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.
Suite on The Venice Simplon-Orient ExpressLudovic Balay
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, doughnuts 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.
