From M’s table to the Orient Express, Darryl Marsch starts out on the ultimate Bond-inspired adventure across Europe.
Prologue
The whine from the Rolls-Royce Trent 900 turbofans powering our Airbus A380 subsided as they spooled down at Terminal 5, London Heathrow. In the pod adjacent to me, anticipation flashed across my companion’s green eyes and an uncontainable smile spread across her face.
Without saying a word, we agreed that we were ready to begin. And London, the birthplace of Ian Fleming and headquarters for the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6), provided the natural starting point for our European adventure in the footsteps of James Bond.
We planned our trip with assistance from the Black Tomato travel agency. Black Tomato is licensed by Eon Productions, past producers of the 007 films, to create travel experiences that bring BT clients to “set jetting” locations, behind-the-scenes access, and ultimate emersion into the world of James Bond. Our Black Tomato travel advisor, Luca, worked with us to create a bespoke travel plan with emphasis on the 007 films From Russia with Love, Moonraker, and Casino Royale as well as a double-o dose of adventure, embracing Ian Fleming’s admonition, “Never say ‘no’ to adventures.”
London and France
Having flown overnight, my companion and I followed the scent of fresh coffee and found our driver waiting at Costa Coffee to take us to the hotel.
Dating to 1873, the St. Pancras Renaissance is a grande dame of a hotel resembling a red-brick gothic cathedral. The hotel is also attached to London St. Pancras International railway station. The modern station is actually even older than the hotel and survived bombings in two World Wars.
Strangely, my phone’s Bluetooth served as the room key in this old hotel, and after two tries, the door sprang open to a surprise upgrade: the Grand Staircase Suite, a three-story set of rooms connected by an internal, private staircase.
The room blended Victorian style with a swinging ‘60s pop-art vibe. If 007 were here, he would be George Lazenby and ready to party. Afternoon cocktails in the marble bath? I expect Lazenby’s 007 would think it “sociable to do.”
For dinner, we stepped back even further in time at Rules Restaurant. Established in Covent Garden in 1798, Rules is the oldest restaurant in London and was featured in SPECTRE to reinforce M’s grounding in the past and his adherence to old-school methods of espionage. The walls at Rules are covered with old if not historic paintings, lithographs of Tory political cartoons, and perches for taxidermy grouse and partridges. A note at the top of the menu gently reminded us that “[g]ame birds may contain lead shot.”
We were able to get photos at M’s table and enjoyed oysters, tarragon chicken pie with mushrooms and leeks, along with roasted carrots and potatoes dauphinoise. Everything about Rules Restaurant exudes its heritage, and I doubt that it has changed very much since Charles Dickens ate there.
The next morning we checked out of the St. Pancras Renaissance and walked through the gorgeously gothic Booking Office 1869 restaurant into the train station. The hotel at the train station was a smart play — a perfect hotel, perfectly convenient.
In the station, the scene was set the same as it was in the spy series Slow Horses, season 4. A massive clock overlooking the platforms and shops confirmed that we had just enough time to enjoy coffee and croissants in the departure lounge before boarding the Eurostar train to Paris.
At speeds up to 190 mph, the trip took only two hours and fifteen minutes. And when the train emerged from the “Chunnel,” the sun shined brightly in the French-blue sky and warmed the verdant countryside below. Newly mown fields boasted great, round bales of hay, and open pastures stretched across low hills dotted with lazy, brown cows. Our high-speed train and a patch of wind turbines were the only evidence of the modern world until we reached the edge of Paris.
To say we visited Paris would be an overstatement. We arrived at Paris Gare du Nord station and raced by passenger van past a flower shop and south across the Seine to Gare d’Austerlitz station in Rue David Bowie.
There, from the platform, my companion and I basked in the glow of a magical train and bore witness to five minutes of pea-sized hail (the only inclement weather on our trip) before we picked up the next leg of our journey, the Venice-Simplon Orient Express.
The Orient Express
There is no train so steeped in history, luxury, intrigue, and murder as the Orient-Express. The train is forever linked with Agatha Christie’s novel Murder on the Orient Express and her renowned, fictional detective, Hercule Poirot. Ian Fleming was a fan of Christie’s, and his habit was to make references to friends and fellow authors in his published works. Fleming referenced Christie when describing a little English woman at the gambling tables in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. So, it is hardly a surprise that Fleming booked James Bond on the Orient Express from Istanbul to Paris in the novel From Russia, with Love. But there, Fleming instead paid homage to friend and fellow spy novelist Somerset Maugham by having Bond travel on the Orient Express under the cover name David Somerset.
