It’s so peaceful here.
That’s what I’m thinking as I paddle left and right in the yellow kayak through the canals of Xochimilco, a water transport system the Aztecs made that are teeming with life. The only other boats on the water at this early hour on a Monday morning are the large barge-like gondolas with families or friends celebrating a Monday off or a birthday, drinking and snacking and waving to us as we pass.
It’s my first official day of my new job. I’m grateful for the physical activity, the bilateral movement helping to calm me, the way my arms and shoulder muscles are awakening in a way that I know will leave me sore in the morning. I’m also grateful for my long sleeves and long pants, protecting me from the sun that burns more intensely at 7,000+ feet above sea level, and which I wasn’t expecting this morning when the temperature was only 52 degrees Fahrenheit.
There’s no current, and we glide along at an even pace, observing all the various plants and trees lining the canals, the birds, the bugs.
“Ahhh!!”
One of my new colleagues squeals ahead.
What’s happening? The rest of us inquire, paddling closer.
A fish has jumped into her kayak with her, nestled itself between her left thigh and the plastic boat’s wall.
She’s freaking out and looking away, shaking her hands in disgust as the fish wriggles its body against her. Another colleague goes to help, thinking the fish will be small and she can just chuck it out, but she too shivers at the slithering thing.
Our guide chuckles as he gets closer and sees the culprit. He tells me to paddle between his kayak and hers, removes a plastic cap at the front of my boat to reveal a grey-blue rag, then uses it to grab the fish.
He holds it up for the rest of us to see. It’s bigger than my hand!
It just jumped in her boat? We wonder.
This is a good lesson, the guide says as he releases the fish back into the murky canal water. The canals are home to so much life.
We laugh and carry on with the rest of our journey.
Writing With Abandon 