My four-day rail and ferry adventure from the UK to Albania

29.04.2024 - 11:23 / theguardian.com

My overriding memories of crossing countries by train, on a trip from London to Albania, are of half-empty carriages and countryside sweeping past windows bathed in the soft orange glow of sunset. I remember cypress trees, red-roofed villages with square churches, farmland in neat strips and row upon row of vineyards.

On my London-Paris-Chambéry-Turin-Bari-Tirana journey over land and sea, there was, for long stretches, little to do. The wifi was patchy. It took a while to adapt to having so much time to simply watch the world go by, travelling through landscapes without having to navigate them.

The biggest stress happened long before I set off, when a landslide not far from the French border with Italy blocked the rail line between Chambéry and Turin, forcing a closure that continues today. Byway, the no-fly operator I had booked with, offered to reroute me through Nice and on to Turin via the Vermenagna valley (with changes in Tende and Cuneo), or book me on the FlixBus service over part of the Mont Blanc massif. I was keen to see Chambéry and the Alps, so I chose the bus.

People seemed surprised when I told them I was travelling overland to Albania. As I gushed about the romance of slow travel by train and sleeper ferry, and my excitement about Tirana, I got comments about being “brave”. I didn’t feel especially brave: all the planning, tickets and hotel bookings were done for me, and friendly help was a WhatsApp call away if needed.

I just had to download the Rail Planner app for my Interrail pass and make sure I was at the right station at the right time (Turin was the biggest challenge: it has four main railway stations and taxis scream between them bearing anxious-looking passengers).

The entire journey took four days. If I did it all again, I’d stay longer in Puglia, the heel of Italy’s boot – and remember to buy my Paris Métro ticket from the cafe on the Eurostar.

First to Paris’s Gare du Nord, then the metro to Gare de Lyon, where I make a beeline for a cafe opposite the station. Noise pervades the pavement tables of Café Terminus, but the cacophony is delightful – an atmospheric place for a citron pressé.

I’m in plenty of time for the train to Chambéry and, excitingly, am on the upper deck. Soon, we break free from the suburbs to trace huge stands of forest. Beyond Lyon begins a ripple of hills, lazy rivers and thickly forested slopes. As evening approaches, it’s all Alpine scenery. I arrive at an almost-empty station and walk to the boutique Hotel des Princes in Chambéry’s old town.

Chambéry has an Italian feel – it was the seat of the House of Savoy before the dynasty moved on to Turin – and its medieval alleys, cathedral and pastel-coloured townhouses are quietly impressive. The 1838