The overpriced pasta and insolent pigeons of St Mark’s Square in Venice are fading from my mind as the train glides through the evening light. We’re travelling east towards the Italian city of Trieste. Approaching by rail feels right. After all, the spirit of the Orient Express lingers here.

Yet I have my doubts about Trieste: can this little-mentioned place, tucked away in an odd corner of Italy, really throw shade over the rock star tourist mecca of neighbouring Venice? For me, Trieste evokes images of espionage from the days when it was teeming with CIA, MI6 and KGB spies: a Cold War hot spot woven into novels by the likes of Graham Greene, John le Carré and Ian Fleming.