The Night Train.

Just before Thessalonoki, I saw Mt. Olypus, the home of the Greek Gods. It plunges out the plain, its top covered in snow and cloud. Its Green too, a deep beautiful green, but it was gone almost as soon as it was there. And then I was onto Thessalonoki.


This was the second city of Byzantium, they have beautiful beaches, and a grand mosque. It was here that Paul wrote his letters to the Thessalonians. The Americans talk about the old world, but this it  OLD world and I was on the periphery. Of course, I cant tell you anything about the beaches, the mosque, the history, the lives of the early Christians because I had a train change of an hour.


I can tell you about Z00M, though, a fast food joint about five minutes from the station. There is nothing to say, except it was fatty and cheap. A Gyro, a kebab, my last in Grease, it was pitta overloaded like they all were with meat and veg falling out the paper almost as quickly as I could put it in my mouth. Delicious.


I was catching the Night train, to Istanbul. The Night train is true train travel, making progress in your sleep. I was pushing away from the dust and ash, and would soon be breathing breezy air up from the Bosporus. 


I shared a cabin with a Greek fireman. A greek fireman called Geroge. He was taking a 10 day holiday in Istanbul and he spoke superb english. He said to me, "The thing about us Greeks were are not East we are not West, but we are more than then in between" A wonderful insight.

I got a bottle of wine on the train and met a German and an American travelling together. They were friends but it looked like something was going on. I think he, the American was trying to sleep with the girl , "Ze German". They had three more days travel together. I don't think it was going to happen but Im not a cock blocker man, when a man is trying to work his game, so I said my goodbyes and left them half the bottle of wine. Every little helps.


There were a load of Australians and Kiwis too, all heading for ANZAC day. That antipodean tragedy played out on the Beaches of Gallipoli. At the station, change had been burning a hole in my pocket, and now I wanted to burn the Cheerots I had brought. I asked an Aussie for matches or a lighter.


"Smoking is the Devil" was his reply.


"Very good" I said and left his cabin.


But,


He came into mine, I think he was trying to start a conversation, but he had started badly.
"Smoking is a massive turn off for me."
"Im not trying to pull you, so don't worry. I only wanted a lighter".


George the fireman was on hand. As good at starting fires as putting them out.


"I like smoking" Of course you do George. He passed me his lighter, and then lit a cigarette with another, that smoked out the Aussie. Good riddance pal.I brought a Chai, dissolved in a lump of sugar. Puffing on my cheap Cheeroot, sipping on my tea, chatting to George, the rail became pleasant.

The Night train is the way to travel, streaming out through the night. I was woken up at four in the morning, for visas. I was told to get off the train but the man in the visa office asked to get back on, when I did I was sent off again and the process repeated itself. When the third revolution was about to take place, I said to the official,


"Im getting back on the train and you call me when you're ready"


He didnt understand me, but fifteen minutes later, he knocked on my door, with the Visa man. Job done.


We pushed into Istanbul, on the last gasps of what was the Orient Express. Its all gone now and what's left is a memory of the train. In Istanbul station, a bar is marked with its name, it looks old, 1890 I think was the date. That was the heyday of train travel, but this was still not bad. The Night train is a good train though, through beautiful countryside, and in through the old walls of Thesodius 408AD. You can tell Istanbul is old from the side of the rails. It has that density and depth of buildings, that juxtaposition of Ancient and New Architecture that tells you "I was here long before you"


It'll be here long after me too.