Our route on the storied train (refurbished and renamed the Venice-Simplon Orient Express) would be from Paris, to Switzerland and Austria, through the Brenner Pass in the Eastern Alps, and down into Italy with a final stop in Venice.
It is impossible to avoid a smile when setting eyes on the Venice-Simplon Orient Express. The train exudes charm and style, but also an electric presence that everyone in the station can sense. Though the train cars have changed hands many times since the First World War, the navy-blue rolling stock still carries the historic name, “Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits” in raised gold lettering. My companion and I also spied the unmistakable, iconic table lamps through the carriage windows. The famous train was really here, and white-gloved porters in brocade-adorned uniforms were about to invite us on board.
On the Orient Express, things happen as if by magic. While we posed for photographs, our hand luggage was whisked to high, brass shelves in our cabin. Our larger suitcases were spirited directly to our hotel room in Venice.
Our porter, Lorenzo, guided us to our compartment where a silver-plated pastry stand displayed delicate cream puffs for us to enjoy. Poof! Veuve Clicquot materialized just as it did for James Bond when he defeated Le Chiffre at the baccarat table in the novel Casino Royale. Chin-chin!
Train travel in the 1920s and ‘30s required passengers to make some allowances. Lorenzo explained the quirks of our historic cabin— the key, the call button, the violet night light, the fan, the tiny vanity, and the drop-down window.
Though small, the historic cabin was luxurious. Most every surface was high-gloss mahogany, polished brass, damask fabric, or Carrara white marble. The most stunning ornamentation was the original 1929 marquetry, a Flower Garland motif by Morrison that festooned the room.
It was an intricate wood inlay of flowers in yellow, pink, blue, and purple springing from variegated leaves. The Flower Garland marquetry design was unique to Car 3473, with Morrison having created different motifs for other carriages.
After departing Paris, bucolic France picked up where it left off. We sat back on our banquet and enjoyed the French countryside at a more relaxed pace. The Orient Express is just as much a destination as it is a means of transportation, or perhaps even more so. Cornfields, pastures, and trees passed by our window again.
After a while, our neighbors embarked on a persistent stream of yammering that we could hear through the adjoining door, which would remain securely bolted. Charitably, I imagined that perhaps they were just rehearsing alibis in the event of a murder. If we had applied ourselves, we could have properly eavesdropped on their conversation. But instead, my companion and I exchanged a knowing look and silently decided that it was time to explore the train.
We proceeded down the narrow corridor, which I estimated at just twenty-two inches in width, to the gift shop.
We had previously discussed that there was nothing we would need from the onboard gift shop, but then we got there and couldn’t help but look at the jewelry and keepsakes. In our defense, the deck was stacked against us. It’s hard not to want a physical reminder of one’s time onboard the Orient Express. In keeping with the style onboard the train, we ended up with a Lalique gingko-leaf necklace and earrings, which my companion instinctively knew were just right for tonight.
Next, we walked through the three dining cars each uniquely designed and decorated to match its name: Étoil du Nord (The North Star), Côte d’Azur (The French Riviera), and L’Oriental (The Oriental). They were all beautiful, and each had its own custom, art-deco, train-scene china, but we were most taken by Côte d’Azur, which had large glass panels designed by René Lalique. (Yes, like the necklace.)
The panels were frosted and showcased a risqué bacchanal scene, appropriate to our setting. The upholstery and carpeting were deep blue and luxurious. Most fabrics in Étoil du Nord were verdant green and in L’Oriental, gold. Crisp, white linen tablecloths and extravagant place settings hinted at the meals to come.
We had yet to gain confidence in walking the passages of a moving train when we arrived at Bar Car 3674. The famous Bar Car was mostly blue like Côte d’Azur but had gold upholstered ottomans, brass ceiling fans, and tulip-shaped light fixtures that discreetly held small warm-white lightbulbs. The bartenders and wait staff were keeping the drinks flowing. When he took our order, our waiter informed us that approximately 70,000 bottles of champagne are consumed on the train each nine-month season! My companion ordered a French 75 while I chose a Vesper martini, shaken, not stirred. The piano player hammered out old tunes on a grand piano, and we made new friends.
The conductor’s voice came over the intercom to announce that dinner service would soon begin. Earlier, we had unpacked our evening attire to unloose any wrinkles. Dressing well is very important on the Orient Express. The brochure advises that “You can never be overdressed on the Venice-Simplon Orient Express,” and somewhere in the fine print the brochure warns that if you wear jeans or other casual clothes, you may be required to stay in your cabin or … murdered. D‘accord!
