YOUR CARRIAGE AWAITS
Your Carriage Awaits - Luxury Travel Magazine
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Your Carriage Awaits | |||||
| By: Andrew Conway, Issue 20 - Spring 2004 | |||||
| (The Eastern & Oriental, Orient-Express, Rovos Rail) | |||||
| OLD AGATHA CHRISTIE GOT IT WRONG. A TRANS-EUROPE JOURNEY ON THE VENICE SIMPLON-ORIENT-EXPRESS IS MARVELLOUS, NOT MURDER. | |||||
| First up, a confession. I tried to murder my mother on the Orient Express. Armed with Agatha Christie's epic novel, a vial of chloroform, and detailed instructions from my sister and four brothers to deliver seven stab wounds - one from each of us and an extra one just to make sure - plus directions to the nearest exit from which to throw momma from the train, I boarded with the highest hopes and expectations. My youngest brother (the instigator of this heinous but very necessary crime) farewelled us at London's Victoria Station, making Psycho shower scene-type stabbing motions as the train pulled out. The legendary British Pullman, with its exquisite Edwardian-style marquetry, antique furnishings and 11 'parlour cars', would be home for this Sunday morning jaunt through the rolling fields and farmlands of southern England en route to Folkestone. After a leisurely lunch, a tour of the carriages, and 40 winks, the train arrived at the English Channel for a super-fast crossing via the Eurotunnel. By 4pm, we were in Calais, where the famous blue-and-white Venice Simplon-Orient-Express - polished to within an inch of its life - stood glinting in the Spring sunshine. My heart skipped a beat as Paulo, our Italian steward, showed us our compartments, by chance two single cabins with an interconnecting door. Perfect! Easy access, a quick exit, and a bolted door to provide the required alibi - the scene was set. The compartments were surprisingly spacious, with velvet Pullman-style seats (which Paolo would later transform into comfortable beds, complete with linen sheets, plump pillows and bathrobes), an overhead brass rack for storing luggage, and in the corner a museum-piece, 'flip-top' steel hand-basin with taps for hot and cold water (handy for washing off any pesky traces of blood). The VSOE was designed in an age before showers were invented, and WCs are located at the end of each of the 17 carriages, but the lack of bathing facilities merely added to the nostalgia of the train. With bags unpacked, afternoon tea and scrumptious cakes served in our compartment, and a quick spit and polish pre-cocktails, it was into the dinner suit and off the bar car, arguably the prettiest of the carriages located in the middle of the train. With a pianist tinkling the ivories, Champagne on ice, and the lights of Paris twinkling in the distance, this was train travel at its most civilised. Dinner beckoned in one of three magnificently restored restaurant cars - Lalique, Etoile du Nord and Chinoise - each decorated in different colours, delicate marquetry and fabrics, and oozing the style and sophistication of a bygone era from every nook. Neatly pressed and razor-sharp waiters - the 40-strong VSOE staff comprise French chefs, Italian waiters, and multi-lingual English, French, Italian compartment stewards (plus a couple of Australian stewards who worked on the Great Southern Pacific Express) - are on hand to attend to every whim. Dinner is a four-course feast (all on-board meals are included in the tariff) with a seafood entrée, choice of mains, dessert, and coffee with petit fours. The word was out that my mother had celebrated her 80th birthday only days earlier and, after dinner, a barber-shop quintet of waiters lined up to sing her a rousing Happy Birthday, Dear Mamma, in broken Italian. She shed a tear as she sliced into her specially prepared birthday cake (and I made a mental note to ask the chef for the knife) and then it was back to the bar car for a final (and I mean final) nightcap. And so to bed, the train gently rocking us to sleep as it rattled and rolled through the now pitch-black French countryside towards Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Austria and Italy. Not long now... What happened next would make old Hercule Poirot turn in his grave. With whisper-quiet efficiency, I unbolted the inter-connecting door, raised the cake knife high overhead, and lunged frenziedly at the shadowy figure lying between the sheets, delivering seven swift but fatal blows before she could raise the alarm. It was only when I woke up the next morning and found the old woman sitting up in bed and doing the Daily Mail crossword, that I realised she'd stepped out of her compartment to the toilet just before the crucial moment and I'd mistakenly ripped into her pillow instead (I had the devil's own job explaining the duck down feathers scattered everywhere to Paolo, who had now taken a distinct shine to my mother). A man knows when he's beaten, so it was time to sit back and let the breathtaking scenery of the Swiss and Austrian Alps - snow-capped peaks and rolling meadows blanketed with delicate white, yellow and red wildflowers - dispel any more dark thoughts. Breakfast in bed revived the spirits as a real-life postcard of Europe's most beautiful alpine towns and villages rolled by, each framed by the compartment's picture-window. Buchs, Feldkirch, St Anton, Innsbruck: the names of the famous ski resorts slipped by faster than a downhill racer, each twist and turn of the train delivering an ever more-inspiring mountain, valley, river, forest or church-spire vista that could be straight off the top of a chocolate box. Italy hove into view, just in time for lunch - another four-course, belt-busting affair washed down with a crisp Chablis - as Brennero, Bolzano, Trento, Verona,Vicenza and Padova provided a dazzling backdrop. By 5pm, the VSOE was making tracks for Venice, with many passengers lining the corridors eager to catch a better view of the famous lagoon, this great city seeming to hover mysteriously above the mirror-still and mercurial waters. I'd failed miserably in my mission to murder Mummy Dearest, but I hadn't realised the 31-hour trip would pass so quickly, and the magnificent train would be so much fun. It's a wonderful way to travel across Europe in the most leisurely, indulgent and once-in-a-lifetime fashion imaginable. And then the thought came to me as we pulled into Santa Lucia Station. Death in Venice! Mother's days may be numbered yet. | |||||
| ALL ABOARD! There are many great trains criss-crossing countries and continents but two of my favourites stand tender and fender in front of the others. The Eastern & Oriental, the Asian stablemate to the Venice Simplon-Orient Express, and South Africa's Rovos Rail take their loyal passengers on a trip down memory lane as much as between Singapore and Bangkok and the Cape to Cairo. The E&O, as it's fondly known, runs regular two-night services between Singapore and Bangkok, taking in the most scenic and colourful parts of the Malaysian and Thai Peninsula. This beautiful train, decked out in jungle greens and Oriental golds, harks back to a bygone era of Somerset Maugham and Noel Coward when panama hats, tiffin and Singapore Slings were the order of the day. Sit back and relax in your stateroom, complete with ensuite bathroom, enjoy a cocktail in the piano bar, dine leisurely in the restaurant car, and watch Asia roll by from the breezy open-sided observation deck. South Africa's Rovos Rail keeps the golden age of steam alive, with a fleet of elegant and magnificently restored steam trains and sumptuous dining, bar and observation cars that would turn Thomas The Tank Engine green with envy. Regular services to a selection of South African and pan-Africa destinations make Rovos Rail truly one of the world's great train experiences. | |||||
| Details: | |||||
| www.orient-express.com | |||||
 www.rovosrail.com | |||||
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