Thrifty Globetrotters: Backpacker Memoirs – I attended the University of New Mexico on a Navy ROTC scholarship. My family lived in Puerto Rico. Going home for the holidays (Christmas and summer) was an expensive proposition. I learned that if I had orders from my ROTC unit to fly home and back, I could fly free space on military planes.
I took advantage of this every vacation when I was a midshipman. I would get my orders from the unit, put on my uniform, and head to Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque, looking for any aircraft heading in the right direction. If I can go to a military base on the east coast, I can easily go to Puerto Rico.
Thrifty Globetrotters: Backpacker Memoirs
A midshipman is considered an officer even though he is the lowest rank in the Navy. As an officer, I also had the right to stay in the BOQ (Bachelor Officer’s Quarters) whenever needed at night. I can go to the officer’s club to eat. It is truly a privilege.
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At the time, Puerto Rico was the second largest naval base outside the continental United States (Roosevelt Lines). It was also home to a Strategic Air Command air base at Ramey on the western side of the island and a second naval base in the San Juan area. This one has flights coming and going every day.
I flew a KC135 (see photo above) from Raleigh to Offutt Air Force Base near Omaha. The KC135 is a tanker aircraft used to refuel other aircraft during flights. A boom sticking out of the tail of the plane is used to transfer fuel from the tank to another plane. A person sits in a Plexiglas bubble in the tail of the tank and operates the boom to make contact while both planes fly at more than 300 mph.
I was allowed to stand behind the boom operator and watch him manipulate the connection to the nose intake valve of the other aircraft. We were close enough that I could tell the color of the other plane’s pilot’s eyes.
Raised in Puerto Rico. Trilingual travel enthusiast, former stockbroker, export manager, Peace Corps and EFL teacher. Retired, lives in Zihuatanejo, Mexico. “I can’t take this heat anymore,” I said, pushing back strands of frozen hair from my headband. Open car windows did little to relieve Louisiana’s thick, oppressive air. “I might hold a hair dryer against my face,” I added for dramatic effect.
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“For someone who grew up here, you complain a lot about the heat,” Daniel said. He hit my thigh.
“Well, this thing we call air conditioning really worked,” I said, slapping his thigh twice.
“Okay,” Daniel said, feigning defeat. “La Baff is ahead. We can stop at a shop and see what to do with the AC.” He came to me and held my hand. “Anything for my sexy bride.”
“Dear husband, keep your eyes on the road,” I said with a sly, sidelong glance, trembling at the sound of the word, husband. Daniel. my husband. I started shaking again with a smile on my whole body.
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I watched as the sign for La Baff appeared, distorted by the heat from the road.
“Population 1, 456,” read Daniel. “Not sure what they have here.” We all scanned the roadside. Dollar store. The White Palace. Waffle House. Virgil’s Gumbo.
“Looks like that’s our only choice,” Daniel said as he pulled into Big Boon’s auto repair shop. We were assured that he had the mark of Big Boon
We went inside the shop. An air conditioner blared through the window. I took a refreshing breath as the air cooled my skin. A wiry man with gray hair greeted us from behind the counter. I, at 5’6, stood inches above him. His name tag read, Boone. Is he a big boo? I looked at Daniel. He raised an eyebrow and I knew he was suppressing a smile. I widened my eyes and looked at him.
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“We’re going to New Orleans, our AC is out,” Daniel said, taking my hand, “and we’re going on our honeymoon.”
“Not like young love. Well, hopefully your AC needs fluid and you can be on your way,” said Boone. I looked at a black and white photo hanging on the wall behind Boone. A ribbon cutting ceremony in front of the auto shop. A man appeared in the crowd with scissors in his hand. Boone saw my look.
“There’s Big Boon, my grandfather. After being rejected by the army in 42, he opened this here. Flat feet, they said. And Pow Pow was worried that he would be too tall. He stood nearly 6’8. I call him occasionally at Zula Mae’s.
I could feel Daniel’s gaze, but I didn’t meet it. Instead, I gave him a quick elbow shake, reminding him to be polite. Boone’s grandfather must have been over a hundred.
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“How amazing that your grandfather was able to live such a long life,” said Daniel, as Boone peered through his bifocals to write down our information. I cleared my throat and gave Daniel another warning look.
Boone smiled. “Oh no, Pow Pow died back in ’98. I call him through Zula Mae. She’s got the gift,” Boone noticed the confused look on Danielle’s face. “Ask her,” Boone said, nodding my way. “She will know.” My accent clearly gave away my heritage.
“Give me an hour to see,” Boone said, taking the car keys from the counter. “Waffle House is downstairs if you want coffee. LaNelda always keeps it fresh.
Daniel and I walked down the street toward the Waffle House. The screeching of cicadas drenched us in the midday sun. “What the hell was he talking about?”
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“Basketball was the only thing I practiced in rural Indiana,” Daniel said, laughing at his own wit. “Hey look!” He pointed to a quaint shop under a canopy of southern oak draped in Spanish moss.
, read the hand-painted sign. “Boon said Zula Mae, right? Let’s check it out. It will be cool. ” Daniel pulled my hand towards the shop.
“Come on Coralie. Just because you have your grandmother’s name, doesn’t mean you have to believe that old thing,” Daniel pleaded.
We walked under the cool shade of the oaks. The moss swayed in the breeze, humming softly with the gentle breezes. The oak’s outstretched arms must have provided generations of relief from the heat. Daniel opened the door and we entered the bright, airy space of the shop. “Look, totally normal. Like a mini Goodwill,” Daniel whispered.
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“Can I help you find something,” asked a slim woman in shorts and a tank top with a white coffee cup in hand. A rose tattoo rose up one of her legs. Zula Mae?
“Oh no thanks. We’re just watching,” I said. She nodded and got busy behind the counter again.
“Lots of thin, vintage stuff,” Daniel said as we perused the aisles. I spied a row of beautiful glass bottles and gravitated towards them. Glass bottles, all blue in color, corked at the top, lined up neatly on the shelf.
“That’s it,” I said, nervous about her presence. I looked past her to see Daniel flipping through old sports memorabilia. “Are they empty?” I asked.
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“Here,” she interrupted, grabbing a bottle from the shelf, uncorking it and sticking it under my nose in such a flash that I didn’t know what to make of it.
The room spun and I felt nauseous. An unfamiliar sensation coursed through my body as if my insides were being torn apart. I walked through a black tunnel and came to a dark blue world. Through the blue mist I looked at the slim woman next to another woman.
I saw myself in blue. How can this be? i am here But I see myself outside. I pressed against the blue barrier. Stay calm. I’m not feeling well. I looked down. I had no body. “Daniel!” I screamed, but there was no sound. I frantically looked at the thin woman and myself. “Here! I’m here! Help!”
“We need to get that coffee from the Waffle House before we go back to Big Boons,” Daniel said as he approached the Ma-Woman, put his hand on her shoulder. They left. Daniel with Ma-Woman.
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“Now you’re going to have a good day,” the thin woman said to Daniel and the I-woman. Daniel turned, bowed to her, and said, “You too.”
I watched as the slender woman turned towards me through the blue mist. Her face contorted. She smiled and said, “You make a nice addition to my collection.”
Yolanda is a Wisconsin writer whose memoir about reclaiming her soul awaits publication in January.