The first part of the train journey was somewhat similar to yesterday’s: grey skies, leafless trees, lifeless gravel pits, flooded fields. Much more spacious than England, though.
But 263 kilometres an hour gobbles up the distance, and the thin gruel of northern Europe eventually gives way to the bountiful south. Budding leaves start to appear on trees, giving them a smudged green outline. Vineyards pop up amongst the fields and the sky gets brighter. Roofs become terracotta ripples rather than grey slabs.
I feel like a mole emerging from the earth or a hedgehog from hibernation. Call me Persephone.