Feb 23, 2016 3 min read

If all has gone according to plan, you will be reading this on my birthday while I am enjoying some Chianti in Florence, Italy.

I know they have smartphone apps to translate languages nowadays. Call me old school. I crawled over furniture in my storage unit to reach a box containing my now-antique travel phrasebook (including Italian), which is falling apart but still holding together enough to be useful. On one page in the Italian section, I found some scribbling: “Maurizio” and some numbers. Ah, Maurizio … friend of the handsome Alfio. Let me explain.

During my first trip to Europe in the 1990s, we stopped in Amsterdam and took a boat tour. I’ll admit we were loopy from drinking Heinekens that you could buy from a vending machine on the dock, but I’ll never forget walking onto the boat, looking for an empty seat and seeing Alfio sitting there looking like a movie star. Dark hair, dark eyes, a bright smile and a look of terror as I asked him (in English of course) if the seats near him were free. He motioned to his friend (Maurizio), who spoke English but wasn’t nearly as handsome. We sat down, introduced ourselves and had a wonderful afternoon of conversation and sightseeing.

Alfio was sweet and shy but talkative and deliciously gorgeous. My heart broke when he asked if we wanted to join them for dinner and I had to decline because our train was leaving soon. A friend and his Dutch future in-laws were expecting us, and I couldn’t change plans. I always wish I had.

We exchanged addresses and wrote a few letters back and forth. (Remember letters? This was before email, social media or Skype.) Alfio lived with his mother outside of Florence and was learning English. He invited me to visit. Neither of us had money for another trip. Eventually, the letters ceased and Alfio became a pleasant memory. I always wondered what became of him. Maybe this is my chance to find the answer.

I no longer have the old envelopes with his address, but I remember the town and his last name. The scribbling in my phrasebook wasn’t a phone number or anything I can decipher. An Internet search yielded a professional social media profile that may be my Alfio, but with no photograph I couldn’t be certain. I sent a message but got no reply.

I’m sure by now Alfio is married with three kids and is, quite possibly, bald and chubby. I’d like to see for myself, and it would be really hilarious to find out if he remembers me or our Amsterdam afternoon 20 years ago. I plan on searching again while I’m in Italy. Maybe someone there with a soft spot for romance will help me stalk him on Italian social media sites. Then we’ll reunite, realize we should be together and go visit the Clooneys at Lake Como.

Kristin Emery can be reached at kristinemery1@yahoo.com.