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This book is divided into four sections, covering the Orient Express, Taurus Express, Moscow Express and the Trans-Siberian Express. It was published in 1972, so the travel was just prior to this, and therefore a snapshot in time. The author is well travelled, by train and otherwise, in Europe, and in a number of cases was re-visiting places.
There are some amusing and well described parts, a good mixture of history and culture, and as with all train journey writing, it is as much about the fellow passengers as the destinations. The author admits to playing a bit fast and loose with some of the routes and the train selections at times, but is very upfront in describing where, and anyway the circumstances are usually obvious.
The Trans-Siberian stood out, not only because it was by far the longest journey (and section of the book), but because having travelled over much of the same route some thirty years later, there was so much still the familiar to me. However the USSR in the early 1970's required foreign travellers to be strictly controlled, shepherded and chaperoned, especially one of those rare foreign travellers who manages to secure a visa to travel alone, without a group. Intourist the government ‘tourist agency' control not only where you stay, but how long you may spend in a city and the timing of your onward travel arrangements. They also provide a (compulsory) guide and a (compulsory) tour in each place you stop. Many cities remain inaccessible, permission simply not being granted with No services are available to foreign tourists being the almost inevitable reason given. The author manages to push the limits, and gains access to some places he ought not to be, and scores a few minor wins over the Soviet system - although he also suffers a few losses to the system as well.
One quotation I enjoyed: P66, on the Taurus Express in Turkey, lunching with some locals (my addition in brackets)
Clearing a space on the floor we got it (a charcoal burner) working and, opening the windows wide to allow at least some of the smoke to escape, commenced roasting lumps of raw meat obtained at a wayside station. As we skewered the tender lumps of lamb I wondered what Turkish railway bye-law we were breaking, but when the ticket inspector passed upon his rounds his only action was the contribution of some culinary advice!With black smoke, soot and sparks from the frantic locomotive pouring in from the window and charcoal smoke trying to get out we paid dearly for our meal, and when the train dived into another tunnel complex we all but asphyxiated ourselves. In the rush to close the window someone tripped on the stove, the meat fell into the hot embers and by the end of this most entertaining of meals our stomach linings were as sooted up as our skins!
