It started as most great love stories do: with a good first impression. Before I moved to Italy, I boarded my first Italian train from Milano Centrale to Venezia Santa Lucia, expecting little more than an efficient high-speed journey. Instead, I found myself completely besotted.
Floor-level racks spared me the indignity of hoisting an oversized suitcase overhead. The seats were comfortable and fronted with a table, the ride was smooth, and the landscape was unforgivably cinematic, with flatlands giving way to the mountains. I even managed to catch a glimpse of Lake Garda.
