A little before 10:30 a.m., a royal blue train hummed into Platform 4 at Venice’s Santa Lucia station, coming to a halt with a hiss. More than a few passengers had expected a steam engine, surprised—if not a little disappointed—to see the modern locomotive pulling along 16 carriages almost a third of a mile. “This train is far too heavy for a steam engine; it’s been years since they used one,” said the attendant greeting guests. With bags and suit carriers already handed over to stewards, passengers walked the length of the train searching for their carriages as red carpets rolled out of the doorways like tongues cooling off.
I was here to board the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express, which has recently added new carriages to its existing fleet, allowing passengers to travel in luxury suites featuring double beds with private bathrooms, each themed on the journey’s lakes, mountains and forests. While its historic carriages are fitted with couchettes made up into bunk beds at night—with no more than a sink in the compartment—the new suites allow for a dining area for afternoon tea and breakfast, along with a concealed bathroom hiding a wooden toilet, a glass sink and a mosaic-tiled shower cubicle with both handheld and rainfall showerheads.
To toast the 11 a.m. departure, our personal butler, Lino, popped open a chilled bottle of Veuve Cliquot and laid out triangle blinis with fresh cream and a tin of Petrossian caviar on ice, pinhead black beads gleaming in the sunshine as we rolled out of Venice, lagoon waters twinkling in the light. It was a fitting beginning to a journey largely centered on food. Shoes off and VSOE-embossed slippers on my feet, I foraged around the compartment. I found a boxed Dyson hairdryer with all the attachments, large bottles of Guerlain products, and a row of Evian and Perrier bottles clinking merrily as the train drummed through Padua. At the bedside were USB and lightning charging ports, along with two sockets—already a huge improvement on my last journey on board in 2016. Lino reappeared to demonstrate another perk, pulling open magnetic doors in the mother-of-pearl marquetry that revealed a large window onto the corridor, which now gave me views from both sides of the train.
As harvested fields and farms whipped by, the dining car manager and the maître d’ rapped at the door to offer a choice of two sittings for lunch (noon or 2.30 p.m.), and opting for the former I picked my way down the carriages towards the first of three dining cars, following the smell of cooking and the growing buzz of voices. During the journey, passengers are rotated around for meal times to make sure they experience the different décor and artistry of the three dining cars: L’Oriental, Côte d’Azur, and Etoile du Nord; but I soon discovered this system is also a great way to eavesdrop on multiple conversations, make new friends—and slink away from others if needed.
Taking a seat in what felt like the 1920s, I was delighted to find all wine and Champagne included—a much-welcome and significant change since my previous visit when drinks were signed for in an awkward move at the end of the meal, many guests unaware of the add-ons. As the train shot in and out of tunnels, the rosy light of table lamps glowed sweetly in the sudden darkness. Waiters stepped around carrying plates of blue tuna tartare decorated like tiny Jackson Pollocks, rosettes of smoked salmon, and medallions of devil roasted chicken with “ratt puree”, which turned out to be a dish of smooth mash, topped with a buttery parsley crunch so good that I asked for another. Strawberry tiramisu soaked with sweet espresso as thick as treacle finished the meal as we rolled into Verona for an unexpectedly long stop. Two hours later, it transpired that the train had a technical fault and that we were waiting on a part to be driven up from Venice. Bothersome, but as far as breakdowns go, it was an ideal spot: no snowy mountain passes or tunnels which would have impacted our arrival time into Calais. Instead, the delay was made up through the night.
Back in my compartment, there was barely time for a couple of chapters of Toni Morrison’s Beloved and a wistful gaze from the window as we began to move before Lino appeared with afternoon tea – more Champagne, bite-size salmon pastries, donuts and chocolate rounds that tasted like homemade Ferrero Rocher. Outside, the Dolomites rose, evening light setting the valley aglow where cypress trees stood in perfect lines and masses of indigo grapes hung from netted vines. As we galloped through the South Tyrolian town of Laives, red apple farms flashed by, and we began to shoot into tunnels, prolonged periods in complete darkness, indicating our approach to the mountain passes—and already time to dress for supper.
To the sound of brakes squealing, we swayed down the corridor following the smell of freshly sprayed perfume towards the next dining car, Côte d’Azur, with its navy and gold color scheme. Like a scene from a movie, passengers were dressed in black tie and flapper dresses, shimmering and sparkling from one lacquered wall to the other. Over sweet chunks of lobster in rich bisque, followed by a veal chop scattered with chanterelles, we left Italy, the skies now too dark to watch the infamous curl of the train’s body along the Brenner Pass as we arrived in Austria. But it didn’t take away from the ambience, the romance of watching towns and villages flit by, glowing church spires and ski resorts appearing like gold necklaces strewn across the slopes. After supper, Bar 3674 beckoned, but knowing Lino had made up my bed during dinner was too much of a pull, and I slipped out in my silk dress, arriving back to find the lights dimmed, playing cards on the bed and one corner of the duvet turned back. Bliss.
As a seasoned sleeper traintraveler, I usually lay flat all bottles, remove coat hangers and rattle-proof my compartment, but there was no need this time. The train rocked lightly with everything in place, and I flipped off the light as the train snaked around mountainsides, lit up like a comet in the darkness. As is often the case with night travel, there were jerks, jolts and sudden brakings that shook me awake in the small hours, but I woke at dawn to find an apricot-coloured sunrise over the misty fields of Strasbourg, and all was forgotten. Calling Lino, I watched the morning light expand across the countryside as we neared the Belgian border while he laid out a spread of viennoiserie baked on board at 5 a.m., along with both sweet and salted butter, cappuccino and a punchy Bloody Mary. After a hot shower and a forlorn gaze from the windows owing to our impending arrival in Calais, it was more or less time for brunch, with all passengers brought together for a last hurrah in the dining car. Once more, the Champagne flowed, the caviar reemerged, and I could hold onto the fantasy of a Golden Age of travel for one final hour.
From March 2024 the Venice-London classic route will terminate in Paris with a Eurostar connection to London. A luxury suite starts from $8,880 per person. Visit Belmond.com. Monisha Rajesh is the author of Around the World in 80 Trains, published by Bloomsbury at $25. A version of this article originally appeared in Condé Nast Traveller.
