Heaven is a direct line to God
The German conductor sounds anxious as he asks over the train intercom if there is a doctor on board. Our train, which is speeding towards Berlin from the Czech Republic, stops and paramedics hurry towards a carriage.
Thirty minutes tick by. Will we arrive in time to catch the ICE train (intercity express)? Then we set off again. “We apologise for the delay,” says the driver. “There was an emergency. I have phoned ahead and you should make your connection at Berlin Ostbahnhof.”
It is just one example of the clockwork efficiency we experience during our 14-day Great Rail Journeys adventure from London to Vienna, Budapest and Prague, covering a round trip of 2,500 miles (4,023km).
With ten new countries in the EU, train travel across Europe’s frontiers is booming. There is a new vibrancy in the air. Border guards joining the trains stamp our passports with a smile. Porters go out of their way to help with our luggage.
Our journey begins at Waterloo when our 38-strong party catches the Eurostar to Brussels-Midi. After a champagne brunch in first class we switch to the red bullet-nosed French Thalys train for Cologne with time to wander along the banks of the Rhine before dinner. Later that night we board the sleeper train for Vienna.
Our first Viennese outing is to Schönbrunn Palace, home of Empress Maria Theresa, who gave birth to 16 children. Luckily she had 1,200 rooms and a park-size garden to stop them getting under her feet.
We check into the Hotel Wimberger, opposite Vienna’s Westbahnhof, and after lunch do a city tour. The next day we set off for the Danube Valley and the Vienna Woods, with a visit to the magnificent Baroque Melk Abbey, which sits on a cliff above the Danube. We spend a merry evening at a Heuriger, a wine house within a vineyard, singing along with an accordionist and a guitarist, and exhausting their repertoire of English wartime songs.
On our free day we hop on a number 18 tram to the Belvedere Palace, once the home of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, whose assassination at Sarajevo in 1914 triggered the First World War. The palace houses two art galleries, set between glorious gardens. We see Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss and his unfinished Adam and Eve. There is also a fascinating exhibition of medieval art.
For a bird’s-eye view of the city we ride on the giant Ferris wheel in Prater Park, built by an Englishman, Walter Basset, in 1896. This is where Harry Lime met his old friend in Carol Reed’s The Third Man.
That afternoon we take a short cruise on the Danube and walk around Margaret Island, a popular oasis where city folk escape the crowds.
Next morning we board the Nosztalgia steam train at Nyugati station for a trip to Visegrád. Engine 424.287 towers over the platform, hissing steam and gleaming like black granite. Soon we are thundering along the eastern bank of the Danube, shrill whistle blowing and black smuts from the oil-burner dotting my white T-shirt. Barking dogs chase alongside the train, tractor drivers wave and small children on footpaths stop and stare. True train buffs among us are in heaven. And then, as if to confirm it, we arrive at a station called God.
My kind of heaven comes later at the lunch stop in a hunting lodge in Visegrád, surrounded by gypsy musicians. Afterwards we enjoy a boat trip to the Danube Bend and climb the battlements of the ruined fortress at Visegrád,which has spectacular views over the river.
After a visit to the Children’s Railway (see opposite) we ride by narrow-gauge steam train and horse-drawn wagon to Bugac for a traditional horse show in the heart of the Great Hungarian Plain, set among sandhills between the Danube and Tisza rivers.
The Kecskemét line celebrated its 75th birthday last year. The fireman is busy firing up the coalburner of Engine 298 in the depot and we await its arrival. Suddenly, we are enveloped in a cloud of thick, choking brown smoke. Then out of the darkness, like a ghost train, emerges the spluttering, spitting engine which has a funnel like a tall top hat. In front, wearing a period blue and gold-braid railway uniform, walks the guard carrying a red flag. It is a magical moment.
At the end of the line three horse-drawn carts are waiting to take us on a 30-minute drive across a dry, bumpy “prairie” to a ranch for a Hungarian-style rodeo.
The bareback riders, wearing skirt-like trousers and flowing white shirts, put on a show of horsemanship which includes riding a team of six black stallions while standing on the backs of the rear two horses. The riders crack long whips, which sound like gunshots, and gallop round the corral, performing stunts.
“Puffed out, we swap trains for a spot of culture and take in an excellent concert in Budapest performed by the Danube Symphony Orchestra in the Duna Palace, a beautiful rococo theatre. During the interval, dazzled by the décor, we wander down the marble spiral staircase and into a room full of drinkers. Pushing politely through the crowd to the bar, we are greeted by a girl in a flowing white dress.
“Excuse me,” she says, rather miffed. “Zis is my vedding!” The next day we tour the impressive neo-Gothic parliament building. Home of the original Hungarian crown, the stained-glass windows were saved during the war by being stored in the basement.
With our forints disappearing fast, it is time to switch to Czech crowns and catch the Hungaria EuroCity train for the journey to Prague.
The ultra-modern Mövenpick Hotel is next door to the Villa Bertramka, where Mozart stayed with friends and composed Don Giovanni. The hotel’s panorama terrace is reached by cable car and we go up to view the city by night.
Jarmila Svobodova, our guide, is waiting the next day to take us on a walking tour of the city of 100 spires and architectural gems stretching from the 10th to the 19th centuries.
We wind our way through narrow medieval streets with signs of ancient guilds, past pubs awash with Czech beer and shops piled high with Bohemian crystal, and arrive at the Old Town Square in time to see the parade of the 12 Apostles as the astronomical clock strikes the hour.
Over coffee Jarmila tells us that the square was one of the settings for the Velvet Revolution of November 1989 when peaceful protests drove out the Communists and heralded the return of democracy. Now the square is full of people drinking beer, enjoying coffee and cake and taking carriage rides.
“After the Russians left, a giant statue of Stalin which stood in the city was smashed to pieces,” Jarmila says. “It was so large that one of his ears was taken away and is now used as a swimming pool.”
On our final day we return to the historic centre and stroll across the medieval Charles Bridge, built with eggs and wine added to the mortar to give it extra strength. Here portrait artists, musicians and trinket sellers make a living among the 30 statues of saints.
In the middle of the bridge a jazz band is in full swing and, nearby, tourists jostle to touch the statue of St John Nepomuk, who was hurled to his death in the river. Legend has it that those who touch it will return to Prague. We join the queue and hope it works.
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