But...who will you see?

June 29, 2026

Greetings from the messenger,

His name was Ohaka.

The table next to us was filled with travelers from Japan, a part of a guided tour group making its way along the Tour du Mont Blanc.  As we hiked along the trail, we would cross paths with professional guides, leading people from around the world along the 110-mile hike through the Alps. Many times, we would thread between them for a while and then go our own ways.

The five of us had been on the trail for almost a week, scrambling up passes, eating in mountain cabins, teetering across streams on fragile snow bridges. At night we stayed in refugios, typically rustic hostels tucked amidst the peaks and passes of France and Italy and Switzerland.  On this day, we had one of the toughest pulls up, and when we settled in for our dinner, in Col de la Forclaz, we were famished.

We had created a special tradition on our adventure.  I carried a small bag of paper slips printed with inspirational quotes.  Whenever we met someone interesting, I would have them pull out a slip, read it out loud to whoever was there.  It always led to conversation, many times friendship, and memories.  Often, we’d be passing a moment with someone, taking a break at a fountain, or catching our breath after a long grind up a pass, and my brother would catch my eye, and then with a subtle pantomime tell me that we should offer a slip.  And we would do this little one act play surrounded by alpine beauty, and everyone walked away smiling.

As we ate our dinner, we couldn’t help but notice the group at the table next to us, all chattering in Japanese, clearly a little further into the wine than we were.  They were laughing and talking, calling to their group at other tables.  Finally, one of the men turned to us, and in fractured English asked where we were from.  We told him California, and this delighted him. He stood up and, looking at his phone for support, sang a few bars of California Dreamin.  We all laughed and clapped and shook his hand, and he beamed with pride.

I looked at my brother. 

Through the translator on his phone, I explained to the man what I wanted to do.  He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, yes?”  I had him pull a slip from the bag, and then I read it into the translator.  I watched as the screen populated with Japanese characters.  The man held the phone so his friend could read it out loud in their native language.

We watched as the group leaned in, listening intently as the quote unfolded, and when it reached its final line of the message, they all sighed “Ahhhh!” and sat back in their chairs, changed.  It was like watching them being washed with a refreshing breeze. Our new friend introduced himself to us and shook our hands enthusiastically.  His name was Ohaka.

In the morning we packed our things and gathered outside the refugio, about to head onto the trail.  On the porch of the hostel Ohaka was leading his group through dynamic stretches, performed to classical music. There was something almost childlike, the joy-filled in the way he encouraged everyone to move and breathe.  Of course we joined.  When it was over we hugged him, and we wished each other safe journey.

Among our many trail conversations, my sister-in-life, Lee told us about her mother, Patty, a treasure of a woman we all miss. When she would tell her mother she was traveling to some far away place, her mother would ask “But … who will you see?”  Her mother’s experience was that when you went somewhere you stayed with family, or friends. Otherwise, you stayed home. And so, the question was part curiosity but part caution. “But …who will you see?”

I wish Patty could have been here when we hugged our new friends goodbye and continued on the trail.  She would be so proud of her daughter, and her granddaughter. And as we headed into our unknown adventure, she could ask, knowing, “But … who will you see?

Ohaka. We will see Ohaka.

Hope this finds you meeting the ones who wait,

David

This essay was written by the author and does not include Ai content.

Copyright © 2026 David Smith