There is something about the British psyche which is drawn to train travel,” says Massimo Paganello, adjusting the fuchsia pocket square in his immaculate Italian suit. “Of all our fans around the world, it’s the British who come back again and again. I’m not sure whether it’s the James Bond links, or Agatha Christie, or Hitchcock, but they love it. They like making new friends. They like fine food. They like the glamour.”
There is one thing, though, the manager of the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express train admitted, that some passengers aren’t so keen on: the lack of a shower. “Sometimes, especially on our trips to Istanbul before we had air conditioning, it could get hot. Luxury passengers wanted something larger than a basin to wash in.” Which is why in 2018, Belmond, which owns the train, tasked craftsmen with transforming historic carriages into six “grand suites” (with equally grand price tags of £19,950 a night for an en suite). And this summer it launched an additional eight, more petite suites (each with a slightly more petite price tag of £14,520), which I was the first journalist to try.
Hopping aboard the train — which for the first time this winter will whisk skiers to St Moritz — I felt as if I was stepping into a different era. Each of the 18 carriages, dating from the 1920s, with their navy and cream paintwork and polished brass finishes, was made when art deco lights were hand-blown by Lalique, blinds were woven from silk and wooden panelling was adorned with delicate marquetry.
The new suites are as glamorous as the originals, but more comfortable. Within the wood-panelled rooms — mine with pretty mother-of-pearl floral marquetry and botanical-weave carpets — there are sockets for phone chargers and Dyson hairdryers, and buttons to summon butlers. A handsome wooden table magically appears from a wardrobe for tea and breakfast, and squishy armchairs turn into comfy twin or double beds. In the en suite there is not only a lavatory (a real treat given that passengers travelling in the original carriages share one between eight cabins), but a hand-blown glass basin and a mosaic-floored power-shower.
After my relaxing 24-hour trip from Venice to Paris, I understood why Queen Elizabeth II had her own private train. I was whisked by boat from the pool at the Hotel Cipriani to a calm Venetian railway platform attended by blue-suited butlers who took my luggage. At cocktail hour, showered and sparkling in my cocktail dress (“You can never dress up too much on the Orient Express,” Paganello advises), I sipped negronis at the polished brass bar as a pianist tinkled show-tunes. In the dining car, I feasted on cuisine devised by the Plaza Athénée wonder chef Jean Imbert (rabbit terrine, turbot with fennel and champagne sauce, tiramisu and wild strawberries). And finally, I slipped away to lie between my crisp, white, Italian sheets and watch moonlit mountains flash by as the rocking carriage swayed me to sleep.
Advertisement
The next day, the crowded grey Eurostar was a bit of a shock (thanks to the hassle of paperwork at the borders after Brexit, the Orient Express no longer travels to London). But I am going to try to forget that part and instead focus on the Bloomsbury-esque life I lived for 24 hours within that dreamy moving jewel box of my own.
belmond.com
