I've just been on a brief rail-break, in Britain. The train was bang on time, every time. The carriages were spotless, and beautifully appointed. The food was exquisite, and the service superb.
You will have deduced by now that we're not talking Connex or Virgin here. We are talking, in suitably hushed and awed tones, about the Royal Scotsman.
The owners, the Great Scottish and Western Railway Company Limited, describe it as "the most luxurious and, indeed, prestigious train in the world". For once, the breathless hyperbole of the marketing folk is fully justified.
When I was asked to test-ride the Royal Scotsman - journalism can be demanding work, sometimes, but it has to be done - I was already on my way to a Scottish holiday with the memsahib. We'd booked nothing, and organised even less. We made it all the way to Orkney - a splendid part of the world - and then fossicked around Sutherland, the county where God goes on His days off. By the time we turned for Edinburgh, we were rather travel-stained, and somewhat apprehensive about joining a bunch of nobs on a posh train.
We needn't have been. From the first, when we joined the other guests in the first-class lounge at Waverley Station, the mood was relaxed and comfortable, and the welcome warm. Even the slight embarrassment of being piped on board was dissipated by the amusement of the piper when he saw train staff scurrying for umbrellas to save us from a 20-yard walk in the drizzle. "That's the stuff they mak whisky frae - it'll nae do ye ony harm," he bellowed cheerfully, from under the station awning.
In truth, the weather that first afternoon was very Scottish. The cloud and the sea-fret - haar, to use the proper Scots word - turned Edinburgh into a grey soup. We passed under Edinburgh Castle, and saw not even the outline of it. Did we care? Not we. We had a train set to play with.
The joy of these jaunts is in the detail. Your luggage is whisked away, labelled, and placed in your cabin - whoops, sorry, state cabin. Every guest is given a personal tour of the train. There are two dining cars, called Victory and Raven; a minuscule but awesomely well-stocked bar; a nice little library, and a splendid observation car with sofas and armchairs and newspapers and conversation. Oh, and an outside verandah on which a chap can stand and declaim heroically to the passing scenery.
The oldest of the Royal Scotsman carriages dates from 1945. The rest are bog-standard British Rail cars of the 1960s and 70s, stripped back to the bare metal and transformed into Edwardian-effect club coaches, with lavish wood panelling and rich fabrics and furnishings. They've done it beautifully.
The cabins are delicious: Wendy houses for grown-ups. They are unavoidably tiny, but delightfully appointed with rich marquetry decoration, ceiling fans, plenty of stowage space, and a miniature but entirely adequate bathroom/shower. The beds are diminutive, but sumptuously comfortable. They are placed at right-angles to each other, one lengthways to the train and the other athwart it. The Royal Scotsman, I was told, is quite popular with honeymoon couples, which is a bit of a surprise. But love, as they say, always finds a way...
The train has 10 carriages, and a maximum of just 36 passengers. (London commuters, eat yer hearts out). On our trip, there were 22 guests, and 12 crew. Consequence: extreme pampering.
We were served afternoon tea: scones and cream and splendid Scottish raspberry jam. We lounged around in the observation car, chatting and locating ourselves on our maps. We whisked through the central lowlands, skirted Glasgow and turned sharp north by loch and Highland foothill, all frustratingly mist-shrouded. At Crianlarich we turned west, fetching up at last at Taynuilt for our overnight halt.
There we were met by Robert, our coach driver. He must have one of the most curious jobs in Scotland, forever criss-crossing the country in pursuit of the Royal Scotsman, to take its cargo of assorted tourists on side-trips and excursions. Tonight it was the Inverawe Smokehouse, for an enjoyable insight into the production of smoked salmon and other local delicacies. Then back to the train for dinner, with not a scrap of smoked salmon in sight.
The meals on board the Royal Scotsman are faultless. Only organic local produce is used. The service is splendid, the wines top-class. After that first dinner, in a haze of well-being, we were entertained by local accordionist and boatman Paddy Shaw, accompanied by the contents of that extraordinary little bar. For the first time in my life, I tasted 18-year-old Macallan, and found it good.
We stayed overnight at Taynuilt. 'Stabling', I now know they call it. Must remember that next time the last train from Paddington breaks down. "We're not stuck overnight," I shall announce. "We are stabled".
