Silent Friendships, Unspoken Journeys
Twelve people. Six days. No words. And still—connection. Still—friendship.
I’ve checked a bag maybe twice in the last 30 years. These days, I travel light—intentionally so. But it wasn’t always like that.
Once upon a younger, less-seasoned version of myself, I packed a massive suitcase. Not a backpack, not a duffle—a real suitcase. The kind you drag, not carry. And I dragged it from England to France to Switzerland. That trip was part of an independent study for seminary. I was touring retreat centers across Europe.
The one in England was a once-grand estate, long past its prime. The retreatants—myself included—slept in what used to be the stables. It closed not long after I left.
Then came the retreat center in Switzerland—Granchamps, I think it was called. Each morning, worship was offered in the many languages of those present. No translation needed—just rhythm, reverence, and the quiet understanding of shared breath.
And then there was Taizé, nestled in the Bordeaux region of France. I spent six days there in silence. Twelve of us, strangers at first, took a vow of quiet. Each day, we received a simple prompt: “Today in your silence, consider this...” And we did. Together. In silence. We cooked together. Cleaned together. Sat beside one another without speaking a word. And somehow, by the end of it, we had become... friends.
Only when the silence lifted did I realize: only two others spoke English. Twelve people. Six days. No words. And still—connection. Still—friendship. I started writing this to tell you about the stuff I carry just in case—a travel ritual formed over decades. But somewhere along the way, I ended up unpacking something else. Because sometimes what we carry isn’t in our bags. And sometimes, friendship doesn’t require words.
In this small world, we are all neighbors. Or neighbours, (one of the other English speakers was from Scottland, the other from Canada.)
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This is Nomad Santa, reminding you: In this small world, we’re all neighbors. (Neighbours)