Sometimes the most profound moments happen when everything goes completely wrong.

I was standing on the side of a washed-out dirt road in Ecuador, watching my bus—with my passport, cedula, all my clothes, and literally everything I own down here—disappear into the distance without me.

This is part of the monthly Feelgood Friday Stories series on my YouTube channel, Street Smart Travel—positive, inspiring stories from life on the road that remind us there’s still plenty of good in this world. Because honestly? We need more of these stories right now.

The Situation

Picture this: I’m standing on the side of a washed-out dirt road in a valley, watching my bus drive away. I look around. There are no taxis. No cell service. No houses. No people. No buildings. No infrastructure. Not even hydro lines. I mean NOTHING.

I’m 16 kilometers from my destination, and I’ve got the clothes on my back, a phone that’s useless without signal, and a money belt with credit cards and cash that might as well be Monopoly money because there’s nowhere to spend it.

And that’s when that feeling hits me—that sinking sensation in your stomach when you realize you’re in serious trouble. The sun’s going to be down in a couple of hours, and I’m standing here in the middle of absolutely nowhere trying to figure out what my next move is. I knew I had to act fast, but what were my options? Walk 16 kilometers on a dirt road through a valley with no idea what I’d encounter? Just… wait and hope?

This was not good.

Failed Attempts

I tried to flag down the first vehicle that came by—wrong direction. The second one? Didn’t even slow down. Just kept driving. And I’m standing there thinking, “Okay, this is really happening. I might actually be spending the night on the side of this road.”

Enter the Heroes

And then… salvation. A car pulls over. Inside are three young guys, probably all under 20.

Now, here’s the thing that makes this even more incredible—these guys had already tried to help me once. They were on the other side of the washed-out section when the bus took off, and they saw what happened. They actually chased after that bus on foot, waving their arms, trying to get the driver to stop. When that didn’t work, they got in their car and came back for me.

Their car was completely loaded—the back seat full of fruits and vegetables, all kinds of stuff. Three guys, and somehow they were going to make room for a stranded gringo. The guy in the back jumped out and told me to get in. I thought we’d be cramming in together, but no—this guy climbed into the front and sat on his buddy’s lap in the passenger seat so I could have the back seat to myself.

The Chase

So now we’re on the hunt. We’re barreling down these dirt roads—and I mean narrow, one-lane bridges, the kind where you hold your breath hoping nobody’s coming the other way. The car’s loaded down with people and produce, so we’re bouncing along, but we’re moving.

And these guys are keeping my spirits up, asking questions—where are you from, what happened, are you traveling alone? When I told them I was solo, they looked at each other and said, “Oh man, so the bus probably doesn’t even know you’re missing.”

I’m trying to keep it together, but inside I’m thinking about everything on that bus—my passport, my cedula, my entire life down here. And these guys just keep reassuring me: “Don’t worry, we’ll get you there. We’ll catch them.”

Then we come over this hill, and there it is—that blue Amazonas bus in the distance. One of them points and says, “That’s your bus, right?”

I tell them, “Yeah! This is like a James Bond movie—we’re the heroes chasing the bad guys!” They laughed, probably had no idea who James Bond is, but they got the spirit of it.

The Highway Chase

But seeing the bus and catching the bus are two different things. Now we’re on the highway, and there’s traffic everywhere. We can see it ahead of us, but we’re stuck behind cars, trucks, motorcycles. The bus is moving, we’re moving, but we can’t close the gap. My heart’s pounding because I’m thinking, “What if it gets to the terminal and someone takes my stuff? What if they just dump everything and I never find it?”

These guys are weaving through traffic as best they can, loaded down as they are, staying focused. Finally—FINALLY—the bus pulls over to let someone off, and these guys shoot right in front of it and hit the brakes.

The Reunion

All three of them jump out at once, waving their arms at the driver. “Hey! HEY! You forgot this guy!”

