‘Mamma mia! They axed the Carnavale!’ - Paola gesticulated wildly in despair. She was the owner of Hotel Dolomiti, the inn we were staying at in Malcesine. In her forties and sporting a short brown haircut which matched her lively eyes and an endearing smile, she pointed at the TV in front of her. The news just broke that the annual Carnival of Venice was being cancelled for the first time in fifty years due to the outbreak of a previously unknown virus. 'Madonna! They are overreacting!' - Paola scoffed at the news as she leaned across her bar and added the last ingredient, Campari, to our cocktails. 'This is the best Negroni in town!' - she boasted, handing us two old fashioned glasses. My girlfriend Karen and I looked at each other, all of a sudden unsettled about our trip to Venice due the following day. Our trip began two nights earlier when we arrived in Malcesine, a quaint, charming village situated on the eastern shore of Lake Garda, nestled between the snow-capped peaks of the Dolomites and the rolling lowlands of the Po Valley. The residents live unhurried lives here, occupied with fishing and agriculture. They are particularly fond of limoncello, a liquor made of lemons that grow on the fertile slopes of the nearby hills. Malcesine’s center spreads outwards from a large piazza, which is surrounded by the town hall, a park, and several bars with terraces lining the pavements. Cobblestone streets emerge from the piazza, meandering haphazardly between brick houses painted in bright pastel colors, wooden shutters sticking out of the windows. Three days into our trip, we didn’t expect that the tranquility we found ourselves in would be disrupted. Paola’s Negroni was indeed excellent. As I took a sip from the amber-colored glass, I looked at the TV across the bar. My Italian isn’t great, but I understood that the number of people infected with the virus surpassed 300 from six just three days ago. New alarming reports kept rolling in every few hours, casualties growing exponentially. It felt as if the pathogen was encircling us, attempting to encroach the creaky wooden steps of Hotel Dolomiti. Karen and I realized that we would no longer be able to visit Venice to celebrate the last day of the carnival. We decided to stay two more nights in Malcesine, enveloped in the protective layers of surrounding mountains, and leave directly for the airport the following morning. On the last night of our holiday, we made our way to the nearest mercato and bought a good helping of local products: limoncello, mortadella and formagella tremosine, a cheese made in the nearby village of the same name. Holed up in our room savoring Italian specialties, we reminisced about the past days spent exploring cobblestone streets of Malcesine, visiting the medieval Castello Scagliero and picking the most fragrant citruses from lemon groves. Defying the frenzy in the media tasted delicious. The next afternoon we were already at the train station in Peschiera del Garda, fifty kilometers south of Malcesine, awaiting transportation to the airport. A rusty TV in the corner of the room was showing the news. A reporter announced a suspected new case of the virus in Malcesine. The whole of north-eastern Italy seemed to gradually succumb to the rapidly spreading infection. Nervous, we asked the barkeeper for two Negronis. Paola’s signature drink brought memories of our gregarious innkeeper. Was she OK? Peschiera looked like a ghost town; deserted streets and dark clouds seemed like a forewarning symbolizing the approaching epidemic. The only people at this sleepy train station were the ticket collector and the barkeeper. We were anxiously waiting for our train to arrive, counting the hours until we get home. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Paola, writing she was already missing us and asking when we were coming back. Karen and I sighed with relief, glad to hear her high spirits were not vanquished by the recent developments. We made our way to the platform, saying goodbye to the town that we came to love in the past days. Looking for tranquility, we didn’t expect to find adventure in the sleepy village on the lake.