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I was riding shotgun when Chiara, with her million bags and her best friend, AnnaMaria, piled into the second row of the van in Ljubljana, Slovenia’s winsome capital. In that moment, I had no way of knowing that we had so much in common, other than we were both Milano bound: I was en route to couch-surf at a friend of a friend’s in Lausanne; she was heading home; neither of us was thrilled with our plans. Following two botched attempts to obtain a bus ticket to Switzerland via Verona, I perched thankfully in my seat, silently intoning “Westward ho!” — ready to chase the sun’s descent by any means necessary. This private shuttle deal was recommended by the same helpful young man at the bus station who’d bungled my tickets earlier, but who owned his mistakes with an articulate, “I fucked up,” and, more importantly, an imperfect solution to my woes: The van would keep me from gathering peat moss in Ljubljana, but I had to forfeit my room in Verona for the night. Milan was six hours in my future and I had nowhere to lay me down to sleep when we arrived around midnight. Just a tad stressful. No data + no wifi = no room, but our driver, Yuri, assured me there’d be wifi at our pit stops. Meanwhile, he and I chatted congenially on the cardinal not-in-polite-conversation subjects: religion, sex, and politics. Chiara and AnnaMaria spoke occasionally in muted Italian, but eventually fell silent. The “I just need to stare out this window” malaise from Chiara grew heavy, while AnnaMaria continued to emit a cheerful “buck-up” attitude, because that’s what besties do. Two hours later, we arrived at a wifi hot spot. However, the process of finding and booking a room took longer than the ten minutes Yuri allotted us to piddle, smoke 'em if ya got 'em, and buy snacks. Chiara and AnnaMaria tried to help me, but Yuri’s itinerary was unyielding. Back in the van, Chiara started to open up a little. I learned she was moving back to Milan after her lawyer gig for an energy company in Ljubljana wasn't extended. Chiara wasn’t happy about her impending return — there were ghosts in Milan. Plus, it pained her to leave her home in Ljubljana. I offered, “Some decisions are made for us,” but it didn’t dispel the ghosts or ease her sadness. I shared my recent decision to leave my job at an English summer camp in Croatia and the ensuing doubt I had about quitting. I talked about my own ghosts in the U.S. and my uncertain future. Chiara sighed and said, “Long term planning doesn’t work.” At our penultimate stop, I scored an Italian soda, but no wifi. My fate was sealed: I had no room, no Euros, no local data plan. Facing the rapidly unwinding road, I spoke my panic aloud. "You will stay with me tonight,” came the calm, immediate response from behind me. I whipped around. "Really?! I will?" With an assuring smile Chiara said, “Yes, you will.” Chiara was tired, her spirits low, and she had to drag a million bags up four flights at trip’s end, and yet, she extended herself unhesitatingly to me. Once we deposited the last of Chiara’s bags in her apartment, I treated my gracious hosts to a late dinner at the neighborhood trattoria around the corner. Breaking bread after our long journey, we were just three women talking about life, love, expectations, disappointments, resiliency in the face of unwanted transitions. We spoke of depression, nervous "breakthroughs,” and healing. We explored the idea of “home,” of getting up and over and starting again. The conversation was pure vulnerability, rawness, truth. No artifice. No masks. Once home, there was espresso, vino and cake, but no silence. Chiara’s malaise had lifted. We kindred spirits slept when when the sun rose. There’s a German expression, “When angels travel, heaven smiles.” It generally refers to good weather, but I’ve come to think about it in a different context: when we let our guard down — when we truly show ourselves and buoy each other, we are rewarded with connection. I know I was. And if we’re traveling, all the better.