Some people want to talk because they are curious about you. Or because they want to practice their language skills. Or because they want something from you. The hair on your neck will tell you which are which. Traveling solo means constant vigilance. No sleeping on long train rides. You must be able to see or touch your luggage at all times. One hand is always draped over the clasp of your day pack. You make impulsive decisions about whether to rudely break off conversation. After a few days traveling solo, you get lonely for people you feel safe with.

As I entered the apartment in Salerno, my host introduced me to a woman doing dishes at the sink. The way she briefly tensed up told me that she was not a maid, and she was sizing me up. She put on a tentative smile as we said hello. I could tell she was relieved that I was a young female.

Later she invited me for a glass of wine and boardgames. I said yes out of sheer curiosity. She was a business professor from Vancouver, and traveling through Italy with her mother. I couldn’t believe their ambition. They had walked all over Pompeii earlier that day. They schooled me in Bananagrams and told me stories. Her mother, who was in her 70s, told me a story about swimming with seals in the open sea. I asked when that had been. She replied, “Last year.” Amazing, amazing women! One question was answered - what kind of woman do I want to be?

I woke up early to take breakfast with them before they left. Our host brought us warm chocolate croissants, fresh fruit, and hard little Italian cookies, perfect for dunking in tea. I finally shared a bit of my own story. My grandma had passed away. Which made perfect sense and made no sense at all. I came to Italy to put my world right. To have my faith restored in beauty and to find things that made me feel alive and maybe even happy. They wished me luck in my seeking. When they were gone, I was alone in the big apartment.

My apartment was in Salerno’s centro storico. It was difficult to notice the difference between the outside world and the historic city center, but there was general narrowing of streets that seemed to signal the transition. Salerno felt older than Rome, and at the same time younger, less ancient. Salerno is medieval, complete with Castello di Arechi on a hilltop. And yet there were vestiges of popular culture. I stood amazed in front of a Pikachu ride on the seaside promenade. What was it doing here? I snapped a picture and immediately heard, “You are American, no?” I hate being found out.

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