By Christine Swan

My late daughter decided to study abroad for one year as part of her degree in English Language. She was disappointed that she had been unsuccessful in applications to study in Canada and Australia but had two options remaining – Bari and Valletta. “Do they speak English in Malta?” she asked, and when my parents responded in the positive, the decision was made. This was quickly followed by: “And where exactly is it?”. Astonished by her lack of geographic knowledge, a map and various tourist items were produced as well as sunny holiday photographs. “I’ll go there then.” That was that.

She asked me if I would visit. For someone who detests flying, or rather, is absolutely terrified of the whole experience, I replied that, of course I would through gritted teeth. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her, but this was going to take a lot of organising. However, I always seize opportunities with both hands. This could evolve into something epic. So, I began my planning.

I thought of the concept of a Grand Tour which would have been undertaken by the wealthy, to enrich their lives by seeing the culture of others. I could do that. Victorian voyagers couldn’t just hop on a plane so I was sure that I could work out the logistics and make this into a trip to remember. Booking horizons meant that I couldn’t organise tickets for the entire journey in advance, so had to book each leg piecemeal-fashion and then stitch the entire trip, with hotel stays, into one amazing creation. This is far more fun to me than just going through an agent, and it meant that I could tailor the combination of trains and boat exactly as I wanted. It also meant that if something went wrong, it was on me entirely. What could possibly go wrong anyway? I seemed to have booked myself into a male sleeper carriage due to my limited knowledge of Italian, but I soon but that right and all of my tickets had arrived and looked exactly as I had planned.

I set off towards the end of March but realised that whilst it might be wet and chilly in London, Valletta could be quite warm. Packing was the problem but layered dressing was the solution. I have already written about my minimalist approach to luggage, however, this trip was not conducive to my “wear and wash” strategy for summertime holidays. I took my secure rucksack and one other, large, floppy, cross-body holdall, which collapses into nothing when empty, but can provide expanding storage when required.

I travelled from Worcester to Birmingham and thence to London Euston in a morning, and then caught an early afternoon Eurostar train to Paris. I had arranged to catch a Thello night train from Paris Gare de Lyon at about 7PM so had an afternoon to wander about and gather provisions for my trip. All of my transport ran to time so I decided to walk from Gare du Nord as I had plenty of time to spare. I resolved to return to Paris and spend more time there – which is my plan for this Easter break.

Arriving at a rainy Gare de Lyon

There was quite a crowd waiting for the Thello train and when it arrived in the early evening light, I searched for my carriage and berth for the night’s journey. This was my first sleeper train experience but it wasn’t to by my last. From a traveller’s perspective, progressing your journey while you sleep is a cost and time-effective solution. I am delighted that new European routes are opening and that environmentally aware travellers are opting for rail rather than flights. You do need to have time to spare and extended rail travel isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But to me, it’s Earl Grey, in a fine china cup with matching saucer, and a slice of lemon.

A train carriage with an ensuite shower room – just perfect

My cabin was superb. The train manager introduced himself, in English, took my passport to show as the train crossed into Italy in the middle of the night, and asked me at what time I’d like him to transform the seating into a bed. I was provided with a welcome goodie bag and given a ticket to get a drink at the bar. My cabin also had its own bathroom, complete with shower, and all toiletries and fluffy, white towels provided.

Settling in

It’s such a pity that Covid and an alpine landslide, has prevented the route between France and Italy from running until at least the end of 2024. It was a magical journey. It was a clear evening and the sun was setting as we passed through Dijon and onwards toward the Alps. I collected my complimentary small bottle of prosecco to eat with my dinner. The bar/ restaurant was busy and replicated the setting one might find on any Parisian street, with lots of people enjoying their food and talking animatedly. I wanted to eat in my cabin to enjoy the view and to watch the last of the light as the sun disappeared.

I think I had set my bedtime too early because the train manager gently knocked not long after dark and asked if I was OK with him setting the bed out. He did this very quickly and was soon gone. The clatter and clack of the train wheels, the gentle sway of the carriage and my hundreds of miles travelled, was taking its toll. I soon felt quite sleepy and ready to tackle the in-train shower.

