Train travel lets you see Europe through a different lens. Photo / Getty Images
New train routes offer families a slow travel alternative to their European holiday plans. Yvette Cook took her family on a trip of a lifetime from London to Istanbul by train.
“Goodbye Europe,” my 13-year-old daughter said. As a warm summer breeze from the Bosphorous Strait blew the boat’s Turkish flag, we watched Europe getting smaller with a sense of achievement. With my husband and 15-year-old son, we had crossed a continent by train. We had explored some of Europe’s finest cities, encountered Romanian bears and survived the ordeal of a sleeper-train stag do. The three-week journey had given our children a respect for Europe’s size and diversity.
Our summer holiday planning started with a desire for adventure and a need to keep costs low, which pointed us to travelling across Europe by train. With a map pinned to the kitchen wall, we drew lines between unexplored cities. My husband’s wish to travel through the Alps shaped the start of our journey, while our endeavour to follow the Orient Express, at a fraction of the cost, formed its end.
In the midst of Europe’s hottest summer, we boarded the Eurostar to Paris full of nervous excitement. Travelling to Switzerland in a single day is not for the faint-hearted, but a lucky Eurostar upgrade ensured a promising start. Paris’ Gare du Lyon formed our gateway into continental Europe, the delicate sounds of a piano, created by a pianist with a rugby-player physique, echoed around us as sunlight streamed through the glass roof.
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Here began hours of being lost in thought as we watched rural France zoom by, interrupted only by card games, a sibling disagreement and an unfamiliar flying insect causing panic. Boredom crept in as French farmhouses changed to Swiss chalets, abating momentarily by the appearance of the Lindt chocolate factory. As the late afternoon sun reflected the snow-capped Alps in turquoise lakes, my son became mesmerised by the lakeside beach culture; unexpected so far from the Mediterranean.
We spent a day recuperating in the pretty Swiss town of Chur, not appreciating that this part of the journey had been the most civilised. Excitement was building for the Unesco Bernina Express - the highest railway in Europe. A bright red train with tall windows captured the full glory of the journey. Against the backdrop of a summer-blue sky and offerings of chocolate, we snaked slowly through lush-green valleys and across engineering marvels such as the Brusio Spiral Viaduct. Climbing higher, we were enchanted by the glistening glaciers and opal green lakes, the train filled with “wows” as we rounded every corner. This felt like a privilege, a window into another world.
After two more trains, a rail-replacement bus, a guided tour around Milan’s San Siro football stadium and a dinner comprising machine-vended foccacia, we arrived in Verona … exhausted! On paper, Verona looked like it packed in everything Italy had to offer, but the Italian magic was missing and so after a day, we moved on.
We spent three glorious days soaking up the atmosphere in quiet corners of Venice through the soles of our feet and the fresh pasta and gelato in our bellies. Feeling enchanted, we agreed that if Venice were a colour, it would be a shade of cyan, with a smattering of pink-orange. Coincidentally, a raspberry sunset marked our departure.
As the Nightjet sleeper train arrived, the quiet hush of the station departed as laden passengers rushed to board. My daughter squealed with delight at our compartment’s bunk bed made with crisp white sheets, an en suite and a goodie bag of refreshments. We girls said goodbye to the boys who were travelling to Munich to visit the Allianz football stadium, whereas we would wake up in Vienna.
As the locomotive’s engine started, the carriages awoke and complained with creaks and jolts as we crossed the Venetian Lagoon. We were gently rocked to sleep by the clickety-clack of the train as it snaked through the Julian Alps, waking only to the occasional lurch. Ninety minutes before arrival, our wake-up alarm sounded and a cheery hostess handed us trays of bread, jam and much-needed coffee. We opened our blind to discover a pretty scene of clouds clinging to the Austrian countryside with hilltop castles and boats on the Danube. I felt utter contentment, watching a new country go by and wondering what our adventure would bring next.
We fell in love with Vienna. Our eyes indulged on opulent buildings, our tastebuds sampled schnitzel and apple strudel, and our feet traced the paths of empresses and soldiers. Immersive musical experiences tickled our senses, the Alte Donau lake cooled us off and roller coasters at the Prater fair had us screaming. We left Vienna keen to return.
