So there we were, crammed into the flying tin can known as Air Canada Flight, bound for the sun-soaked beaches of Costa Rica. My husband and I settled into our seats when I noticed the elderly gentleman beside us, cane propped against his leg, giving us a polite nod.

“Travelling alone?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice pensive.

My first instinct was to feel sorry for him.

I couldn’t imagine my elders travelling alone.

I whispered to my husband, “Chat with him. He looks lonely.“

Being the good sport that he is, my husband struck up a conversation. Turns out, our seatmate was a 92-year-old widower from a neighbouring town in Ontario. He travelled by bus to the airport that morning. His wife had passed away the previous year from lung cancer despite never having smoked a day in her life. He’d cared for her until her final moments—a real-life Notebook scenario, minus the Hollywood ending.

Now, he rattled around alone in a big house filled with memories, devoid of living souls, except for his cleaning lady, who comes twice a month. I asked about his kids. He shared that they’re successful but childless. His son is too cautious to marry (afraid a woman will take his $ away from him), and his daughter, a nurse so dedicated she probably has a cot in the hospital break room, would never consider taking a vacation. 

“Where are you staying?” my husband asked, curiously. 

“I’m not sure,” he said, pulling out travel documents from his suit jacket. They revealed a travel company’s itinerary, so at least someone made a plan for him. 

“Who’s meeting you there?”

“No one,” he replied, eyes sparkling with the kind of adventure most of us only dream of. 

As the conversation flowed, he revealed his lifelong passion: dealing in precious metals and rare coins. I mentioned, “I used to own some rare Philippine coins but lost them.“

“I have 18th-century Philippine coins,” he said, whipping out a handwritten list from his pocket.  He quoted prices per ounce with the precision of someone who could calculate the tip on a diner bill in under five seconds. Stunned by his meticulous precision, I softly reminded my husband, “He’s 92 years old.” 

“They’re in my bank vault. We can meet when I return if you’re interested.” A true salesman–making a deal at 30,000 feet in the air! 

He shared that he had owned a precious metals and coins shop, which he had to close due to multiple robberies. Now, his coins are secured in bank vaults. I smiled and had a funny thought…maybe Oceans Eleven had been eyeing his collection.

Later, he leaned closer to my husband, eyes twinkling with mischief, and opened his hand to reveal blue and yellow pills.

“What are those?” my husband asked.

“Viagra,” he announced with a chuckle.

“Planning to use those?“

He laughed. “At the resort, some gentlemen might need assistance. I come prepared—not for profit; there’s not much money in these, but they start conversations.“

What a guy, I thought. Still hustling at 92, prospecting with blue and yellow pills! 

Beat that!

Then, with a touch of sadness, he said, “This might be my last trip. But it’s been a good run.“

As the plane descended over Costa Rica, I smiled to myself.

When we boarded, I felt sorry for him.

By the time we landed, I realized I had met a wealthy man.

Not because of the gold coins in his bank vault.

But because, at ninety-two, after losing the love of his life, he was still saying yes to life.

Still travelling.

Still making deals.

Still making strangers laugh.

That’s wealth!