We came across no sartorial offenses, even in the less formal daylight hours. For dinner, my companion changed into a metallic cocktail dress, with art-deco styling and a hair pin perfect for the period atmosphere on the train. She unforgettably showcased the Lalique necklace as well, which happily dangled from the nape of her slender neck.
Like all the male passengers, I wore a tuxedo, which the English call a “dinner suit,” and which the French, Italians, and Germans (I learned to my surprise) refer to as a “smoking.” I surmised that James Bond must be somewhere near the root of that etymology.
Traveling onboard the the historic train was civilized unlike anything I had experienced before. Maybe it was the hypnotic clickity-clack of the wheels on the track, or the elaborate array of silverware and glassware, or everyone dressed to the nines, or the white-jacketed waiters graciously serving perfectly crafted cocktails, but the atmosphere on the train felt elegant and sophisticated and at the same time relaxed and carefree. That is the magical feeling you experience as a passenger on board the Venice-Simplon Orient Express.
From then on, every movement, every situation was smooth and slick. Requests were met with alacrity, and we enjoyed a wonderfully elaborate dinner in Côte d’Azur that included caviar and gold leaf. Every culinary detail was exquisitely executed from asparagus cut and stacked like Lincoln Logs to saffron butter embossed with the VSOE logo. Mindful of Red Grant’s faux pas in the film From Russia with Love, we did not order red wine with fish. I thought to myself that if Grant had ordered the veal like I did, he could have avoided his misstep altogether.
After dinner, we sidled up to new friends Paul and Sally in Bar Car 3674 for more libations and easy conversation. Later, a party of about 25 Swedes convened around the piano to sing 80’s rock tunes. The Swedes were celebrating a birthday, and much later, when drinks continued in the after-midnight hours, I was accepted into their “sånggrupp.” They cheered approvingly when I pointed out that Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” technically qualifies as a train song. (“She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere …”).
After singing with the Swedes (channeling Pierce Brosnan in Mama Mia!), I walked back to our cabin at about 2:00 am. The Bar Car famously stays open until the last patron leaves, but alas, that person was not me. The Swedes were just hitting their stride. Time to go.
Lorenzo had already converted our banquet into berths for sleeping. I climbed the ladder to the top bunk and listened to “the lullaby creak of the woodwork in the little room.” As it did for James Bond in From Russia, with Love, the train’s sounds and movements and the “deep violet glimmer of the night-light above the door” conspired to lull me fast asleep.
We awoke to the beauty of Switzerland, which Fleming curmudgeonly described as “banal” in his travelogue, Thrilling Cities. Lush apple orchards abounded as did solider-straight rows of tasseled corn stalks eight-feet tall. An icy, clear river rushed alongside the train tracks. Fleming’s description of the snow capping the mountains as the “jagged sugar icing of the Alps” was a less jaded metaphor for the the vistas outside our train window.
Lorenzo brought morning coffee and pastries to our room. My companion read and admired the view outside our window, and I admired my companion. This is “the life” onboard the Orient Express.
Later, I prepared for Italy by reviewing Italian phrases on Duolingo concerning a spooky hotel: “C’è un fantasma in questo hotel. Non dormo bene qui perché sento strani rumori di notte. Andiamo in un altro hotel.” I remembered that Tom Ripley (played by Andrew Scott from SPECTRE) similarly studied his Italian phrase book while traveling on the Orient Express. Given how his murder victim Dickie Greenleaf (actor Johnny Flynn, who played Ian Fleming in Operation Mincemeat) haunted him, Tom should have learned more Italian phrases pertaining to ghosts in hotels. I was prepared.
The train persistently chugged up the Alps. At lunchtime, we neared the frontier and enjoyed a little snow that clung onto thickets of evergreens. We could feel the chill through the train windows permeating the air inside, but heat piped near the floor of our golden dining car kept our feet toasty. I imagined how the sunshine that once warmed the San Marzano tomatoes in my soup now warmed my insides. I disapprovingly thought to myself, “Not yet in Italy, and sentiment has me already romanticizing it.”
At the Brenner Pass, we stopped so the Orient Express could take on a new engine for the Italian leg of our journey. The Brenner Pass has been in continuous use by humans for crossing the Alps since the last Ice Age ended just over 10,000 years ago, making it the oldest historical location that we visited.
The Pass was later used by the Romans and much later served as a “ratline” for escaping Nazis at the end of World War II. It remains an important trade and tourist route today. As we made our way down into Italy, the flurries melted and disappeared. We loved the Orient Express, but we were excited to begin the next phase of our trip.
Darryl Marsch will return in Part II of this series
Words and pictures © 2025 Darryl Marsch. All rights reserved.
