A work by Artemisia Gentileschi, a Baroque painter, whose legacy has been overshadowed by the events of her life. Pic/Getty Images

Every now and then The Adige reappears like a redundant exclamation mark, punctuating the already spectacular. I spot its liquid surface and its Alpine current and am compelled to abandon what I am reading so I can gasp more attentively at the landscape. The sight of The Adige, Italy's second-largest river, reassures me that I am inching closer to Sud Tyrol, advancing my way towards The Dolomites. The sky presently features a conglomerate of rain-laden clouds. As they merge closer, I follow their growing intimacy and am suddenly myself surprised by the comfort I seem to draw from the sight of this now familiar landscape. I am an hour away from Bolzano/Bozen, from where, last Saturday, I'd embarked on my journey to Firenze. Yesterday, at precisely this time - noon - I was on a ferry in Venezia, soaking in the dramatic wetness of the island. Venice really is the world's most seductive cliche.