The trains from Firenze to Innsbruck, Austria, were beautiful. First, through the fields of Tuscany to Bologna (where I picked up Italian chocolate for my Hungarian hosts, and cannolis for my Austrian one), and then on to the last Italian town on the border, called Brennero. The Italian countryside was pretty, but nothing truly remarkable.
But when I were closer to Austria, the scenery changed completely. Suddenly, there were hills and mountains covered in straight, tall pine trees, there were streams of absolutely clear water running alongside the train tracks, and when I opened the window and leaned out, the air was unbelievebly cool and clear. After days in the oppressive heat of Italy, I could only stand at the window for the entire ride to Innsbruck.
Where I had to scramble to remember any German that I had learned before.
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