I’d like to tell you a story.

It starts in the golden warmth of Oaxaca, Mexico. I’d just flown in to meet up with my partner, Mat, and his dad, Phil. They’d been riding motorbikes down the Pacific coast, chasing waves, and now I was joining them for a long-awaited holiday.

When Mat pulled up at the airport, dust still clinging to his helmet, he looked over at his dad’s bike and froze.

“Where’s your bag?”

Phil turned to check. The color drained from his face. “I didn’t feel it fall off,” he muttered.

“Well, it obviously did,” Mat snapped, trying to keep it together. “You have to go back and look while I grab Shan.”

Without a word, Phil sped off, retracing their route in a panic.

This wasn’t going to be the trip we imagined. It was about to become something else entirely.

Mounting Panic

Mat and I waited at our Airbnb, hours stretching into an eternity.

When Phil finally returned, he was empty-handed. Gone was everything: his passport, wallet (with over $350 USD and every credit card he owned), laptop, phone, heart medication, clothes.

Phil was due to fly back to Australia in a few days, but without a passport he couldn’t board his flight. The only way to replace a passport? A trip to the embassy in Mexico City—a 10-hour bus ride away. Alone? Impossible. He spoke no Spanish, had no phone, and no way to contact us once he left.

“We have to find that bag,” Mat said. “Your phone was in it, right? I’ll try Find My Phone.”

He clicked the app, and miraculously—there it was. The location lit up on the screen: Salina Cruz, a rough port town four hours south. The bag was there.

*Google street view of where Phil’s cellphone was found. Oaxaca, 2023*

We zoomed in using Google Street View. The phone’s location was a shabby-looking garage in a ramshackle neighborhood. It didn’t look promising.

“Maybe a nice family found it and brought it there,” Phil offered.

I stared at him, baffled by his optimism. “This is Mexico, Phil. You can’t just assume the best.”

“She’s right,” Mat added. “If it were a kind person, why would they drive four hours away with it?”

But Phil wasn’t shaken. “You guys don’t trust enough in all the good people out there! Let’s just go to the house. Maybe they’ll give it back.”

“Are you serious?” I said. “Absolutely not. That could get us killed. We can’t just walk into a possible cartel neighborhood unannounced.”

Mat had a better idea. “Let’s ask the police to come with us.”

Into the Lion’s Den

The next day, we arrived in Salina Cruz, and a convoy of police officers in a massive pickup truck met us at the bus stop. They were fully armed, sirens on, lights flashing. Mat looked like he was about to puke.

“I’m freaking out there’s going to be a shootout or something,” he whispered.

When we arrived at the location, the officer turned to us and said sternly, “Stay inside. Keep the doors locked. We’ll check the building.”

Time froze as we sat in that truck, hearts pounding. The minutes crawled by. Then—

Tap tap tap on the window.

Mat jumped. A big smile greeted us. “It’s here, sir. Come with us.”

And there it was. Phil’s backpack. Sitting at the feet of a friendly family inside a humble garage.

*Reunited with Phil’s bag—thanks to this kind soul, a beautiful reminder that good people are everywhere.*

The Kindness We Almost Missed

“We tried to contact you on Facebook,” the man said with an apologetic smile. “But we’re not friends online, so I thought you might not see it.”

His wife leaned in, her voice low. “We didn’t want to give it to the police. They’re corrupt. We thought they’d steal your valuables.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. They hadn’t taken a thing. Everything—passport, cash, cards, laptop, medicine—was there. Intact.

Phil turned to me, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and nuzzled my head in that way only a father figure can.

“Seeeee,” he said, grinning. “I told you it would be a nice family. You’ve got to trust people more, Shan. There’s a lot of good out there.”

He was right. He is right.

Phil has since passed away. But his trust in the goodness of humanity is something I carry with me now, everywhere I go.

You Don’t Hear These Stories Enough

If you keep up with the news, it’s easy to think the world is burning. Terrorism. Violence. Theft. Corruption. But how often do we hear stories like this?

As someone who’s spent 14 years traveling and living abroad, I’ll tell you—the world is not as dangerous as they make it seem. Bad things happen, yes. But so do miracles of human kindness.

Like the time I got lost in the Philippines, and a man left the comfort of his home to guide me, for hours, through palm groves and rice fields to find a waterfall I’d never have reached alone. He wouldn’t accept a single peso in return.

Or the Vietnamese man who towed my motorbike for two hours after I ran out of gas in the middle of remote Phong Nha-Kẻ Bàng National Park. Using a plastic tube to tie our bikes together. For free.

Yes, Be Smart—But Stay Open

Should we be careful? Of course. Use common sense, trust your instincts, stay aware. But don’t let fear make you close off your heart. The vast majority of people are just like you and me—good-hearted, helpful, trying their best.

The media won’t tell you these stories. But they’re real. And they matter.

The World Is Still Beautiful—If You Let It Be

Reflection Questions:

Have you ever been surprised by a stranger’s kindness? What did that moment teach you about humanity?
In what ways might fear be shaping the way you view others—and the world?

Your Turn:

Share your story. When was the last time someone showed you unexpected kindness? I’d love to hear it. Let’s spread more of these stories—the ones that restore our faith in the world.

The Media Doesn’t Tell These Stories. But They Matter