Long days and long walks and long commutes and long chats and long hugs and longing. Longing.

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One of the most underrated things about visiting and staying with old friends who live far away from you is that you get a glimpse of their lives, a peek into their routines; the homes they’ve settled into and decorated – a reflection of their personalities and quirks, the food they stock up in the fridge and the places they hang out after work, the communities they’ve built and loves they met along the way. It’s a beautiful thing to see the person they’ve grown to become and grown into.

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During my time in Paris, I stayed at an airbnb with a lovely retired French man, originally from Togo in West Africa. His humble apartment situated on the outskirts of the city centre stood on the 12th floor, with a stunning view overlooking the city, the Eiffel Tower at the centre of it all.

Along the corridor from my bedroom to the bathroom were framed pictures and certificates hung on the wall, each depicting a different time and aspect in his life; a family portrait with his children and grandchildren; a young photo of him wedged between his parents in Togo, his arms slung over their shoulders grinning from ear to ear; a certificate in French which I surmised was an award for passing a test of some kind.

He didn’t speak a word of English, so conversations with him were a series of us speaking in short, clipped sentences into his phone, and Google mechanically churning out the translation 2-3 seconds later. It went on like this back and forth over the next few days as we exchanged pleasantries, but I always left our conversations wanting more – I wanted to know more about him and his life but it always felt a bit too uncomfortable, too unnatural with the phone and Google in the way.

On my last day I plucked up the courage to ask him about the pictures and certificates on the wall and he proceeded to tell me about his family and his achievements, with a hint of warmth and pride in his voice. After checking out, he left a review as a host, saying that as a guest, I was “quiet, smiling, discreet and respectful”. And while this was most certainly the case, seeing as I tried to make as little noise as possible to avoid disturbing him, I couldn’t help but wonder if that also had to do with my hesitation of striking up too many conversations, or keeping existing ones brief to avoid the awkward silences.

It reminded me that so much of our identity and connection is centred around language. It helps us express our thoughts, our feelings, our needs and desires. Had there not been a language barrier, no pauses in between our conversations waiting for almighty Google to help translate each sentence, would his impression of me have been any different? Would I have felt more comfortable expressing myself more freely? Then I thought about how incredibly technology has advanced in recent decades (I’m older than Google…) – would we have been able to have had any meaningful conversations at all without our phones helping us to translate sentences in (almost) real-time? How could technology bridge that gap even further in the coming years?

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Man I love the Olympics.

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Everyone should get themselves a kindle!!!