In March 2007, I was a teacher-chaperone for the Smith Middle School group that visited the European Union and that lived with Belgian host families for a week.

This rare opportunity profoundly affected me both personally and professionally and it heightened my appreciation for cultural differences. It also reaffirmed my belief that, despite borders and location, we are all more the same than different.

I will always treasure my week with my host family. Prior to my stay, I was concerned that my lack of French, and some members of my host family's limited English, would be a deterrent to getting to know each other. I couldn't have been more wrong; our time together was amazing and resulted in a very special bond.

While the words weren't always readily there, what was abundant was a willingness to understand and a creative endeavor that involved gestures and lots of laughter. I'm sure we often missed conversational nuances, but the essence of understanding was definitely present.

One evening particularly stands out for me. After celebrating a family member's birthday with a traditional meal of Belgian fries and meatballs, we gathered in the living room of their 18th-century home for an evening of universal language -- music. This was different from anything I'd experienced, because Fredericke, a family friend, played originally composed music on an indigenous Brazilian instrument called the berimbau. We all sang, danced, and I even had a go at playing the berimbau. I remember thinking that, while the locale and musical genres were varied, this wasn't so different from all the intimate family moments that I cherish so much, back in my own North Carolina home.

My host family continually showed me that, while we have cultural differences, it is our commonalities that are most salient. As a mother of three, I understood that my Belgian counterpart, Marie Francoise, also had the same hopes and dreams for her four children. She worried about and missed her adult son in New York the same way I worry about and miss my children, now located in parts of the world far away from me. We shared a laugh at the realization that maternal worrying is not endemic to any specific culture, but that mothers everywhere freely invoke that particular prerogative.

Just as I am, Marie Francoise's husband, Michel, is a teacher. He holds high expectations for his students, forms solid relationships with them and is exuberant in and out of the classroom. His goals and practices paralleled my own, and I felt a collegial bond, transcendent of borders, with him and the other teachers at Saint-Benoit Saint-Servais.

Other times during our trip, awed by European culture, history and beauty, I was reminded of those common ties. Whether it was visiting the European Union headquarters, Maastricht, the Grand Place in Brussels or the hallowed ground of a World War II cemetery, I felt the prevailing sense that people everywhere seek to fill the same basic needs.

In Paris, while shopping for a souvenir for my daughters, I met a friendly young sales clerk named Sophia. She told me that she was new to Paris and a bit homesick. She also said that her mother in Spain worried about her constantly. I smiled and told her of my own maternal concerns for my two daughters (close to Sophia's age) who had lived abroad for an extended period.

Sophia then asked me what brought me to Paris and I excitedly told her about our students and the Belgian students with whom we'd formed friendships. She shared a similar experience she had in secondary school when she was part of an exchange group to Morocco. We talked a little more, then smiled and parted, feeling a definite sense of kinship.

I shared more memorable moments like this, but none as touching as the one I had with a young man on the flight back to the United States from Paris. Seated next to a man, Lamin, whom I later learned was a teacher from Jambanjelly, Gambia, in West Africa, I gave him a cursory smile and hello, and then proceeded to seize some well-deserved nap time. He probably noted my "leave me alone" body language, but I could tell he wanted to talk. I'm so grateful that he wanted to and that I finally opened up to that idea, because what ensued was a conversation I will never forget.

We exchanged small talk for a few minutes and then I asked about his destination. He shared the most amazing story of generosity and hope. His story came via his narration of a video he had made to document his departure from his village. Using his small hand-held recorder, he "walked" me through his village and the goodbyes he said to all the villagers who made this trip possible for him.

The village I saw was void of the amenities my students and I take for granted. The students I saw, however, looked much like my own, as they enthusiastically played soccer. These boys and girls used oranges as substitutes for soccer balls. Lamin said that even if they had the money, they would never spend it on soccer balls, because that money was needed for precious food.

In Maine, he would work as a waiter, saving as much as he possibly could for his family and the college education he so desperately wanted. First, however, he had to repay the almost $2,000 in travel money that he owed to a wealthy villager. I learned that this lender was not generous by nature, but instead gave Lamin the money because Lamin's fellow villagers had put up their land as collateral. In other words, if this determined Gambian teacher did not repay that sizable sum, the villagers would lose their land. I was dumbstruck by the generosity his fellow villagers displayed. I hold in my heart today the kindness of villagers thousands of miles away and of a Gambian man's belief in a dream, despite incredible obstacles.

My friend and colleague Robin McMahon recently asked me to reflect on how my trip to the European Union has translated into new understandings for my own students. Certainly, I have shared with them my appreciation for the cultural differences I observed and experienced. That appreciation is reflected in the readings and writing topics I offer them. I've shown photos and talked endlessly about travel to distant lands and how enriching it is.

I want my students to know that my travels to the European Union have taught me that, regardless of race, nationality and political, social or religious affiliation, it is our commonalities that inextricably bind us. It is those hopes, dreams and desires that we all have in common, that allow us to care about one another and that will propel us in our efforts to make this world a better place for all people.