I get out, my legs are shaking from the adrenaline, and I’m so grateful we caught the bus. I shake each of their hands and pull out a 10-dollar bill. “Please,” I tell them, “you guys just saved me. Let me give you something for gas, for your time, for literally rescuing me from the middle of nowhere.”

They won’t take it. I keep insisting. “Guys, seriously, I was stranded. I had no way out of there. You didn’t just help me, you saved me.”

Nope. They smile, shake their heads, tell me it’s no problem, we hug it out, then they wish me well and drive off. Just like that. No expectation of payment, no trying to squeeze money out of a desperate tourist. Just pure, selfless kindness from three strangers who saw someone who needed help.

The Bigger Picture

And here’s what I want you to understand—this is who these people are. This wasn’t some rare, once-in-a-lifetime encounter way up in the mountains or out in the remote campo. This was close to a city, on a regular day, with regular people going about their business.

These three young guys represent something I experience all the time down here—not just in Ecuador, but all through Latin America. Time and time again, I meet people who embody this kind of everyday heroism. People who don’t see a stranger in trouble and think “not my problem.” They see a human being who needs help, and they act.

The Lesson

Yes, you need to be street smart when you travel. Yes, things go wrong—buses leave without you, roads wash out, plans fall apart. But I want you to remember this: for every mishap, for every moment of chaos, there are people like these three young men. People with good hearts who will go out of their way to help, who will sit on their friend’s lap so you have a place to sit, who will chase down a bus through traffic, who will refuse payment because helping someone is just what you do.

A Message of Gratitude

You reminded me what humanity looks like when we show up for each other. You are the best of what Latin America has to offer, and I am forever grateful that our paths crossed on that day.

This is the real Ecuador. This is the real Latin America. This is what I experience every single day—the kindness, the generosity, the humanity of everyday people who make this part of the world so incredible.

If you’ve had experiences like this while traveling—moments where strangers became heroes—I’d love to hear about them. These stories need to be told, and they remind us all that despite what the news cycle wants us to believe, there are still amazing people out there doing amazing things, expecting nothing in return.

Happy trails, see you out on the road.

Sometimes the most profound moments happen when you’re just trying to catch a bus.

I was completely lost in Quito, Ecuador, lugging my backpack through unfamiliar streets, desperately searching for the right bus to the terminal. After a sleepless night at Toronto’s YYZ airport—thanks eh, Air Canada—and one very reluctant hotel stay, all I wanted was to escape the big city chaos and get to the parts of Ecuador I’d actually come to see.

This is part of the monthly Feelgood Friday series on my YouTube channel, Street Smart Travel—positive, inspiring stories from life on the road that remind us there’s still plenty of good in this world. Because honestly? We need more of these stories right now.

Big City Armour

I’m SUPER not a fan of big cities. Never have been. I’ve been to New York, Yangon, Managua—places where everyone’s basically wearing invisible armour. Nobody makes eye contact, everyone’s rushing around like they’re late for the most important meeting of their lives, faces buried in phones. You learn pretty quickly not to expect much from strangers in places like that.

I’ve lived in Toronto for over fifty years, and I can count on one hand the times a stranger went out of their way to genuinely help me. It’s not that people are bad—they’re just… protected. Guarded. And honestly, I get it.

But what happened in Quito? That shattered every assumption I had about big city interactions.

When Everything Changed

There I was, walking down this street in Quito, with my carry-on and a backpack, completely lost, trying to figure out which bus I needed to catch. Classic tourist move, right? I spotted this well-dressed guy—probably in his forties, looked like he knew what he was doing—waiting at a bus stop.

I walked up and asked in Spanish: “Disculpe, Señor, ¿podría decirme dónde tomar el autobús para la terminal de Carcelén?” “Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where I can get the bus to Carcelén terminal?”

Here’s where it gets incredible.

This guy—this complete stranger—doesn’t just point down the street. He doesn’t pull out his phone to show me a map. He stands up with this huge smile and says, “¡Vamos juntos!” Let’s go together!

What?

