Last August, instead of flying to the south of France for our holiday, my partner and I decided to take the sleeper train from London. It was her idea. She had read an article about the environmental cost of short flights within Europe and wanted to try a more sustainable way of travelling. I agreed, though secretly I was worried that spending a whole night on a train would be uncomfortable and boring.
We boarded the train at St Pancras station just after eight in the evening. Our compartment was small but well designed, with two narrow beds, a tiny sink, and a window with a curtain. A member of staff brought us coffee and croissants, which we were told would be our breakfast, and explained how the beds folded down from the wall. Once we were settled, the train pulled out of the station and the city lights began to slide past the window.
I had expected to lie awake all night, but the gentle rocking of the train turned out to be surprisingly relaxing. I fell asleep somewhere around Lille and didn't wake up until we were crossing the French countryside in bright morning sunshine. My partner was already sitting up, looking out of the window with a cup of coffee in her hand. The fields and villages passing by looked like scenes from a painting.
We arrived in Avignon just before ten in the morning, feeling rested and calm. Compare that to flying — the early alarm, the rush to the airport, the queues at security, the cramped seats — and the train felt like the obvious choice. It took longer, certainly, but the journey itself was part of the holiday rather than something to endure before the holiday began.
We have already booked the sleeper train again for this summer. I used to think the only purpose of travel was reaching your destination. Now I understand that sometimes the journey matters just as much.