We stood on the deck of the hulking cargo ship, through the bluster and drizzle in the Strait of Messina, both of us feeling something like sailors docking at an unfamiliar port of call. My new acquaintance, a Genovese Ph.D. student in anthropology named Giacomo, explained to me that he’d rarely ventured south of Rome, much less ever been to Sicily.

But he was excited, as was I, to see the brilliant golden statue of Madonna of the Letter come into view as a faint rainbow stretched 180 degrees across the harbor. He explained his travel philosophy: that the self is a vessel one empties at home and slowly fills with experiences over the course of one’s travels.