Forget the stress of airports and airlines if you possibly can.
There is no more beautiful way to travel than by train (okay, provided someone with really smelly feet who insists on taking their shoes off doesn’t sit next to you, and even if they do, unlike in a plane, you are not restricted to your consigned seat, you can move around, spy on who else might be on the train, sit in the dining car and just promenade through the carriage if you so desire.)
Unlike a flight, which you often wish to forget once you have safely rescued your luggage from the baggage carousel, a train journey can linger in your memory forever; what’s more, a train journey can be seductive and leave you longing for more and more.
I am fortunate enough to have experienced and loved several wonderful train journeys. I relaxed and ignored my book, as I become entranced by the scenery or by the other passengers on the train. I have witnessed arguments and farewells between lovers, sat next to rude people talking loudly on their cell phones but who no sooner have they finished their call, tell me off for making the minor noise of flicking through my camera. I have watched people argue with the Deutsch Bahn Crew and the TrenItalia crew (And always come off second best).
Last year I traveled to Munich with my good friend DKC; we went in search of our seats to find a group of tourists had claimed them, leaving us no room to step inside the carriage due to their multiple bags. After we squeezed in one of the group added injury to insult by coughing and spluttering and sneezing over us (Didn’t even cover his mouth!!!!) I felt an argument of my own coming on, (German is a great language for an argument) but the calming, easy going nature of DKC, a few rounds of drinks and the soothing tranquility of the Bavarian countryside and everything was fine again. I was in a fine mood when the train pulled into Munich.
Each journey is like a new chapter of a book, and one cannot help but wonder at the characters that hop on and off; where are they going, where have they been?
Here are a couple more of my most memorable train journeys:
Rome – Firenze; the train was full, thus my amore and I could not be seated together, so we followed the smell of ground coffee beans (is there a better fragrance in the world?) to the dining car where we sat for the journey. The entire counter was taken up by a gigantic espresso machine which, in between making espressos, the barista rubbed and polished the machine, lovingly and with pride. It gleamed like a diamond, inviting us to have another and yet another espresso. Needless to say, I watched the Tuscan country side turn into Lazio in a caffeine infused high.
Last Christmas my amore and I traveled from our home in Frankfurt am Main to Basel, Basel to Art Goldau, where we picked up the Cisalpino, which wove its way through the glorious snow covered Ticinese countryside, through the splendid cities of Bellinzona and Lugano, before crossing the Italian border, continuing through Lake Como to Milan.
We sat in the dining carriage, (an experience I encourage you to take if you ever get the chance) alongside a large window eating perfectly al dente spaghetti, drinking Chianti and espresso, while being afforded the magical views of Ticino and Lake Como. I said to My Amore “Life is beautiful today”
For the return journey I was accompanied by my gorgeous friend Bella
Bella is one of the “Hubsche hausfraus” (Pretty housewives of FFM, as I affectionately call my group of friends. If you continue reading my blog you will get to know Bella and a couple of other beauties)
Bella ‘s home town is Brescia, in Northern Italy and a more divine dream of a place is hardly possible; an ancient castle hovers over a beautiful, ancient town, while high, snow capped alps linger on the Horizon and beautifully dressed people promenade the streets. (One is half an hour from Milan if that helps define the level of elegance)
Bella is beautiful. Think the class, elegance and poise of one who grew up near Milan with the savviness of London chic (where she resided for five years) thrown in. She has beautiful eyes, like a deep aqua lake and the beautiful honey coloured skin that many northern Italians have. In two words, she is impossibly beautiful; married to a beautiful man who adores her (Successful banker) and she scales mountains and cliff faces for fun. She is, at the moment expecting her first Bambino (I can’t wait to be Zia). There you have Bella.
