Connection is our Common Language

Saint Rémy de Provence, France

We slept in and then spent our afternoon relaxing, swimming (floating, actually) in the pool, and eating fresh baguettes. The day was rounded off with a meal in town, followed by watching part of a decisive international soccer (football) match. St. Rémy de Provence was the chosen destination for our two families to meet—us originating from New York, they from London. This was our first vacation together since we had both added children to the world. Two sets of recently minted parents taking advantage of time off at a villa in a beautiful little town in France. It sounds idyllic, and it was.

Rather than blabber on about the gorgeous villa, beautiful weather, wonderful food, locally sourced wine, etcetera, etcetera, a much simpler and less self-congratulatory (“Look at us! We went to France!”) interaction occurred on that warm, peaceful evening. The long and short of it is, after dinner and the football, I wanted some time to myself. Not one that feels comfortable spending large stretches with even the closest of friends and family, solitude grounds me.

What solitude means to me

For me, solitude comes in many forms, including walking, reading books and paradoxically, during short, friendly interactions with new people. Sharing smiles with passersby, a politely tendered purchase at a shop, or chatting with someone at a lounge or cafe all do the trick. It is not my desire to be completely alone in the world—which I have heard described by solo backpackers, fisherman, avid readers, and the like—but rather a craving for the option of being alone. Feeling a bit boxed in, the option needed to be exercised that night. It was also the night I realized that not sharing a common language can actually create connection.

We humans are strange. Constantly seeking more from life, we read self-help books, look for the trendiest restaurants and travel destinations, join online groups, and generally do whatever we can to discover whatever it is that we feel we are missing. Not always satisfied with our personal lives or our jobs, we are encouraged, most recently by social media, to ‘find your best self‘, ‘live life to its fullest,’ ‘grow your net worth,’ or ‘achieve financial freedom.’ This is especially true in the Western world. I would argue that this is also pervasive in the Far East and other parts of the world as we become more and more globalized.

An Unlikely Connection

As the others made the short trek back to our temporary home, I opted for a walk around the small village center. Everything was surprisingly different at night. The bustling daytime, with locals and tourists joyfully interacting at markets and restaurants, was replaced by almost complete silence after the sun had gone down. It was even more obvious that this was the town where Van Gogh’s A Starry Night was painted. Strolling around St. Rémy’s inner loop provided me time to smell the fresh air, snap a couple of pseudo-artsy photos, and breathe in the stillness. I also passed the same clothing store at least five times, but that’s beside the point.

A quirky little place caught my eye that I hadn’t noticed during the day. “Le Bar Americain.” To give perspective on how out of place this bar was, a quick search of The Lonely Planet travel guide, under the ‘nightlife’ section, had one sentence: “The nightlife in St-Rémy is pretty low-key, but the town’s restaurants have plenty of local wines to try.” Apparently, the American bar did not last long—attempts to find an online photo came up empty. My memory is that it looked like a darker, more kitschy version of the place in the photo above, but with far fewer people.

Curious about this little town’s take on ‘Americain,’ I had to check it out. Clumsily ordering in quasi-French, I enjoyed my successfully sought solitude. The bartender spoke a little bit of English and I spoke a little bit of French. He recognized my accent as American; not from the UK or elsewhere. A few shortly worded niceties led to a full-on conversation in broken French and English, accompanied by helpful hand gestures and the appropriate facial expressions. Simply put, we connected.

It made sense that we were mutually curious about each other’s lives, with him working in an American-themed bar and me visiting France. He even made a passing reference to problems with his girlfriend and that they would quickly pass, a sentiment to which people from all countries can relate. After my new acquaintance proudly showed me a unique whisky the restaurant had recently acquired, I finished my champagne—it was France, after all—and happily wandered home.

Epilogue

Disdainful of large, planned ‘networking’ events, these small, seemingly insignificant interactions with strangers are much more my speed. Being male certainly makes it safer. When speaking with people who have no expectation of follow-up, you are simply sharing a moment in time. Generally, you don’t know anyone in their world, and they don’t know anyone in yours. The connections are short, but in my opinion, very human. Most times, I learn something interesting about topics or cultures of which I was previously unaware. My knowledge base grows and there is no interruption in my ‘alone’ time. It is very freeing and often leads to more growth than any self-help book or advice column offers. From time to time, lasting friendships can even develop.

What made this night in France unique was that although the bartender at Le Bar Americain spoke French and I spoke English, human connection was the commonality, because connection IS our common language.

~Kevin

In My Unexpected Life: Travel, Food, and More, I will share stories, thoughts, and simple ideas to entertain and maybe even inspire others to engage with new food, travel, and more…no matter how big or small those experiences may be.

Even if my writings do not produce the desired result—please enjoy the blog!

27 comments

  1. I love the take on your trip about human connections and communication, versus the traditional travel posts about food and local. This is beautifully written, and you’re right, human connection is the common language. Thank you for sharing.

  2. What a great post! I particularly liked this sentence:
    “It is not my desire to be completely alone in the world—which I have heard described by solo backpackers, fisherman, avid readers, and the like—but rather a craving for the option of being alone.” It feels like me to a tee! Loved the story of the barman and how you still managed to connect despite the language barriers 😊

    http://www.missblogsabit.com

  3. I always enjoy some alone time while traveling as well. Love your story of stumbling across an “American bar” abroad and chatting with someone who speaks French!

  4. I liked this a lot. It makes me want to pick a random place to travel and just connect with the locals at a mom and pop restaurant rather than get caught in a tourist trap. Thanks for sharing!

  5. This is a wonderfully written post. A unique but refreshing take on the travel post. I definitely relate but I don’t think I can describe as well as you. Solitude and connection can perhaps paradoxically occur simultaneously. I associate solitude to slowing down of the mind which creates a space for the present moment. Then within that present moment, I find myself more available to connect to the humanity that surrounds me. Thank you so much for sharing.

  6. I definitely felt this one, as somebody who also needs the solitude for grounding. As an extremely “connected” person, I have learned that the solitude-by-choice is also the thing that helps keep me connected.

  7. I really like this! I love learning from other cultures and for me one of the best ways to do this is through conversations with the locals. I share your take on solitude. Thank you for sharing!!

  8. Love this post! I so agree with wanting to have a choice of solitude! I feel the same way all the time. I have myself experienced connection at so many places where there is no common language. You’ve beautifully captured the essence of it!
    Shalvika

  9. You’re a real storyteller Kevin, I like your writing style. So much so that I would have liked to read a whole story with you & this barman!
    Good article, with a beautiful message. Thanks for writing it!

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