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In May 2018, me and my colleague and friend Maria, were booking a flight one month ahead for a short escape to nearby Italy. We decided to go to Milan, take a train to Verona and fly back to Athens from there. When we were looking for a room, we were both involved in the process: I was looking into rooms in Airbnb and was sending them to Maria to go through the details. One particular place caught her attention immediately. She excitedly informed me that it’s right at the center of Milan but still so cheap! The time came and, after a short flight, we found ourselves in the bustling center of Milan. We figured we had to locate our room. It didn’t take us long to realize that it wasn’t at the center of Milan but in the nearby town of Lodi instead! By the time we arrived to the Lodi train station it was already evening. Everything around was dark and quiet. There was only a group of men, who were standing inside the station, right in front of the entrance. We asked for directions but they didn’t speak English. We looked up the address in Google but it was half an hour walk. At that point a man in his fifties appeared from outside the station and asked us what we were looking for. We showed him the address and he offered to drop us off at the place. We got on his car with his teenage daughter and our guided tour begun. The whole ride he and his daughter tirelessly and animatedly spoke to us about the history of the town and about the buildings and landmarks we were passing by, quickly directing our gaze from left to right, while we were struggling to keep up with the amount and speed of delivery of the information. At some point we stopped to pick up his second daughter from the gym. The encounter cut the momentum of the tour and the talking slowly subsided. When we arrived to the place, I tried to communicate with the owner of the Airbnb but he wasn’t speaking English. Our Italian friend offered to help, so I handed him my phone. The call lasted for half an hour. It seemed that the owner refused that we had booked the room for that night but insisted that we had booked it for the following one instead. Finally the misunderstanding was resolved when we realized that he was talking about Verona and that I had called the number of the place where we were going to spend our second night. With the issue finally resolved, we wholeheartedly thanked those kind people for everything. We checked out our room and shortly after decided to go out for a drink, since we’d only have that night in Lodi. Very close to our room we found two bars, full with lively people. We took a seat inside and got a beer each. It didn’t take long for a group of younger men to nonchalantly join us. The conversation rolled smoothly with them as we were exchanging stories about our jobs, their studies and their band. But even in Lodi at some point in the night bars close. When that happened, we were left to roam the streets together with the guys, admiring the architecture and the serenity of the town at that time of the day. The sun had started to rise when we said goodbye to our newfound friends and headed home. The town’s narrow river was clear and we paused for a few moments to take in the idyllic scenery. In just a few hours we had to leave for Verona. Verona was equally – if not more – beautiful. But our hearts were in Lodi. We met more people there who, when we told them that our previous stop was Lodi, would ask with a puzzled look on their face “Why Lodi?”. To this day, I still get this exact same question and expression whenever I meet an Italian person and share with them this piece of information about me. To which I reply: “Why not Lodi?”