The Venice Simplon-Orient-Express Introduces a New Route from Paris to the French Alps—A Sneak Peek

It's just under five minutes into the semi-finals of the 2022 World Cup, featuring France against Morocco. Château Yquem is lavishly poured into crystal glasses while a dapper Italian gentleman in a tuxedo serenades us with Duke Ellington on the piano. Meanwhile, we glide along at approximately 74 mph aboard Belmond’s renowned Venice Simplon-Orient-Express, heading towards the French Alps. Allez!

Typically, journeys on this iconic train (which should not be confused with the Orient Express operated by French railways in collaboration with Accor) do not feature such athletic entertainment or even televisions. The experience is designed to transport passengers back in time or make them lose track of it altogether. As musicians perform Jazz Age classics, guests board the 12-car, 35-cabin train, some of which date back to 1926, with a formal dress code for dinner. However, this was a unique occasion, and as Agatha Christie fans know, anything can unfold aboard the OE.

As an American residing in France who missed witnessing her adopted country's World Cup victory four years earlier while vacationing in the States, I was eager to see if they could defend their title this year. After boarding the 7:05 p.m. train from Paris and settling into cabin No. 7 in car 3483, I changed out of my jeans into a sparkling pleated skirt, donned chandelier earrings, and painted a bleu, blanc, et rouge flag on my right cheek. Steadying myself against the gleaming wood-paneled walls, I made my way in heels between the carriages to Bar Car 3674, where a flatscreen was set up atop a baby grand piano, tuned to the match.

While most passengers passed by the bar to head to the dining car, I remained glued to the game, enjoying a “Choo Choo Train” martini (a mix of Del Professore gin and Belvedere vodka, infused with bergamot Rosolio and adorned with an edible flower) while surrounded by French gentlemen in tuxedos and one dedicated chef—the Michelin-starred Jean Imbert—who was preparing a four-course meal just two carriages away. Although the Wi-Fi connection was as unstable as our server's tray laden with caviar, I managed to witness France score both goals and secure a place in the finals. We then proceeded to the elegant dining car, where etched Lalique glass walls depicted bacchanalian maidens; waiters in white vests with gold buttons drizzled champagne sauce over turbot and refilled our flutes with Laurent Perrier champagne.

Aside from showcasing le foot in the bar car, Belmond’s Venice Simplon-Orient-Express is venturing into the Alps for the first time. Beginning next winter, it will offer four journeys to the region, stopping at three stations: Moutiers (for Courchevel), Albertville (for Megève and Mont Blanc), and Bourg-Saint-Maurice (for Tignes and Val d’Isère). The overnight trip lasts approximately 18 hours, allowing guests to enjoy the slopes or continue their travels. This one-way journey (from Paris to the Alps or vice versa) includes a private chauffeur to the station, three meals (dinner, breakfast in the cabin, and brunch in the dining car), beverages during meals (excluding at the bar), and luxurious parting gifts such as a leather toiletry case filled with skin balms from British brand Temple Spa. The price? A neat £3,785 (US$4,500) per person, based on double occupancy, for the historic cabin. (If you're traveling alone, double that price. At least you won’t have to scale a ladder to the top bunk!) The more spacious suites—eight new rooms set to debut in June—are priced at £7,300 (US$8,825) per person, also based on double occupancy, and feature double beds, en suite bathrooms, a 24-hour butler, and unlimited champagne.

After indulging in a late-night dinner and another “Choo Choo Train” martini—perhaps not the wisest choice given the train's motion and the shared toilets for my cabin category—I returned to my room, now transformed from a lounge into a cozy boudoir. The plush two-seater sofa had become a single bed adorned with feather pillows and a wool blanket. The turn-down service included slippers placed at the foot of the washbasin, a mini Viennese Imperial Torte to enjoy before bed, and my suitcase tucked away on the luggage rack above. I congratulated myself for having laid out my pajamas beforehand, avoiding any awkwardness in retrieving my bag. By the time I nestled into my twin bed and turned off the light, the train had arrived in Dijon, where it would remain until 6 a.m. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about motion sickness, I thought to myself.

However, there were still numerous little noises—especially when my neighbor returned hours later, clearly having not prepared for bed. The spirit of the Roaring Twenties seemed to linger, amplified by the thin walls.

The train began moving again while it was still dark outside, and surprisingly, I slept more soundly than I had all night. When the sun finally rose around 8:30 a.m., I lifted the shade and wiped the condensation from my window, revealing a picturesque view of lakes and quaint towns adorned with Gothic church spires. I then pressed the blue button above my head to signal that I was ready for the coffee and juice I had ordered upon boarding the previous day. (I decided to skip pastries, saving room for brunch later.) When my drinks arrived about 10 minutes later, I propped myself up in bed to enjoy my morning cup, hoping for a glimpse of snow.

It was still a bit too early for snow, so after overanalyzing my outfit for another elegant meal on the train followed by an afternoon of mountain adventures (I settled on wide-leg jeans paired with a Uniqlo turtleneck and a colorful faux fur vest), I headed to the dining car. As the last to join my table of four singles, I didn’t snag a window seat but at least faced forward, which I celebrated by ordering a Bloody Mary. The morning's multicourse meal kicked off with something that didn’t seem appealing after last night’s two martinis: coddled egg with (more!) caviar, cream, and potatoes. Nevertheless, I devoured it, even mopping up the sauce with one of the warm, plump sourdough rolls. While it was a bit early to fully enjoy the langoustine ravioli that followed, I savored every last bite of dessert: warm tarte tatin topped with vanilla ice cream that almost slid off the plate as we sped toward the Alps.

With only about an hour left before we disembarked, I used the postcards provided in my room to jot down notes for family and friends. I dropped them in the train's designated mailbox, where they would receive a special stamp and be sent off in style.

As the train came to a stop in Moutiers, roughly 400 miles from Paris, excitement buzzed through the carriages as the stewards moved briskly, double-checking luggage to ensure everything was properly labeled, so no passenger had to lift a finger.

Stepping onto the platform, we were once again serenaded by the jazz trio as snow flurries danced through the air, creating a truly magical arrival. Onlookers waiting for the traditional fast train curiously snapped photos, undoubtedly hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity or royalty.

Allez! I murmured to myself once more, recalling the previous night with a smile. What a victory.