natives.

The tiki bar was at the end of a washboard, dirt road that started off in horrible condition, and then preceded to fizzle out altogether into one, gigantic, Toyota-eating pot hole as we went along.

The bar was situated beside the crashing coast, nestled between thirty-foot-high mounds of conch shells.

We hung around, eating some thin, crispy fried-dough crap, drinking Polar beers, and listening to a three-piece mariachi band for about an hour.

When it came time for us to leave, the band was on a break. We walked to our pick-up truck, and as I opened the door for Mary Ellen, the bass player from the band approached me. He was a gentleman in his early fifties who spoke very little English, but he said, “Excuse me, sir. I watched you as you stood to go, and I saw this drop from your pocket.” He then pressed a twenty dollar (American) bill into my hand. Then, without waiting for a thank-you or any kind or reward, he swiftly walked away.

I looked at the bill for a few moments, pondering what had just taken place.  The money had, indeed, fallen out of my pocket. I thought about all of the warnings we had had in Bonaire about locking doors because of rampant theft. I realized that these twenty dollars probably represented about a week’s wages to this fellow.

(The fellows with the flowered shirts are band members. The one with his back to the camera is the honest man.)

I said to Mary, “If this simply dropped out of my pocket, and he found it and never said anything, I never would have missed it.”

She nodded.

So, I folded the bill up so that the denomination could not be determined, walked back to the tiki bar, and I found the bass player. The look of total surprise on his face told me that he had never expected to see me again. Nor did he ever expect a reward for his actions.

I pushed the bill into his hand, clapped my other hand over it, and said, “I love your musica, and I want to thank you for being so honest.”

He just laughed and thanked me. As I drove away, he looked up at from the stage, smiled and waved.

We both had a great day today, and we both ended the day feeling SO DAMN GOOD about who we were and what we had done.