I have seen things you people can only dream of.
The sun setting over St Peter’s from a park high above the Tiber, where we drank red wine and ate cheese and cured meats.
A Roman delicatessen (Volpetti’s) production-designed by Terry Gilliam; full hams that swing into your head, cheese shaped like babies (why?), a glass bowl for mozzarella as big as a bath.
A new Roman station (Tiburtina) inside a vast four-storey building, three of its floors empty and its brand new tiled piazza already giving way beneath the feet of commuters. A monument to corruption or financial collapse, or both?
A Milanese station as big and as wide as a train-shed for giants, festooned with near-fascist imagery, with one cash-machine in the basement. It didn’t work.
A train which left the railway and joined the road and became a tram.
A train pulling an open carriage up an Alpine valley, all the way up and up and up, above 2,000 metres, so we were running alongside a glacier and had to descend to go past the bottom of the cable car.
A train that spiralled down and down a gulch between mountains, swapping stone viaducts for tiny tunnels, such that the viaduct we had just taken ran above us and the viaducts we were yet to take dropped away below.
Wonders beyond describing I have seen. And all from the train. And all in a day.