Train travel is the swish and the clack. The unfurling landscape. The suspended pockets of heat when air conditioning fails. I rode a cold winter train from Paris to Brussels and received tiny chocolates with my coffee. I rode a hot summer train from Florence to Riomaggiore, and every square inch was packed with Italian teenagers – nylon shorts, Invicta…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Meditations in an Emergency to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.