Italy - 8
Having weaned the shopaholic from spending yet more hard-earned cash Girlahead and The Gang headed up the hill to Belmond’s Splendido (she had stayed in its smaller sibling, Splendido Mare, 15 years ago, and it was so good to be back - she even discovered the church archway emblazoned with the words Divo Martino, and photographs, of course, were taken for her own personal collection).
Up at Splendido, the terrace looking down to the ocean was cool and quiet. It's a well-oiled operation. They do it the whole time, every day. After lunch the vehicle collected the trio and took’em back to Dolce Vita Orient Express - the train that justifiably thinks it’s a personality - for the next stage of the journey.
Night two was the big gala aboard. Dinner was not quite a rerun of the previous day's lunch, but everyone by now knew what to expect. Thin slices of bread already on the table in a linen-lined silver boat-shaped platter, and butter and olive oil, and then about three beautiful amuse. And then tubular pastas, this time white, and the main course and a dessert. But all the time tonight, people were looking forward to the after-party. And this is when the bar came into its own. It was a great occasion, despite the fact that the long, drawn-out shape of a rail carriage is not conducive to a gathering. Somehow, because the side banquettes are curved, it makes it a bit easier, and with the crew moving around so much, you weren’t aware of two lines of people facing each other, as though waiting to go in for an inquisition.
The pianist played, the saxophonist played. The singer, who was wearing a weird dress that did neither herself nor the train justice, sang, and so too did one of our new Finnish friends, who was great, and the new north of England friend showed that she could do a great sitting-down job dancing with her feet.
Girlahead left before midnight - goodness knows when it finally finished. It probably went on for a long time. And then came the morning and another breakfast. What to have today? Granola and coffee and an egg dish and fruit before arriving at Rome’s Ostiense station. On the dot.
Girlahead, like the rest of the guests, was escorted with such style off the train and personally walked by one of the on-train crew – see above. Congregation point was Orient Express's own beautiful lounge, a five-minute walk away (below). People coffeed and chatted and listened to the pianist. As their transport was discreetly announced groups quietly left. The dream was fading – the gang was summoned just before they morphed into pumpkins.
