The first thing that hits you as you step aboard the blue and gold-liveried carriages of the Venice Simplon- Orient-Express is the smell of polish. From the brass door handles to the chrome light switches and marquetry panelling, everything is gleaming.
The steward shows me to my small but perfectly formed compartment and introduces himself.
There is a moment’s confusion as he announces: “My name is Serge. I mean, sorry, Sam.”
“Well, which is it to be?” I ask.
He explains that his real name is Serge, but as some of the American and Japanese passengers have problems pronouncing this, he obligingly answers to Sam. As I am to discover over the next 24hrs, nothing is too much trouble for VSOE’s multi-national staff.
This is the legendary train’s inaugural journey out of Monaco. On leaving Monte Carlo station, our train will skirt the Cote d’Azur before turning inland and travelling overnight to Paris, arriving in Calais at noon the following day. But the destination is unimportant really; the journey, itself, is the real event.
No sooner have we pulled out of Monte Carlo than Serge reappears with afternoon tea served from a silver teapot and an array of dainty cakes. Hardly have I wiped the crumbs from my mouth when I have to think about dressing for dinner.
“You can never overdress on the Orient Express” or so the passenger information booklet tells me. As Imake my way to the bar for a pre-dinner drink, Ifind that my fellow passengers have taken this advice to heart.
Maybe I have watched Murder on the Orient Express too many times but I can’t help feeling excited as I cast my eyes around the room and check out my travelling companions.
Right on cue, the mysterious stranger walks into the bar. He is dark and looks as though he has something on his mind. Then he spots his wife and his frown turns into a smile.
They introduce themselves as being from Dallas in Texas, celebrating their 18th wedding anniversary. He’s in oil and she sells Jacuzzis. They are very nice but they are not murderous or even remotely mysterious. I am disappointed.
There are three restaurant cars on board the VSOE, all equally elegant. We are seated in the Laliqe carriage and are treated to a five-course feast as we journey through the night.
At midnight Ireturn to my compartment to find it transformed into a cosy boudoir, complete with chocolate on the pillow.
Nobody is murdered in the night and Iawake to breakfast in bed and the chance to stretch my legs on the platform of Paris’ Gare de L’Est while the chefs take on board provisions for champagne brunch.
As Iwatch the bread rolls and fresh lobster being piled high, Ipray for enough appetite to get me through the next stage of this moving feast.
Three hours, one broiled lobster and two glasses of champagne later, the train pulls into Calais station. Irealise with a pang that our journey is almost over.
The Channel crossing is a sharp jolt back to reality but we’ve got the British Pullman waiting for us at the other end and we should arrive in time for afternoon tea.