Seven Portuguese men were seated around a makeshift table. Some were in the shade of a large weathered umbrella. All talked loudly as men do when on
their own. I couldn’t understand a word they said.
As
I approached with my cell phone in hand, the conversations stopped. All eyes
were on me. There were no smiles. “Who is
this guy and what does he want?” was written on every face.
“May
I take your picture?” I asked.
Two
of them grinned.
One
man without a smile jumped up from his chair, reached for a bottle of red
liquid and began to fill two plastic cups. The group of rugged men had curious
looks on their faces as they sized up my new friend Bill and me.
All
I wanted was a couple of pictures for my artist wife, Peggy, to paint. This
group of hardened workers, enjoying a seafood feast in front of their boat, was
quite a paintable scene.
We
had interrupted this crew of commercial fishermen while they were eating their
lunch of fresh fish, part of the day's catch. The man with no smile ordered one
of the men to vacate the chair next to his. Orders were immediately followed.
Within
seconds, two cups of the red liquid were placed on the table. "Sangria,"
the one still without a smile said as he pointed to the cups with one hand and
the vacated chairs with the other. "Sit."
I
shook his hand and looked him in the eye. He nodded, and almost smiled.
I
didn’t understand the Portuguese the men spoke, but I did recognize the word
“captain,” indicating the bossy one. Bill and I decided following orders was
the right thing to do.
Our
backsides hadn't been in the chairs for thirty seconds before our captain
placed two giant sardines on bread with olive oil in front of us. Everyone at
the table was smiling. I felt a little lost not knowing their language, so I
just smiled and pointed at my fish to let them know how good it tasted. One of
the men then asked, "Do you speak English?"
Oh no, I thought. "Yes.
This is very good!" I replied feeling a little foolish for assuming
no one in the group would be able to understand us.
No
sooner had we eaten half of our sandwiches, the captain produced two more. With
hands that had never seen an easy day's work, he showed me how to peel the skin
from my catch.
It
was evident the captain had molded this crew into a unit any NFL defensive
coordinator would be proud to lead. All were good sports, sharing a meal with
total strangers. But of one thing I am certain, I would rather not be on the
bad side of any of them. Seamen have a look that marks them as survivors...of
anything.
We
finished our meal. Bill and I stood, and after the third time of thanking the
captain for everything, he reluctantly granted us permission to exit.
So
a valuable lesson learned, again. Never judge a book by its cover. These rugged
gentlemen exhibited the hospitality the ambassador of any embassy would
welcome.
Another
new friend asked me if I was sure they hadn't given me baitfish. I laughed, and
for a split second had second thoughts. Then I realized how special today's
encounter had been. Dining in the shadow of a commercial fishing vessel with
the captain and crew had opened my eyes.
The
experience this visitor in a foreign land enjoyed was first class all the way. Even
if the fish had been baitfish on a bun, one thing was certain, and that is that total strangers
really can get along when pretense is put aside.
Upon
reflection, this Portuguese captain and crew allowed me to be part of what could
have been a biblical story. I suspect the captain had weathered a life-threatening storm somewhere along the way that helped him understand who God
is, and what loving your neighbor is all about, especially if the neighbor was a
sojourner in a foreign land.
1
Peter 4:9, Leviticus 19:34, Hebrews 13:2, Matthew 22:39, James 2:8