I’ve lived in Toronto for fifty years. FIFTY YEARS. I cannot think of a single time—not once—when a stranger offered to physically walk me somewhere. When’s the last time that happened to you in the West?

It Gets Even Better

So we start walking together. A block and a half, just chatting like we’re old friends. This guy’s matching my pace, asking about my trip, totally relaxed about the whole thing. When we get to the right bus stop, he points down the street: “Ahi esta su bus” “There’s your bus.”

Already, right? I’m thinking, “Okay, this is incredible. This is more kindness than I’ve gotten in most major cities combined.”

But wait—there’s more.

The bus pulls up, I get on, and instead of just waving goodbye, this guy steps forward and starts talking to the driver in rapid-fire Spanish. I’m catching bits and pieces, but basically he’s explaining where I need to go. He’s telling the driver, “Hey, this guy needs to get to Carcelén, and I know the bus doesn’t actually go into the terminal—can you let him know when to get off?”

The Twenty-Five Minute Revelation

Sitting on that bus for the twenty-five minute ride, stuck in Quito’s crazy midday traffic, I couldn’t stop replaying what had just happened. This man could have easily pointed and said, “Bus stop’s over there, good luck.” Instead, he invested his time, energy, and genuine care in helping someone who could never repay him.

But here’s what really got me—it wasn’t the act itself. It was how effortless it was for him. No internal debate, no hesitation. It was automatic: “Of course I’m going to help this person. Of course I’m going to go out of my way for another human being.”

This wasn’t some one-off miracle. I’ve been in Ecuador for almost three years, and I see this everywhere. From the Andes to the Amazon, from tiny coastal towns to villages you can’t find on a map, even in the big cities—this is just how people are here.

These aren’t grand gestures that make the evening news. These are quiet acts of decency that happen every single day, by people who think helping others is just… what you do. It’s part of who they are.

Why This Matters Right Now

We’re living in strange times. Everyone’s suspicious of everyone, we’re supposed to be afraid of “stranger danger,” and city life means building walls around yourself for protection.

But this experience? It reminded me of something huge: genuine human goodness isn’t a rare occurrence. It’s everywhere. It’s all around us, just waiting for us to notice it and pass it on.

That morning in Quito, this stranger didn’t just help me catch a bus. He reminded me why I fell in love with travel in the first place—not for the Instagram photos or passport stamps, but for these moments of pure human connection that restore your faith in people.

His kindness cost him maybe ten minutes of his day. The impact on me? That will last forever.

The Challenge I’m Living With

Every time I see someone looking lost or confused—you know that universal “I have no idea where I am” expression—I think about that gentleman at the bus stop. I think about how easy it was for him to choose compassion over just walking away.

And I try to be that person for someone else.

Because somewhere out there, right now, another traveler is standing at their own metaphorical bus stop. Maybe they’re lost, maybe they’re scared, maybe they just need someone to care enough to not just point the way, but actually walk with them toward where they need to go.

The world keeps telling us to be afraid of strangers, to keep our heads down, to mind our own business. But what if we did the opposite? What if we looked up, made eye contact, and asked, “How can I help?”

The next time someone asks you for directions or help, think about that Ram Dass quote. Ask yourself: What can I do to help walk this person home? How can I go beyond what they’re asking to make them feel more at ease, more welcomed, more human?

Your Stories Matter Too

This kind of kindness isn’t unique to Ecuador, or even to travel. It’s happening in your neighborhood, your city, maybe even to you. The difference is, we don’t share these stories enough. We’re so focused on everything that’s wrong with the world that we forget to celebrate what’s right with it.

Have you experienced unexpected kindness from a stranger? Has someone gone way beyond what you asked for, just because they could? I’d love to hear about it.

Get Out There and See for Yourself

Look, I get it. The idea of approaching strangers, especially in unfamiliar places, can be scary. We’ve been conditioned to see danger everywhere. But in my 25+ years of travel—from the streets of Yangon to the mountains of Peru to the markets of Mexico—I can tell you that genuine kindness far outweighs the risks.