Of course, by the time I got into bed, I was wide-awake and sleep was a long way from my mind. I read my book, pulled up the blind to see what I could see and fired off a few messages to friends. I thought that I had better try to sleep as I wanted to make the most of my time in Venice the next day. I did sleep but woke fitfully. I peeped out of the blind to see an Alpine view of mountains, chalets and moonlit snow. I did try to capture this in a series of photos, but it was too dark. I felt the train slow to a halt as we approached Modane. We stopped for some time and eventually, tiredness kicked in again and I fell back asleep. When I next woke, we were moving again but I seemed to be being pushed against the side of the train as if we were being spun in a circle. Even though the route cuts through mountains, there are still some inclines and the locomotive-friendly way of managing these is with a circular path. My train passed through the Mont Cenis tunnel and over into Italy. This rail tunnel has been open since the 1870s and was a huge feat of engineering. The longest rail tunnel ever built was estimated to have taken forty years to complete but was, in fact, completed in just thirteen. Such a magnificent feat of engineering is something to marvel at and it is a great pity that, one hundred and fifty years later, rail enthusiasts are currently not able to enjoy the spectacle.

At Brescia

I dozed and awoke to welcome sunshine and made myself ready to face the day. Breakfast was served in the dining car, with its huge, panoramic windows, made this is a special event. Northern Italy was flashing by and after stops in Turin and Milan, we left the urban scenes heading towards the Lakes and historic cities of Padua, Verona and Venice Mestre. To reach the city of Venice, the train crosses a long bridge across the water which is another admirable feat of engineering. The designers knew that travellers would be surrounded by water, on both sides, while watching the beauty of Venice looming larger every minute. Finally, the train pulls into the station of Venezia Santa Lucia and I disembarked into warm sunshine, overlooking the Grand Canal. It is magnificent. The austere, fascist architecture station portico doesn’t detract from the beauty of what you see before you. It had been almost forty years since my previous visit and I stood and drank Venice in.

The rail approach to Venice is stunning

Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia

The view of the Grand Canal from the station entrance. The beauty is stunning.

I came to myself again and headed off to locate my hotel. Venice is a maze of mazes and the entrance of my hotel was in a street, in a market, squeezed between two shops and up a flight of stairs. I was welcomed by exceedingly smartly dressed staff into a beautiful historic building, concerted into a hotel. My opulent room overlooked a small courtyard. A whole bottle of prosecco and huge bowl of crisps was provided to welcome guests which, as it was just me, I declined to open the wine but did eat the snack. I didn’t want to hang about the hotel too long so I headed back out the market to find coffee and wonderful things to see.

My beautiful hotel room

March is the perfect month to visit Venice. It isn’t too hot or crowded so you can move around easily, get served quickly and see everything that there is to see. I headed back towards the railway station to find coffee, which was easy enough. Most people know that the tourist hotspots are the most expensive places to eat and drink. I’m sure that stations are not the cheapest either, but they are often the most easily found. Suitably fortified, and tiredness abated, I set off to see all the main sites. I stood by Ponte di Rialto, where I had stood about forty years previously, and watched glass animal makers creating delicate creatures. I bought an ice cream and sat in Piazza di San Marco. The sky was stunning blue and the sun dazzled against marble creating an extraordinary, otherworldly effect. To anyone who has never been, go. You must. There is nowhere quite like Venice.

Every view is perfection

Piazza di San Marco – March is an excellent month to visit Venice

Look closely. The colours of marble and architecture are dazzling.

Dinner was pizza, followed by strawberries from a market and a huge meringue from a pasticceria. I walked until I became tired, and headed back towards the hotel. I lay on the bed and the inevitable sleep came. When I awoke, it was getting dark but I was determined to go for one more walk before the day ended. The ristoranti were doing brisk trade but I wasn’t hungry. I wanted to soak up every second in this place. My spoken Italian had stood up rather well. I had purchased my son a football shirt as a souvenir of the local team, In this most stylish of cities, even this would have been worthy of the catwalk. The shopkeeper asked me why I had left it forty years to return to Venice. I didn’t really have a satisfactory answer. We chatted about tourism in general, the cruise ships, the huge numbers in the summer, the impact on local people. My Italian was improving by the minute although the conversation was a bit of an anglo-italiano mash-up. I did buy some easily transportable piece of glass and headed back to my temporary home.

The sun sets at the Bridge of Sighs

The following morning was grey and threatening rain. Yesterday had been a dreamlike day in every respect but this day felt more realistic and seasonal. I checked out of the hotel, still not quite believing that it had been cheaper than the cost of a London West End chain hotel. I bade my Gucci-clad hosts “Ciao” and lugged my bags back to the station ready to board my next train, onward to Rome.

A grey Venetian morning for my departure to Rome

The author stayed at Hotel Arcadia https://www.hotelarcadia.net/

All photographs property of and taken by the author