There’s a quiet magic in shared spaces where stories drift across cultures and generations – and no one checks their phone
I
t was my first week in the freezing German city of Bonn, on my first-ever international trip – shivering from the cold and bewildered by culture shock. At my hostel reception, a woman tried her best to help me settle in. “Die Sauna is free after 6pm,” she said cheerfully in a mix of German and English, adding that all I needed was a towel.
From that day on, sweating in the steaming sauna became my nightly ritual. I couldn’t quite join the occasional conversations that bubbled up around me – my German was very basic and my confidence level was hitting rock bottom. So mostly I sat quietly, listening, nodding, absorbing the rhythm of strangers unwinding at the end of their day.
A week later, two Afghan students from Kandahar checked into the guesthouse. Instantly I felt at home. I insisted on hosting a small welcome dinner.
