This morning, from our chalet window in Les Collons, the Swiss Alps glowed in that soft light only mountains seem to know. Time moves differently here – slow enough for you to notice how the sun brushes the slopes and how silence has its own music.
At the village store, a local woman helped me find a packet of butter. Every label was in French and German, and she spoke halting English with a lilting German accent. We fumbled over words, laughed, and pointed at shelves until success . Her kindness lingered longer than the scent of the sourdough bread I carried back.
Yesterday, on the flight here, I sat beside a Frenchman who grew up in Bordeaux and now lives in Zurich. He was returning from Jakarta, reading an English book on Indonesia by an anthropologist. We spoke just enough to share his fascination with cultures far from home and my own love for wandering without an agenda. Then silence- comfortable, unforced- settled between us, like an old friend who asks for nothing. And then there was Maria with her radiant smile who served us with genuine joy and told me she had liked the food in Indore, which is the home town of one of her friends in Abu Dhabi. She also recommended the Azures in Portugal ( her home country) for a relaxed holiday in beautiful surroundings – and amazing food. She also told me watching Netflix how she gets to hone her English – which she speaks very well already. I did notice her pronunciation of island – in which ‘s’ was not silent. Cute !
It strikes me how travel is not only about where you go, but the quiet worlds you step into when you linger in small places and chance encounters. Villages where no one rushes, where conversations are soft and smiles are shy; flights where a co-passenger’s presence or the chirpiness of an air hostess, makes you feel more connected to humanity.
Sometimes it’s a conversation, sometimes just a few words, sometimes only a glance. But in these brief encounters there’s a quiet magic. Proof that connection needs no grand language or elaborate introduction.
Up here, in the hush of the Alps, I realise again: a smile is everything.
An ordinary life 