The last 25 hours have played out like a vintage film—a sepia-toned reel spinning at an art deco cinema, set to the clink of crystal, gleaming marquetry and the gentle rhythm of wheels on rails. I travelled from Venice into the heart of Italy, gliding through the Dolomites, past mirror-like lakes and quaint villages—all with a flute of champagne in hand. In Austria, tall, slender trees flanked the tracks like something out of a fairytale, as sunlight gave way to the gentle patter of rain, and then, by morning, returned in golden shafts through the mist. Through my window, I’ve watched Europe unspool in soft-focus splendour, waking this morning to the crisp air and rolling hills of rural France. And now, just past noon, I’ve arrived in its sparkling capital.…
