Meet Me in the Bar Car
THE DIN OF Venice’s Santa Lucia station surrounded me as I clung to a card with my cabin assignment: D8. Amid the faint aroma of espresso mixed with exhaust, I looked at the other passengers on the platform. A man in a trench coat chatted loudly to his wife, whose waist was cinched by a giant Gucci belt. A woman wearing a fur stole and heels moved to take her photo with the six staff members who had lined up to welcome us.
They smiled in their uniforms, styled straight out of the Golden Age of Travel: The chef in a white toque and double-breasted top; a steward in a royal blue jacket, trousers, and cap, all trimmed with gold piping. A man in a crisp white tuxedo jacket looked like
