Read Next | NYC Bath Houses Are Back, and Gay Men Are Cruising Them Once More A Lit Conversation They were disappointed I had no plans to go there on my first trip to the Motherland. When I told them I was also of Sicilian decent, we spoke of the island. Eventually they explained they were speaking Sicilian, the language of my ancestors on my mother’s side. But when they spoke to each other, they used an Italian dialect I couldn’t grasp. And I was a rather surprised when they greeted me with a cheerful, “Ciao! Come stai?”

But I was, at first, intimidated by these four strangers. That was all over when four guys not much older than me clambered in. “So what if they do?” I thought to myself. I wondered if this was because they could tell I was gay. A few passersby looked in but did not slide the door open to sit with me. Except for me, it was empty for several stops. My compartment contained six seats made of some kind of barely pliable plastic. What better way force myself to ponder the future than to be surrounded by the unfamiliar? And that’s how I ended up alone on an Italian train bound for the Côte d’Azure. But I was willing to risk getting out of my every comfort zone to gain a sense of independence and some time to think.