This summer, I spent a week alone in Northern Italy. I wanted to go somewhere I could read and write and drink amaros outside all day without having to talk to anyone. It probably helped that I didn’t speak much Italian to start with, expecting to rely on the odd smile or gesture to get around—though there is something sweet about two strangers miming at each other in order to communicate.

When I flew into Milan that morning, I mimed my way to a shuttle bus that took me into the main city where the train station was located. It had just finished raining and the air was cool. I caught the 1 o’clock to Crema, a small town in Lombardy where I’d be staying for most of my trip. A few stops in, a cute boy sat down in the seat in front of me and asked to borrow my phone charger.