Take the Night Train
The Carlow Nationalist January 2010
I think it's fair to say that the Irish rail system hasn't always been as good as it has become in recent years. In fact, and to put it bluntly, it was pretty rubbish.
The trains themselves were old, over-crowded, barely-cared-for, numbingly cold and timetables, when they existed, were more of a suggestion than an accurate guide. But, thankfully, all of that is now long since resigned to a station called The Past. Except for the occasional, minor and usually seasonal hiccup the services offered now tend to run efficiently, cleanly and with a regard for time-keeping that would make a German marching-band envious. They have, as the advertisements predicted, "come a long way".
I like train travel. I like almost everything about it; but I especially like train travel in continental Europe. For me there is no feeling quite like hoisting my over-stuffed rucksack (yes, I packed too much again) aboard the carriage of an unfamiliar train in unfamiliar surroundings and awaiting the moment when another adventure unfolds with the waving of a flag and the shrill blast of a whistle.
Soon, a new world is whizzing past the window outside; tantalisingly offering me tiny, blurred vignettes of strangers' lives. Lights flicking on behind the curtains of rooms I will never see. New scenery unfolding at every bend in the track. New mountain ranges to be crossed and rivers to be bridged. I like to stop in sleepy, early-morning stations watching as ordinary people go about their ordinary lives and wondering who they are. Names on station signs which before had only existed on the pages of my worn atlas. I like the fog as it lifts along the steep banks of the Rhine, or the silver-blue flatness of a central European great lake reflecting the flight of a hot-air balloon in the mirror of its still waters.
But there are also trains which snake across the borders of Europe and are best sampled in the hours of darkness. Trains which are designed to deliver their passengers invigorated, fresh and ready to face a new day in a waking country. There is always a sense of classical elegance about such trains and the stations from which they depart.
Leaving Paris on a Summer evening can be an unforgettable and magical experience; past the winking lights of towns and villages as your train trundles South and East towards the Adriatic and the canals of Venice. Slipping secretly beneath the darkened, towering peaks of the Alps, past the lakes of Italy as a silver moon floats in the faint blue of morning. Moments such as these can shake a glimmer of romance from even the hardest of hearts.
And then there's the sea. Watching puffs of blue smoke rise from the engines of small boats as their skippers cast off from sleepy seaside villages and point their vessels towards the distant horizon.
For me, these are rare moments lifted straight from the pages of Eric Newby's travels, through a very different time, through a very different continent.
Since the late sixties the night train has been the essential preserve of the adventurous backpacker. Money well spent in a moving hotel, whisking the student from one exotic city to another. Money well saved for an extra night exploring the back-street bars of Budapest, Berlin or Bratislava. New friends are made over shared bottles of sweet wheaty beer and endless games of rummy, and whispered secrets revealed. How else would so many have learned the existence of the hole in Dubrovnik's city walls where the clandestine Buza Bar looks down on the sapphire blue of the Adriatic Sea? Or the little cavernous Jazz dens of Lisbon's Barrio Alto. Stories have been told of places to avoid in the High-Tatras and the dangers of bandits in the mountains of Carpathia. And stories of romance on the islands of Greece beneath impossible skies and endless nights. So much has been shared between kindred spirits as miles of steel rails slip rhythmically by into the night. The continent has been crossed and re-crossed by countless millions while others have slept soundly in their stationary beds.
There are many great train journeys which still await the adventurous traveller throughout Europe. There's 'The Red Arrow', a train of both fame and infamy, which has run for over 75 years between the Russian cities of St. Petersburg and Moscow. The Arrow departs both cities each night just before midnight; four hours later they cross paths with a whistle blast before arriving at their destination just before eight in the morning. Such is the fame of this piece of Russian nostalgia that it is has twice, in recent years, been the target of terrorists. But still it carries on.
Then there is Norway. With the spectacular scenery on show in this beautiful country why should you waste the ten-hour, coast-hugging journey between Trondheim and Bodo by traveling at night? Ah... but if you make the journey during the perpetual light of Summer the experience can be one which you will never forget. The subtle light of the nearby Arctic Circle painting the landscape like the set of some fantastic movie.
The opportunities for crossing the vast lands of Europe by night are many and varied: Thessaloniki to Istanbul; Budapest to Split; Amsterdam to Copenhagen; Berlin to Rome; Prague to Krakow. In truth, if you can imagine it, it probably exists. But with a final note of caution. The night-train of your dreams may be romantic and intoxicating, but if sleep is what you're really after try not to use their services to avoid paying for hotels. Burn-out will set in very quickly. Very, very quickly; believe me!
Now, if only Ireland were just a little bigger...