That doesn’t mean being reckless. Trust your instincts, stay aware of your surroundings, and use common sense. But don’t let fear rob you of the incredible human connections that make travel—and life—truly meaningful.

The world is full of people like that gentleman in Quito. People who see helping others as the most natural thing in the world. You just have to be open to finding them.

Happy trails, see you out on the road.

I’ve been volunteering here in Ecuador all over the country, from the Andes, to the coast, the Amazon, the cloud/mist/rainforests, for more than two years while putting in time towards permanent residency. In that time I have met some amazing people, and continue to have great experiences, many of which I post on my YouTube channel, Street Smart Travel.

I had to share this story with you from April of this year – a reminder that there are still genuinely good people out there, despite all the doom and gloom dominating the news cycle.

When Plans Fall Apart

This weekend, I needed to get to Vilcabamba for groceries and to run some errands. We’ve had torrential rains down here lately – the kind that wash out highway sections and take down bridges. The regular bus that normally stops in front of the finca? Gone. No service for days.

After waiting in vain on Friday and again Saturday morning outside the finca, a neighbor saw me standing there at 7:10 AM and delivered the news: “No bus because of the rains.” The highway and bridge had been washed out.

So began my improvised journey: walk 2 km to the main road, catch a camióneta, finally make it to town for shopping, lunch, and hitting the ATM – all those things you can’t do out here in the campo.

The Journey Back

On my return trip, I rode in the back of a camióneta – not in the cab, but in the open bed where you’d normally throw tools or other materials. Smart traveler tip: I deliberately didn’t buy bananas in town because I knew they’d turn to mush in my backpack during that bumpy ride back to the finca. Ask me how I know that…

Instead, I planned to stop at the small store in the pueblo to grab some bananas. Perfect plan, except… she was fresh out.

“But,” she said, pointing to a house nearby, “the lady over there has bananas. It’s not a store – just someone who lives in the campo.”

A Simple Question, An Unexpected Answer

I walked to the house and called out from the front gate. An older man appeared, and I explained my situation: looking for bananas, sent over by the store lady.

“Oh yes!” he said, calling to his wife. “Do you want ripe or green bananas?”

Now, green bananas and plantains are huge down here – used in all kinds of traditional cuisine from Tigrillo to patacones. But this gringo knows his limitations. “Ripe bananas, please. I know how to make a peanut butter and banana sandwich!”

His wife emerged with eight giant, beautiful ripe bananas. Her only question: “Do you have a bag?”

I pulled out my cloth bag, and she carefully placed the bananas inside. Then came the moment that stopped me in my tracks.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “How much can I pay you for these?”

She looked at me, then looked up at the sky and pointed heavenward.

The Universal Language of Kindness

I understood immediately. There’s a church right next to her house, and I sensed this was her way of saying: This is what we do. This is my duty as a person of faith.

It hit me – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d experienced anything like this. Such a simple thing: bananas. Not earth-shattering, no miracles, simply: I have something you need. Take it. Be well.

What Really Matters

That seemingly small gesture transformed my entire day, which had a rough start with the missing bus and early wake-up call. It reminded me why the campesinos – along with the mountain communities and indigenous peoples throughout Ecuador – are among my favorite people on Earth.

They restore my faith in humanity with their genuine warmth and willingness to help strangers. I may never see this couple again, but it didn’t matter to them. They could help, so they did.

The Bigger Picture

Don’t get trapped in the constant catastrophizing and negativity of non-stop news cycles. Yes, challenges exist, but so do people like this banana lady and her husband – salt-of-the-earth folks who go out of their way to help people they don’t even know.

These are the interactions you miss when you’re staying in hostels, hotels, or resorts in bigger cities. You have to get out there, connect with people, and sometimes you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the unexpected kindness of strangers.

I hope this brightens your day the way it did mine. This is one of many such stories that happen all the time in Latin America – small moments of human connection that remind us what really matters.

Happy trails, see you out on the road.