I’m much more familiar with airports than I am train stations. With most of my travel for years involving the crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, the option for train usage has been somewhat limited. Even if it were a choice, would I take the London to New York 24-hour bullet train ride under the Atlantic as confidently as I’ve taken the Eurostar in the past? Probably not. Can you say, ‘claustrophobic’? Luckily, I don’t have any pressing engagements in the US so we can kick that can down the road a bit, but there’s no doubt in my mind – should the planet survive long enough – more train journeys under the earth will become a thing. Toasty warm maybe, but a thing. Before that happens, though, I’m adjusting my travel mindset to include more trains than planes where possible. It’s a big change for me.
I’ve spent enough time in airports to even have favourite ones. Bora Bora in the South Pacific is one. The volcanic cone of the island, surrounded by the atoll floating in waters every shade of aquamarine is the most stunning view from a descending plane you’ll ever see. Exotic palms sway and the scent of Mai Tais and pineapple or vanilla rum swirl in on the breeze and it’s all so … soothing.
Second favourite airport is Zurich; only because as you enter the terminal from your plane, you’re channelled past beautiful displays of Swiss chocolate and macarons and … Okay, it’s not Bora Bora but for a chocoholic it’s the same endorphin rush. You also aren’t doused with duty-free perfume by black-clad ‘beautiful people’ hiding behind makeup masks like you are at Heathrow. I’ve never once been squirted in the eye with a Gucci, Chanel, or Dior concoction at a train station; another reason to re-evaluate my travel MO. But I digress …
Now I have repatriated to Europe, I have the option to take more trains. Unfortunately, I live in the European country with the highest train ticket prices but, hey, the Brits have clotted cream so I’m still a winner. It’s an easy train ride to Bristol for me, and cheaper than parking in the city. It’s only an hour and half on the direct train from Taunton to London, as opposed to a four-hour drive, then a further three hours trying to find parking in Fulham. When I travel by train, I find myself gazing out of the window, still in awe that the English countryside is part of my daily existence rather than a holiday treat. The external view of a trainline may be of scars tearing through pristine countryside, but from the inside of the carriage, it’s a pastoral total emersion experience.
I don’t have a favourite train station yet, through St Pancras in London is magnificent, inside and out. Gare du Nord isn’t a bad way to enter Paris and the floors of Santa Maria Novella in Florence are an indication of the stone marvels to come in the actual city. A few weeks ago, I took the CAT (City Airport Train) from central Vienna back to the airport (yes, I had to fly there due to limited time). A cleaner, more strikingly red lounge and ticket office you’ll never find. The cost of the ticket put British trains to shame, too. Not particularly ascetically pleasing but becoming more familiar to me is London’s Paddington Station. That’s the entry point to London from the Southwest of England, where I live. You’re greeted by Paddington Bear. Come on! What’s better than that? Okay, a Swiss chocolate display and a couple of swaying palms with a volcano in the background would make it a destination in and of itself but that’s asking a lot.
I’m starting to really like train travel, though currently rail union strikes have upped the excitement of ‘will I or won’t I arrive in time for the lunch booking’. Lucky for me, this past weekend’s trip to Kensington Palace to see the Crown to Couture exhibit dodged the latest strikes. Before I got to breathe a sigh of relief and settle back into my seat in the hopes of a hot chocolate from the drinks cart, my train makes an unscheduled stop to wait for an ambulance to pick up a sick crew member. The drinks cart is cancelled, though I admit that’s a rather selfish observation given the circumstances. When the train finally arrives at Paddington, I bolt to the restaurant where I’m supposed to meet the rest of my party, only to find that my daughter is stuck on the Tube as an unaccompanied minor is refusing to leave her train and my cousin is struck on the train behind that one. At least we’re all on terra firma, which is better than making lazy holding circles in the sky waiting for an emergency landing spot to open up.
After a wonderful time at the Crown to Couture exhibition, (think Beyonce, Billy Porter, Anna Wintour, Lil Nas X, Billie Eilish, Dan Levy, and Katy Perry, amongst others, all dressed in amazing costumes while you mooch around in your jeans, sneakers and raincoat) the return journey was almost as much fun. I arrived at Paddington Station thirty minutes early to forage for something healthy to eat on the train home. I’d just snagged a watermelon, cucumber, feta, and mint salad at Marks & Spenser when a piecing emergency alarm disrupted the healthy vibe. We all craned our necks to squint disapprovingly at whoever walked out without paying. Sickening transgression as that would be, it probably didn’t warrant the ‘All passengers and staff must exit the station immediately. An emergency has been reported’ announcement. In true British fashion, panic did not ensue. Newspapers were folded, sandwiches stuffed into pockets, and text messages completed before a civilized amble towards the exits took place. Crowds gathered with toes barely across the threshold, vying to be the first back in the station should the all-clear be given.
Not me. I lived in America for thirty-odd years. 9/11 was far too close to home, and mass shootings an everyday occurrence. If you’ve never completed multiple ‘active shooter drills’ with special needs school children, you may not understand how the hairs on the back of your neck stiffen enough to cut steel. No, I was two blocks away from the station before the first police sirens hurtle passed. Turns out it was a fire in one of the motor rooms. I didn’t head back until I noted the surrounding streets had emptied out again, the station inhaling the masses into trains and gift shops and fast-food courts. I scanned a full 360 before heading towards my platform, checking in on Paddington Bear first. Once again, I thanked my lucky stars that emergency announcement hadn’t occurred at 35,000 feet.
I have to mention one more station. I recently visited Dunster Station, part of the West Somerset Railway heritage line, to meet a photographer for some promotional photos for my new website. The platform is wrapped snuggly in a picket fence, colourful shrubs bob cheerfully as the steam engine puffs passed, and flower baskets sway in the breeze that wafts in off Dunster Beach. There’s an old-fashioned luggage trolley and Victorian-style lampposts to lean against as you spend the wait with a good book. I’m guessing there isn’t an emergency siren anywhere on the property. If there’s an airport anywhere in Europe that emits this sense of calm and civility, I’ve yet to pass through it. Unfortunately, the West Somerset Railway doesn’t connect internationally. It’s only twenty miles long, after all. But when it does, count me in. (I’ll show you photos when my new website is finished.)
Maybe trains will be my new travel mode of choice. There’s a lot of world for me still to see and chugging through it instead of being suspended above it sounds rather nice. With that in mind, I’ve booked the seven-hour train journey to Edinburgh later this year rather than the 45-minute flight. Fingers crossed for no strikes, station evacuations, or medical emergencies. If my Christmas wish comes true, there’ll even be an operating drink and snack cart.
I’d love to hear about your favourite airport or train station. Wishing you safe and happy travels, however you choose to get there.
Images: author’s own
My ideal airport or train station would certainly feature that magical combination of a) palm trees b) chocolate, c) M&S foods and d) a famous character like Paddington. My wishlist would also include a beautiful stationery shop and bookstore for killing time, spacious + clean restrooms, and definitely nobody on strike. Let me know if you ever discover such a place!
Not sure I can suggest a place that meets all your criteria – unfortunately – but Renaissance Books at Milwaukee Mitchell International Airport is a fabulous second-hand book shop. I’ve spent many delayed hours in there. Happy travels!
My favourite train station is probably São Bento in Porto, Portgual as it’s just so beautiful.
Enjoy your trip to Edinburgh – I like Waverly station although I mostly use Haymarket now (which I think is great, could just use a few more seats)
I only had the option of arriving at Waverly, I think. I’ll have to check out Haymarket. And now I have to plan a trip via train to Porto! Thanks for the suggestion, and thanks for reading.