Echoes of “Ciao, Bella” ring in the back of my mind, while I reminisce on memories of taking the European railway around Italy. I spent weeks bouncing from the Italian Rivera villages to the canals of Venice over the ancient ruins of Roma. Walking into a restaurant in Italy, was like walking into your sweet old grandpas house. I vividly recall walking along the Mediterranean, salivating at the smell of fresh pasta and white wine in the air. The owner of the seaside Italian restaurant ushering us in, and delicately placing each dish down like a newborn baby. Italy felt…
