As the train slingshot around Lake of Geneva, the mountains slowly swept down the shoreline to kiss the water. A side of Geneva I had not seen in my first month was revealed to me. Like the under side of a ball that has been in the yard for the past month, it was earthy and wet. The rustic and crumbling fishing villages were a continuation of this natural feel as they nestled into the hillside, but were soon gone as the train turned South towards the center of Northern Italy, Milan. With the fresh picture of Geneve fading from my mind, the vistas of Northern Italy opened a new window to a land only previously glimpsed in film. This was the sun drenched land of wine and olives that I knew only in my mind`s eye. Italy had taken me to her bosom, and was feeding me the treasures it had been longing to bestow on the lone traveler who had only a foggy image of a land so great painted by the memories of parents who had been there long ago.
The train roped its way through and inside of the green mountains that opened their valleys to my travel. The lake of Stresa came to great us with a breath of cool air and left me with a sense of longing and a wish to return. Connecting the dots of cities on a map was hard work and I rested in Milan to replenish my spirits and prepare my thoughts, before I turned my eyes towards the destination, which I had been to all along. I was meandering towards the city that floats in the water, the city which never traded boats for cars and where the feet are happy to take you wherever you wish to go.