I recently went to Toulouse, France. It was my first ever solo-trip, booked on an absolute whim. I was worried about getting lost. I was worried about being bored. I was worried about being lonely. All of these things happened. I was lost, I was bored, I was lonely. But out of all of them, something crazy and unique and incredible happened. Immediately once I arrived in Toulouse, I took the tram the wrong direction and ended up on the other side of the city. By myself. At midnight. I was lost but I found my way back. I took a bus, a tram and a metro, and learned a LOT about city transportation. There were also times when I was bored. My boredom drove me to explore and research and I found nooks and crannies of the city that were completely unexpected and fantastic. I stumbled upon ruins and cathedrals and bakeries and beautiful art and nature.

Finally, I was worried about being alone. On the last night of my stay, I sat in the hostel common room, eating my dinner by myself when suddenly I wasn’t so by myself anymore. A group of eclectic people kept me company while I munched on my baguette: A man from Italy named Luigi, who was traveling before he moved to Valencia. An American girl – like me – who was in France to learn culinary arts. A French boardgame designer, in Toulouse to study art and visit friends. A man from China, named Wen, who was learning five languages and practicing his French while in Toulouse. Despite having a flight at 6 a.m. the next morning, we stayed up all night. We played an un-published board game, talked about international foods and shared the culture shocks we had experienced. I learned about Texan cuisine in China, beach life in South Carolina, the education system in France and what was considered a ‘noodle’ in Italy.

Before the night was over, Wen (the man from China) shared with me a poem he had come across. The poem, “C,” was written by the poet Charles Baudelaire. Wen read the poem in French — his third language and the poem’s first language; while I read the poem in English — my first language but the poem’s second. As I first read the poem, I was confused. It seemed like nonsense to me, like the true meaning of the poem had been lost in translation. Wen explained what the poem meant to him. His mismatched, accented English and full, complete worldview made me understand: That importance and purpose in life does not come from what you have, but what you cherish. Both Wen and the man in the poem cherish adventure, travel and the joy of meeting new people.

Here is L’Etranger translated to English:

The Stranger

—Whom do you love best, enigmatic man, say! Your father, your mother, your sister, or your brother?
—I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.
—Your friends?
—You make use there of a word the meaning of which has remained for me, up to this day, unknown.
—Your country?
—I am unaware under what latitude it lies.
—Beauty?
—I would love her willingly, goddess and immortal.
—Gold?
—I hate it as your hate God.
—What, then, do you love, extraordinary stranger?
—I love the clouds… the clouds that pass… over there… the marvelous clouds.

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Learn more about this blogger’s study abroad program: ALI Abroad: University of Alicante