The train lurched into action quite early the next morning. The rain had stopped and the skies were gloriously clear as we trundled past the incomparable scenery of Loch Lomond, and retraced our route through the lowlands, before turning north again for Stirling and Perth. Breakfast, needless to say, was the full works.
At Perth - back in the Highlands again - Robert shimmered up to ferry us for a suitably upmarket private tour of Glamis Castle, childhood home of the Queen Mum. Frankly, this is not my cup of Earl Grey, but the place is undeniably spectacular, and packed with treasures. We rejoined the train for lunch, and rumbled north through Pitlochery to our next encounter with Robert's coach. This time, he took us to the House of Bruar, a (mostly) up-market shopping park in the middle of nowhere.
This was surprising. I know that retail therapy is most people's idea of fun, whether they are on a Saga coach outing or a world cruise. Still, I was taken aback that it should be on the Royal Scotsman itinerary. But, I was assured, it was there by popular demand. There was no question of the company taking commission from the House of Bruar, or anyone else. Just as well, because nobody bought anything much.
Onwards and upwards to Aviemore, where the locomotive (a rather boring, very practical diesel) uncoupled, nipped round to the southern end of the train, and started to haul us back through the craggy glories of the Cairngorms to Gleneagles, via a sumptuous dinner. It was supposed to be formal, but as I am not in the habit of going on holiday with black tie, I was in mufti. It didn't matter; at least half the other gents were in the same condition.
At Gleneagles Robert once again materialised to take us to a ceilidh. We had fondly imagined that we would merge with the local fauna, and were horrified to discover that the ceilidh was a piper, an accordianist, a keyboard player, and... us. Oh God.
Now I have to place on record that I am a Scot, and a proud one. I yield to nobody in my affection for my native land and its culture. But in the service of honesty I am bound to add that Scottish country dancing is an invention of the devil, devised expressly for the torment of small boys by sadistic aunties, bossy girls, school teachers and other denizens of hell. When I was blessedly released from that torment at the age of 12, I scarcely imagined I would find myself stepping, heel-and-toeing, and generally making an utter arse of myself in Gleneagles more than 40 years later. That I survived to tell the tale is thanks entirely to the 18-year-old Glenmorangie (matured in port casks), thoughtfully brought along by the Royal Scotsman stewards.
And so, bloodied but unbowed, to a last night in our Wendy house - stabled this time in Stirling - and a last morning trundle back to Edinburgh Waverley.
It was a marvellous trip. The Royal Scotsman lived up to and beyond its reputation. I recommend it without hesitation, and with no real expectation that the recommendation will be widely taken up. For the fact of the matter is that this is serious luxury, for serious money.
The price of a two night tour is - at this point you'd better reach for an 18-year-old malt - £1390 per person. The four night version comes in at £2490.
Ridiculous? Not so, says Camilla Guyatt, the formidably hard-working 28-year-old train manager. As she says, the Royal Scotsman is a genuinely all-inclusive deal: "We provide everything, to the highest standards. What's more, if anybody wants something else, we will do our best to provide it. If one of our guests wanted caviar with every meal, we'd do it. I honestly think it's fantastic value."
She's right, in the sense that to take the same tour by other means, and to the same level of luxury, you'd have to stay in the very best hotels, eat in the finest restaurants, and hire an extremely fancy car - with a driver. It would cost just as much, and you wouldn't have the inimitable feeling of well-being that goes from being on a really, really good train.
The Great Scottish and Western Railway Company has been running the Royal Scotsman for 16 years. It is clearly a niche market, and it will surprise nobody to learn that the great majority of our fellow-passengers were elderly, clearly well-heeled Americans. (And extremely good companions they were, too). The company is now anxious to market the tours - which run from April to the end of October - to Europeans.
I know of one European who is more than willing to go again. If the Lottery comes up, I'll be a regular passenger. If it comes up big, I'll buy it.
Information and bookings
The Royal Scotsman
46a Constitution Street
Edinburgh
EH6 6RS
Scotland
Tel (inquiries): 0131 555 1344
Tel (reservations): 0131 555 1021
Fax: 0131 555 1345
Email: bookings@royalscotsman.co.uk
Website: www.royalscotsman.com
