Fast train to Bologna

'Bit sehr. Zwei Flammkuchen.' With a graceful gesture, the German waitress puts two crispy flammkuchen full of bacon, onion and crème frache on our small table: a 'local speciality'. She wishes us a tasty lunch and walks to the next table in this restaurant on wheels. Because while we eat, the landscape of Alsace and southern Germany flashes by like a movie. 

1 hour flight versus 14 hours train

As a travel guide writer Hiking in BolognaIn recent years, I regularly flew back and forth to the northern Italian city with its porticos, stately red palazzos and delicious tagliatelle al ragù. From the plane, the Alps looked like tufts of white whipped cream on an endless cake. In the evening or when it was cloudy I read a book and the hour flew by.

Still, with each flight I became more curious. To the cities we flew over at a height of ten kilometers, the endless Po Valley and the rivers that meandered through the landscape deep below.

By train to Italy

That is why I am standing at Amsterdam Central station on an early Saturday morning in September. The A'DAM Tower is shrouded in mist, raindrops tap on the high round roof above the platforms and it is so dark that the IJ – nevertheless prominently present – ​​cannot be seen. I board the white ICE train with a red stripe with a handful of other travelers. Near Utrecht, the sky turns pink and the sun rises. In Arnhem my fellow traveler gets in and we are ready to travel to 'the Belly of Italy' in 14 hours and with 7 different trains…

Travel along the Rhine

Unnoticed and at high speed – the ICE is the fastest train of the German train company Deutsche Bahn – we pass the Dutch-German border. Speed ​​drops and we suddenly find ourselves among other dazed travelers on a deserted platform in Emmerich.

The words 'verspätung' and 'warte' sound suspiciously often. Our small group of fellow travelers is a diverse group of students, business travelers in smart clothes and with laptop bags, and passengers whose destination is difficult to guess. Yet we have something in common: we all hope that a new train will arrive soon. 

After more than twenty minutes another ICE arrives at the station of Emmerich – a few tracks and a small waiting room – and we continue our journey past Duisburg, Düsseldorf, Cologne and Frankfurt. Dutch conversations are rapidly making way for German ones. The conversations that are there. It is quiet in the compartment: the Ruhr area and the small villages and extensive agricultural plots of the federal states of Hesse and Baden-Württemberg fly by in silence.

The sky is gray, but otherwise it is green: shrubs and trees have large foliage in all shades of green. The Rhine often pops up and won't let us go for the time being.

Through Switzerland with prosecco in hand

We look out in our blue ICE seats. To the east loom the mountains of the Black Forest. Travelers get in and out and the driver successfully made up for the delay in Emmerich – about half an hour after all.

At the ticket check, the conductor shakes his head and looks at the seven tickets from which we frantically search for the right one. When he sees that we are traveling to Italy, he subtly remarks 'that we had been there by plane now'. But time flies for us. And the best is yet to come.

Because when we leave the two graceful church towers of the cathedral of Basel behind us, our red and white local train of the SBB (Schweizerische Bundesbahnen) chugs into the green hills, towards the Alps.

The sky is again a clear blue and the villages we pass through have soft yellow and light pink houses. When the five Swiss ladies opposite us – busily chatting in unintelligible Swiss German – open a bottle of prosecco and spontaneously offer us a glass, we understand why. more and more travelers taking the train instead of the plane: it is more beautiful and more pleasant. 

Longing for Lake Lucerne 

Suddenly we are surrounded by sparkling blue water full of sailing boats. The rocky mountains with green alpine meadows and white peaks form a beautiful backdrop. Our little red boat rides a few tens of meters above the clear blue water: we have arrived in a panoramic train that offers the most beautiful views of Lake Lucerne (Lake Lucerne).

Passing through Lucerne, we just catch a glimpse of the wooden bridge dating from 1332 that connects old and new Lucerne. This bridge, the octagonal water tower – the symbol of Lucerne – and the city walls protected the city in the Middle Ages.

Everywhere we see hikers with mountain boots, backpacks and sunglasses, proving that this is a popular holiday region. Justly. We would love to get out and jump into the clear water or have a beer on the waterfront terraces.

The Swiss flag proudly flies on the white church tower of the village of Arth. From here we dive into several tunnels - including the Gotthard tunnel. After these tunnels we often drive high in the valley with blue lakes and dense green forests in the depth.

Looking for George Clooney

We leave Switzerland in style: via the 3 castles of Bellinzona and the Lake Lugano. There we imagine ourselves on the Côte d'Azur: Luxury resorts, golf courses and beautifully maintained boulevards full of flowers alternate at a rapid pace – we are now on a high-speed train. In between we look with an oblique eye – because the train goes diagonally, very obliquely – down on small white houses on the water and many palm trees. Sightseeing boats allow visitors to see all sides of Lake Lugano: but the view from our high railway is just as beautiful.

At the border town of Chiasso – in the southernmost tip of Switzerland – we enter Italy. This does not go unnoticed. Italian police officers check if all luggage has an owner. That is the case and 10 minutes later we enter the first – but certainly not the least – Italian station. Como's old city walls obscure the view of the colorful houses of the historic center, but we see green parks with long rows of white flowers and multi-storey villas, pools and balconies clinging to the hill. One of them is George Clooney's Villa Oleandra. But which? 

Along the Italian Grand Prix

At a speed that wouldn't look out of place on the Formula 1 circuit of Monza, we rumble on Lombardy towards this city. The crowd of exuberant fans wearing red Ferrari caps and blue Red Bull scarves on the Monza platform betrays that the Italian Grand Prix - which is held here annually - is not long in coming. "It's tomorrow," four-year-old Francesco says happily. His red Ferrari shirt contrasts sharply with his black curls and he holds his father's hand, also clad in the familiar red shirt.

The train is filled with Italian conversations, including broad arm gestures and passionate faces. We see many parents with children and there does not seem to be any rivalry. Everyone is delighted with the spectacular qualifying series. We inquire about the performance of our compatriot. Francesco looks dubious for a moment – ​​because which country are we talking about? – but then cheerfully informs us that Max did not make it to the finish. However, we don't mourn that for long, because the number of apartment buildings around us is increasing rapidly and wide streets full of honking traffic appear in front of our window: Milan...

Almost in Bologna

Somewhat impressed, we make our way through the halls with cream walls and high ceilings of Milan Central. The huge station clearly emerges from the fascist era. Mussolini demanded in 1931 that the building exude the grandeur of the regime. there is the architect We succeeded, because we feel small and doubt where to find the best pizza: we have reached Italy and that should be celebrated. It is now seven o'clock in the evening and Bologna is 'only' 215 kilometers away from us.

Trenitalia's Frecciarossa – whose streamlined nose and bright red color is reminiscent of Monza's racing cars – covers that distance effortlessly in under an hour. Our pizza is barely gone when the Apennines looming on the horizon. The setting sun paints the hills in every possible shade of pink and purple and we don't move from the window. At high speed we enter Bologna, where the smell of fresh tagliatelle al ragù is already blowing towards us on the platform. We wave to the train driver who continues on his way to Rome and think alike: this train journey could well be here to stay.

Practical information

Do you also want to travel to Italy by train? Here you will find some practical information and tips for your train journey.

Photos and report train Italy: Merel Diemont