#unexpectedconnections

After eating, I received a message from a Couchsurfing host in Bassano del Grappa: "Min, I'm a music teacher. I saw your message on the Couchsurfing website. I've never hosted anyone before, but if you still need a place, you're welcome to come to my home tonight."

It was as if an angel had been sent from heaven. I excitedly replied to the text and obtained the music teacher's address.

"Great! I have a place to stay tonight!"

From my starting point today to Bassano del Grappa was nearly a hundred kilometers, somewhat farther than my usual daily distance. By the time darkness had completely fallen, I was still cycling along a remote mountain road.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Just twenty more kilometers and there will be a fortress-like safe place to rescue me." This phrase became my prayer, accompanying my Buddhist chants as I continued toward my destination.

I arrived in Bassano del Grappa at six-thirty in the evening, once again lost at a busy intersection. I stopped at a traffic light and tried to open the offline map on my phone to find the address the music teacher had given me.

At some point, a man on a bicycle stopped beside me. "Perhaps he's just waiting for the green light," I thought, glancing at him briefly before continuing to focus on my phone map, trying to figure out how to search for a location using an address.

The light changed, but the man didn't leave. Instead, he silently moved a little closer.

Alright, I knew this pattern—he was waiting for me to ask for help. If I had the energy, I would have gladly enacted another round of miscommunication that would eventually end with gestures and hand signals. But I was exhausted, frightened by the pursuing darkness, and shivering from the rapidly dropping temperature. I wasn't in the mood to talk to any strangers.

But still, he didn't leave.

After an internal struggle, I decided to look up. After all, interaction was one of the purposes of this journey—I shouldn't miss opportunities because of fear and exhaustion.

Forcing a smile back onto my face, I asked, "Excuse me, do you speak English?" Through the streetlights and the reflection of passing cars, I could see he was a tall, slim, handsome man.

"Oh yes! How can I help you?" the handsome cyclist replied happily in English, seemingly having finally waited for me to ask for his assistance.

Hearing him speak English, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least this time, I wouldn't have to expend too much energy asking for directions.

"I have an address, but I don't know how to get there. Do you know where it is?" I showed him the text message on my phone.

"Oh! That's very close to my home. Follow me! I'll take you there," he said immediately after looking at the address, waving for me to follow.

As he pedaled across the road, I quickly put my phone back into the holder on my handlebars and followed him.

The handsome cyclist asked some questions about my journey home as we rode, and I answered each one.

"That's fantastic! I hope one day I can have a journey like this! It's really fantastic!" Italians love using this word: "Fantastico!"

He led me to a left turn, then pointed to an alley ahead on the right, turning back to tell me: "Turn in here, then look for the house number." With that, he continued riding stylishly forward. I shouted "Thank you" in Italian, wishing I'd had the chance to take a photo with this handsome stranger. Oh well, it was too dark now to capture anything clearly anyway.

It didn't take long to find the music teacher's house number. After ringing the doorbell, my Couchsurfing host appeared at the door. She wore comfortable, loose-fitting all-black clothing, looking very elegant, and told me dinner was already prepared and waiting for me!

My mouth watered at the mention of food. After securing my luggage, I immediately reported to the dining table.

The interior decoration was simple and refined, with colors that matched the teacher's clothing—a simple palette of black and white, complemented by wooden furniture and lighting fixtures. A black grand piano stood on one side of the living room, creating a warm and comfortable atmosphere.

While eating the pasta the teacher had made herself (the pasta representative of this region is shell-shaped), I asked her why she had decided to contact me and offer me shelter.

"I'm surprised myself. I've never hosted anyone before," the teacher replied. When she saw my message, she felt compelled to help and believed I wouldn't be a bad person. "Actually, this is quite an unusual action for me." She took another bite of pasta after saying this, as if eating pasta was the unusual action.

In the morning, we enjoyed a simple Italian breakfast: the teacher had biscuits soaked in coffee, while I had biscuits with tea. Then I packed my luggage and left with the teacher as she headed to work, saying goodbye at the door on the ground floor.

Today was the tenth day of my journey, and I could now quickly and efficiently pack all my luggage into the saddlebags, arranging everything with the lightest rhythm, installing each item onto its designated place on the bicycle, then skillfully mounting my bike to continue my journey home.

Over the next few days, I rode across the flat and comfortable Po Valley. Today's destination was Bologna, a city that houses the world's oldest university. My route planning was simple—I would head to whichever city I could find a Couchsurfing host in.

Today, I had arranged to meet my host David at the Neptune Fountain, which required entering the city center, squeezing through the dense crowds. My bicycle, loaded with luggage, immediately became the moving focal point of the street, with people constantly giving me curious glances. Following the crowd to Piazza Maggiore, I saw the fountain with the Neptune statue—this had to be the right place!

I leaned my bike against the edge of the fountain, and a group of young people approached me, asking all at once: "We've been following you, curious about where you're from and where you're going?"

"Are you asking where I came from today? Or about my journey?" I asked with a smile.

This wasn't a new question. Some people were curious about my daily departure and destination, while others cared about where I had originally started and where I would ultimately go.

"We want to know where you originally started from? And where are you ultimately cycling to?" asked one of the girls whose English was better than the others.

"I started from Munich, Germany," I said. At this, they burst into animated Italian conversation, exclaiming "Mamma mia!"

"And I'm heading home, to my home in Taiwan," I continued.

"Mamma mia!" Another round of exclamations.

Most people knew where Taiwan was. Initially, I was worried I'd need to explain, but later discovered I just needed to clarify that it was Taiwan, not Thailand.

Just then, my Couchsurfing host David appeared, rescuing me from the countless questions that would have followed. Before leaving, the group of young people asked if they could take a photo with me, continuously expressing admiration and envy for my journey. It felt a bit strange—normally, people wouldn't randomly ask to take photos with me. It felt like energy of affirmation from others.

On the other side of Piazza Maggiore, there was a firefighting drill performance. David and I decided to stay and watch how firefighters rescued people from heights. However, I had another reason for staying—the free snacks and cake provided at the event.

As I stared intently at the performers high above, my mouth full of who-knows-which-piece of cake, quite a few people gathered around us, politely greeting and naturally starting conversations with David.

I saw them pointing at my bicycle, then at me, chattering away in Italian. The gathered spectators would occasionally widen their eyes or exclaim in surprise, sometimes ending with a "Mamma mia!"

Then an elderly couple, dressed very elegantly with hair so white it gleamed, approached. After asking David many questions with great attention, they turned to me and gestured to shake my hand.

Seeing the elderly woman extend her hand, I quickly removed my glove and took her hand.

She enveloped my hand in her warm hands, looked into my eyes, and said something.

David translated for me: "This elderly lady greatly admires what you're doing. This is something she never dared to dream of in her entire life, and she never imagined someone would actually be doing it. She wants to express her respect for you."

I didn't know how to respond in the moment and could only repeatedly say "Thank you!" in Italian.

I had originally thought this was just my personal journey, but standing in a foreign country, I found I could touch someone I didn't know, and face-to-face, holding hands, we could transmit warmth in different languages.

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Closing Remarks

✨ Your Turn: Has a stranger ever shared something with you that touched your heart deeply? I'd love to hear your stories!

📅 Time Frame: This story chronicles my journey across two continents between November 2013 and October 2014. Published independently in Taiwan in 2021, it is now shared as an English serialized novel through AI translation, connecting with friends worldwide to share this journey of personal growth.