It was time to pick up the route of the Orient Express, though our Hungarian train was far from plush. After a last-minute cancellation, we squeezed into a compartment with no air-conditioning and incorrect seat reservations. Through the heat and confusion, friendships formed using basic English and the international language of football. This trend deepened as we travelled east.
Standing on a bridge over the Danube and gazing at the beauty of the Parliament, we regretted our short stay in Budapest. Although our children didn’t grumble at spending the day riding waterslides and splashing in wave pools on a Danube islet. Nor the restaurant that served drinks on a model railway, which put us on track for our next sleeper train.
Boarding the Ister train to Romania was more laidback than in Venice, although the compartments were basic. We watched dusk fall across fields and listened to the train’s horn as we passed through every station. It was hot and we were jolted to sleep, although it was the Border Police’s door-banging to check passports that disorientated us. All discomforts disappeared once I lifted the blind to witness blue skies and the golden glow of cornfields, while workers bagged up onions outside farmhouses. As we disembarked at the Transylvanian city of Brasov, the tannoy played a jolly tune.
We trudged into Brasov, hungry, tired and, initially unappreciative of its fairy-tale charm. Andrei’s free walking tour brought the city alive through its history and his passion. Awoken, we were enamoured by its medieval churches, cobblestone streets and pastel-coloured houses, alongside its lively town square serving hearty bean soup and papanaci (fried pastry with cheese and jam).
Keen to explore the Carpathian Mountains that hugged the city, we hired a car. We navigated hairpin bends and dusty tracks to discover wooden houses surrounded by fields of haystacks. We listened to the distant bray of donkeys and clangs of cowbells, reminiscent of a bygone time. Deep in the forest, we watched bears play amongst the trees and doze in the shade, their curious noses wiggling. Only a pitstop was allowed at Bran’s Dracula Castle before boarding our train to Bucharest.
We were beginning to feel the strains of long-distance travel. Backpacks felt heavier, the journeys more uncomfortable and the teenagers missed their home comforts. One more challenge remained - a 24-hour journey to Istanbul.
Our Turkish carriage was an upgrade compared to the Romanian one, with a clean and spacious four-bed couchette. Friends were made over confused cabin allocations, while our attendant, Erjzan, offered us an endless supply of tea and explained the intermittent air conditioning. Some girls sang to pass the time, while next door’s stag party drank their way through crates of beer. We crossed into Bulgaria along the Friendship Bridge and surprisingly pulled alongside the shiny blue Orient-Express. Passengers from both trains stared at one another, bemused.
By mid-afternoon, the view from our window filled with sunflowers and wheat, and a conveyor belt of food extended out of my bottomless rucksack. As the sun set, we felt lethargic, but the ongoing party and heat made it impossible to sleep. At the Turkish border at 2am, everyone left the train for security checks, and we seized the opportunity of cleaner toilets. Everyone slept well until Erjzan woke us, we had arrived in Istanbul.
It was Victory Day with bright red flags adorning the streets, which was poignant for the end of our journey. Over three days our senses were positively overwhelmed. The striking silhouettes of mosques with dazzling interiors and locals fishing off Galeta Bridge as the sun set. The succulent tastes of shwarmas and kebabs, the air filled with spices. The busy-ness of tooting mopeds and rumbling boat engines, interrupted by the spiritual call to prayer.
Overlooking the Bosphorus Straight, I reflected how train travel had given us a different connection to places and a gradual transition from west to east. I had told the children they would grow on the journey, but I didn’t know how. I thought about how they had discovered kindness in strangers, had adapted when things didn’t go to plan, and developed a curiosity by trying new experiences.
Our last day took us on that final journey across the Bosphorus to the Asian suburb of Kadiköy. Down a quiet street, elderly men were drinking tea and playing Rummikub. Without even asking, my children had already sat down and immersed themselves in the scene. This was the point I knew they’d grown.
Plan your route using seat61.com and book using a Eurail pass. A seven-day pass to use over one month costs NZ$675 for adults and NZ$500 for youths (aged 12-27). Children aged 11 and under travel free. Extra fees are added for seat reservations, Eurostar and compartments on sleeper trains (though much cheaper than a hotel).
Eurail.com
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