Ghost of the rails

The Ghosts of the Rails

Before the world was small and noisy, there was the Orient-Express. It was not really a train to the Orient, but a promise, a line across Europe from Paris to Constantinople. Made of steel and velvet, it was the fastest way to leave Paris at night and have breakfast in Vienna, or disappear in dusk with a suitcase and a secret. Mass tourism did not exist; the world belonged to those who could cross it in comfort. Others just watched the trains passing, wondering where they went. The Orient-Express was for diplomats, spies, men and women in hats and gloves who travelled out of necessity, not pleasure.

The train crossed wars and revolutions. It rolled on while the world collapsed and rebuilt. It was also present in Agatha Christie’s novels, where the detective was Belgian, the murder elegant, and every passenger had a motive. “Murder on the Orient Express” was not only a story, it was a myth, a shadow stretching across the rails. But the world changed. Planes cut the continent in hours instead of days; the rich found new ways to be bored. The famous wagons rotted on sidings under the rain. The Orient-Express became a memory, a brand for those who hurried by. The velvet faded. The wheels rusted. The world forgot. But the train always waited. The ghosts on the rails remembered.

The Man Who Remembered

James Sherwood, an American in Venice, understood old things. He bought the Cipriani hotel for the light on the water, and two Orient-Express carriages in Monte-Carlo because he could not stand to see them dying. It was 1977, when nobody believed in romance. Sherwood was not sentimental, but he knew how to recognize a story. He found the lost carriages all over Europe: in sidings, barns, and old railwaymen’s memories. Restored piece by piece with craftsmen who remembered the old inlays and glass, they took years and patience. Bob Dunn, whose grandfather worked on the originals, shaped the marquetry. Lalique’s glassmakers gave breath to the panels.

In 1982, the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express returned to the rails. Not exactly the same, but close enough for the ghosts. The wagons were shining, tables laid with silver and linen, staff moving like dancers. The train was more than transport; it was a way to remember real travel. Belmond was born from this act of resurrection, growing to add hotels, river boats, and safaris, but the heart of the company stayed in the trains. The Venice Simplon-Orient-Express became a moving palace, a world where time slowed and the window showed a painting in motion.

Belmond trains now travel like seeds: the Orient-Express connects London, Paris, Venice, Vienna, Istanbul. There is the Royal Scotsman, the Andean Explorer—each a story told in steel and velvet.  The wagons are restored each year in French and Italian workshops. Grand Suites carry city names—Paris, Istanbul, Vienna, Prague—each a promise kept.

To take these trains is not just to move from one place to another. It is to travel in time, to recall calm, to believe the journey is the destination. The world is smaller, but the train remains long; the stories keep being written.

The Connoisseurs

There is a travel agency in Vancouver called Renshaw Travel. Not new, not young—the kind where stories settle like dust on registers. Don Renshaw, arriving in 1945, learned the business on the spot, created Cavalier Tours, sent people to destinations they’d only read about. The newspapers called him “Mister Travel.” The agency became Renshaw Travel in 1974, passed to his son in 1993, joined the Virtuoso network.

Don Sr. lived long, greeted all with a smile and hug, believing in positive thinking and daily hugs. He died at 94, but in the office, they still talk as if he will come back. The agency promises travel can be more than simple movement. Julia Kostina, working there over twenty years, knows the trains, hotels, and how journeys can change people, giving discreet, precise advice.

Renshaw Travel is there not to sell adventure, but to remind you—the train still rolls, the rails still sing, and the world is vast if you know how to look. The train waits for someone to remember, someone who believes in the importance of the journey.

Photo taken from our trip to Prague.