I left Roma early one morning to travel to Brescia to meet her. Between Roma and Verona (where I had to change trains) I found myself seated opposite a divine looking man, dressed in designer jeans and knitted jumper, with an elegant scarf flung casually over his shoulders, as only continental men can. He had espresso coloured eyes and unruly dark hair that fell nonchalantly over his face. Needless to say, I could not help myself; I had to keep casting my eyes over the top of my edition of La Repubblica to look at him (Oh dear, Bella will be cross now – well La Repubblica was complimentary, courtesy of Trenitalia!!!!) and on the occasions he caught me peering at him he would smile in an amused kind of way. His amusement turned to laughter however, when I tripped over my own suitcase as the train pulled into Verona. He rose from his seat, steadied the suitcase in the aisle for me and thrust my battered edition of La Repubblica back into my hands “Arrivederci” he said without so much as a backward glance.
So after a couple of glorious days with Bella and her beautiful family, it was time for the two of us to travel home to FFM.
First, we caught a regional train to Milano Centrale, where we both went crazy over a tiny puppy that sat in its owner’s Furla handbag, his button eyes surmising the busy laptops that surrounded him. At Milan we switched trains, to one bound for Basel.
Did I mention that Bella was (and still is) heavily pregnant? But that did not stop us lugging on heavy suitcases filled with wine, grappa, boots and everything else one buys in Italy. (No airline could possibly have let us on board with the amount of bags we had) We did not need the dining car because Bella’s mother had made us a beautiful picnic, including vegetable risotto to eat on the train. We had our Italian versions of Vanity Fair and Glamour to read, as well as lots of chocolate. What’s not to like, right?
We were in heaven, as the train sped through Lake Como to Switzerland. The sky was blue and we had perfect glimpses of the lake and the majestic mountains as we observed the breathtaking scenery of Lake Como turn into Switzerland and tiny alpine villages of Chalets.
At Domodossola, high in the Alps, we were joined in our carriage by La Strega (a witch). She was ferocious, glared at everyone and placed her shoes on the table in front of her seat (never mind that another customer will come along and eat off that once she disembarks.) She shot us a death stare if we so much as glanced at her, which just dissolved us into impossible giggles.
Despite the curse of la Strega hovering, the journey went too quickly as we drank in the scenery, observed and pondered about the other passengers. We spoke non stop; girl talk- about everything and nothing- of the year that had just passed and the year that was just beginning. We spoke of Bambino, waiting to be born, but made his presence felt with a kick here and there. We had the luxury of time, and nowhere to go to other than where the train was destined for. It was a beautiful day and before we knew it, Trenitalia pulled into Basel on time (And incidentally, our connecting Deutsche Bahn train was cancelled, so that puts that theory to rest)
Another journey, which still takes my breath away, was traveling from Warsaw to Berlin on the (modern upgraded Warsaw- Berlin express.)
It was last October, but Poland was already covered in a thick blanket of snow. Warsaw is a city that I adored, for its sprit and poignancy; the monument to the ‘44 uprising tightens my chest and brings tears to my eyes, but more on Warsaw another time.
My amore escorted me in a taxi. It was early morning. A grey light hung filtered over the sky as the sun tried to wrestle with the clouds. We made our way to the big Stalinist era railway station. All announcements were in Polish. Both my husband and I were dressed in fur hats a la Dr Zhivago.
My train was not yet up on the departure board, so we sat amongst other passengers, drinking strong coffee. The melancholy of the early morning and grey skies and communist architecture of the station must have seeped into our souls; I felt a sadness, as though I were saying goodbye forever.
And then the express to Berlin suddenly flashed up on the screen, giving me minutes to find the platform. Then the train pulled in and I kissed my beloved goodbye, with a feeling, not only that we were suspended in time, existing in a past era, but also that we were in a spy movie.
I found a compartment, which was mine alone for the entire journey through the snow covered villages and flatlands that is rural Poland.
The other compartments were full of people huddled together, speaking secretively, giving furtive glances over their shoulders, just like in a cold war spy movie (unless it was my overactive imagination). No, It WAS a spy movie; a scene straight out of a John le Carre novel. I felt the intrigue, right until the train pulled into the big, modern glass building that is Berlin Hauptbahnhof. The spy movie now over and the credits rolling, I was back to reality as I scrambled to find my connection to FFM.
One last journey to mention; FFM to Paris; how wonderful to be a woman traveling alone with the flirtatious, (all male) SNCF crew. Let’s just leave it at that……..
t-cat x
