This summer I traveled to Switzerland to participate in a design workshop at the renowned Basel School of Design. I’ve dreamed of going since I was an undergrad, to study where design greats like Emil Ruder and Armin Hoffman taught and practiced. But since I haven’t been a student for more than 20 years, my anxiety was running high. Am I too old? What if I fail? It was like one of those nightmares where you realize you’re naked and about to take a test you didn’t know was coming.

On the first afternoon, I nervously walked downstairs to the hotel lobby to meet my fellow students. There we were, almost 20 people, standing around trying not to look at each other. It was worse than middle school, but I resisted my normal tendency to be the social hero of the day. I stood there and kicked imaginary rocks like everyone else.

Eventually our professor made himself known. I took him to be a fellow introvert who had to muster the energy to speak up, but with his shaved head, protruding eyebrows and narrow eyes, he looked more like a euro-villain than a professor (although he later proved to be a euro-hero). Did I mention he was wearing a black suit?

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.”

Saint Augustine

He gave us the customary welcome speech and then took us on a lovely walking tour of Basel. As we walked, a fellow from New York broke the ice and asked me where I was from. His kindness was a relief to me, and I learned that Scott had studied at the School of Visual Arts and is currently a designer for a television network, with aspirations to launch his own studio.

Over the course of our weeklong workshop, I came to see Scott as a quintessential New Yorker with formidable talent. He told me stories of his days in art school, when he was student by day and graffiti artist by night. In Scott’s opinion, most of the graffiti in New York is created by rich white art students and only a fraction is gang-related. His eager smile revealed a curious mind and he approached his design — and all of life — with a New York-styled sense of wonder.

That same night, as we were walking along the Rhine, I met another friendly chap from Brazil named Francisco. He works as a designer for an international branding agency in their Sao Paulo office and was eager to practice his English with me. As the week wore on, he was always the last one to turn in, trying to get someone to stay out with him. “Jez one more, jez one more.” But I learned that he’d been saving for this trip for more than a year and was using all his time off to make it happen. In his mind, he was on vacation and intended to make the most of it.

On one such evening, he showed me his sketchbook, which he always carried with him. Not only does he possess exceptional drawing skills, but his images betray a fierce imagination. What’s more, we had a meaningful conversation about semiotics that evening. This is more impressive when you consider that he was having this conversation in a second language and with a savage hangover. Whether he was drinking pints or discussing the meaning of images, Francisco burned with intensity, making me envious of his Brazilian-infused passion.

By happenstance, Francisco shared a hostel room with what—at least to me—was his polar opposite: a young engineering student from India. His name was Mustafa, which is pronounced MOO-stah-fah, and I had so much trouble with his name that I often just called him Mufasa. He didn’t seem to mind. And though he is utterly brilliant, he managed to lose his passport within 24 hours of arriving in Switzerland. So he spent a lot of time on the phone with his father, and more than once I heard yelling on the other end of the line, making him seem more like Simba than Mufasa.

But I saw the heart of a lion when he described his intention to leave engineering behind and pursue a graduate degree in graphic design. That’s remarkable when you realize the cultural pressure in India to study management or engineering; his choice cuts against the grain of his family’s expectations. He has a great mind and has already demonstrated natural talent, but what impressed me most was his courage.

And so it was one night that while my new friends and I were strolling the medieval streets of Basel, we stumbled upon a park with loud music and dancing. Something seemed different straight away. This party was filled with men and women and children, but they were olive-skinned and eating churros and pork. In the middle of tidy Switzerland we had wandered into some kind of chaotic Spanish festival.

Something smelled wonderful, convincing us that we were starving, so we made our way through the crowd to the food tent. Having been in Switzerland several days, I was already used to punctuality and orderliness, but these fun-loving Spaniards seemed to be celebrating pandemonium. They were behind the counter laughing and smoking and hugging, and even though there was a growing crowd at the counter, almost no one was serving food.

I grabbed a table and watched my three friends try to order. The quiet and polite Mustafa stood patiently smiling, so naturally he was served last. Scott, who celebrates the instant gratification of New York City, began to shift his weight impatiently and finally resorted to waving his hands in the air. He was served second-to-last. But our friend Francisco, with the hot Latin blood, discovered the name of one of the servers and started chanting, “Teresa, TereSA! Yo quiero cerveZA!” So yes, his serenading rhyme had its intended effect, and he received his order first. I was profoundly entertained.

Perhaps none of this has anything to do with design, but if I were asked what qualities you would need to thrive as a graphic designer, I might use language like passion, courage and a sense of wonder. I have traveled home a better designer than when I left. Some of that is because I learned more about the formal and conceptual properties of aesthetics, but honestly, I think I’m better because of the incredible people I met along the way.