Sinful Sunday: Bunk Up

Overnight train journeys spent in a private compartment are inherently glamorous. They’re James Bond and Tatiana Romanova on the Orient Express, or Eva Marie Saint purring seductively at Cary Grant in North by Northwest. They’re fancy dining cars with waiters in white tie, followed by late-night cocktails and sex with a mysterious stranger…

…but most of all, they’re falling asleep to the rhythm of the train, as it clack-clacks softly through the night, whisking you off to somewhere new and exciting – or back to the familiar comforts of home.

For us, a sleeper train meant leaving lovely Madrid behind, and winding our way through the mountains and across the Iberian peninsula to Lisbon, where we awoke to find bright, late-spring sunshine streaming in through our window. The dining car maybe didn’t achieve Orient Express levels of service and sophistication, but we had a really good meal nonetheless, before retiring to our carriage for really, really good sex. The train’s rhythm clearly works wonders.

Afterwards I lay on my bunk with a book and just enjoyed the soft glow of the lamp above me. It was warm and cosy and perfect in every way…

…though to be honest, stretching out in that morning sunshine didn’t feel too bad either! I wonder whether anyone happened to be looking out of their window at just the right time?