On my overnight European train journey, I slept under dark skies through parts of Germany, Switzerland and Hungary, or at least tried to sleep, hearing the snoring of fellow travelers right next to me, the antics of schoolchildren ignoring their guardians, morning runs to the toilet and passenger exodus.
When I finally woke up, I was in Berlin, Zurich and Budapest: it was as if I’d checked into a hotel and discovered a secret teleportation device behind the shower curtain.
Sleeper trains are booming in Europe, as rail companies open new routes, expand services, and modernize cabins. Train enthusiasts are naturally excited by the rise of night trains, but so are environmentalists, slow-travel advocates, budget warriors, and climate change politicians.
“Sleeper train passengers are fed up with their experiences with airports and airlines,” says Mark Smith, founder of online train guide Man in Seat 61, “and they want to reduce their carbon footprint.”
Night trains are like hostels on wheels. Like fixed rooms, sleeping accommodations offer different levels of privacy and comfort and cater to a range of budgets. Whether you stay in a private cabin with a shower or share a bathroom with six strangers, the result is the same: you sleep on the move during your European trip and stay awake for your most important destinations.
“Night trains are the cutting edge of travel,” Smith says. “The problem is we don’t have the capacity right now. Night trains just aren’t being built fast enough.”
The last time I spent an overnight train ride was as a college student, leaving me with a sore neck and a sleep-deprived hangover the entire trip. Decades later, I was ready to do it again, so in early June I boarded the first of three sleeper trains. The ultimate test was whether I would jump out of my carriage ready to explore a new city, or whether I would rather just crawl into a hotel bed.
Get 8 hours of sleep
Night trains rewrite the rules of travel. For one, shorter isn’t always better. The length of your trip should at least cover the recommended 7-8 hours of sleep. You should also allow extra time to settle in your cabin and enjoy breakfast before disembarking. Other considerations: you don’t want to board too late and risk falling asleep at the station, or arrive too early in a new city and have to wait for restaurants, shops and attractions to open.
“If your night train leaves at 7 or 8 at night, you have a little time to open a glass of wine and read a book by the light of your berth,” says Smith. “You don’t want to arrive at 6 in the morning.”
On my trip, the latest boarding time was 10:30pm (Amsterdam) and the earliest arrival time was 6:30am (Berlin). My excuse: it was my first time out.
Another important decision is the type of accommodation. You might buy an entire cabin and have total privacy, or you might share it with a half-dozen strangers (there are women-only rooms, too). You’ll probably need a bed, but this isn’t too difficult; most rooms are made for side sleepers, but if you’re a bit tenacious, you can book a cabin with a seat so you can sleep upright.
Experience: The first leg to Berlin
As an experiment with rail travel, I booked a three-night trip starting from Amsterdam, spending a full day (early evening) in each destination: Berlin, Zurich, and Budapest. I left my bags at the station and dressed there if necessary. I was allowed to stop at the hotel, but only to charge my phone and cool down; no napping allowed.
I booked the first leg on European Sleeper, a locally owned start-up that debuts in May 2023. In March, it extended its Brussels to Berlin service to Prague, making the journey about 16 hours long.
I had booked the highest quality accommodation – a sleeper cabin with a real bed – and a few days before departure I received an apologetic email informing me that my cabin had been downgraded because it was broken, though the company did not disclose what was broken specifically.
An employee later told me that the cars were made between the 1950s and the 1990s, and that because new cars can cost between $5 million and $8 million each, railroads often refurbish and modify second-hand cars.
“The fact that this train is still running is a miracle,” he said.
In my new accommodation, I shared a berth with the same number of people as my original reservation, three women of the same gender, but I was now in a “couchette” — train slang for a room where the seat converts into a bed — and I’d lost many of the hotel comforts, like a duvet (now a simple blanket), a private sink (now a sink in the bathroom shared by everyone on board), a welcome bottle of wine or soda, and towels and toiletries (which I had to bring my own).
Entering the cabin, I put my hand on the top bunk and felt something soft and warm. It was my roommate, who had boarded in Brussels two hours earlier. My other roommate, from The Hague, had an early morning meeting in Berlin. She quickly converted her seat into a single bed and laid out her sleeping bag, light gray blanket, and pillow.
Before she crawled into her cocoon, she reached her arm across the narrow space separating our beds and handed me a wad of cotton containing wax earplugs.
“I’m snoring,” she said. “I brought this.”
Not tired, I went looking for a distraction and a challenge on a train whose main purpose was to sleep. I found a flight attendant in her cubicle and asked her about the cafe car. She pointed to a kettle and a basket of tea and coffee in the back. She gave me a sympathetic look and offered me a free coffee.
“Because you got demoted?” I asked.
“No, because you’re a nice person,” she replied.
I wandered around again and sat down in the only open space, a bike shed. A procession of Canadians carrying cans of beer passed by. A member of the entourage sat with me on the floor. Toby told me that his group of 18 was on their eighth annual surprise trip. Only two of the organizers knew the itinerary. He kept the secret until the very end, never once asking where I was going.
Eventually, a patrolling officer ordered us back to our cabins, and I crept inside my own cabin, put on earplugs, and climbed into a sleeping bag that was about as appealing as a laundry bag.
At 5:45am, a flight attendant appeared at our door with coffee and an update: we had arrived earlier than expected and had to idle to get to Berlin on time.
Experience: Rounds 2 and 3
For the second and third nights, I booked tickets with Nightjet, owned by the Austrian railway company ÖBB. For the trip from Berlin to Zurich, I booked a top-class sleeper car, which cost about $214 per person. (On this train, even the most comfortable option had to be shared by a maximum of three guests and didn’t have a private shower.) Still, after a frugal night in the Europa Sleeper, I greeted each amenity like an old friend I missed so badly.
As I rummaged through my bag of slippers, earplugs, eye mask, and tutti frutti candies, a flight attendant came into my compartment to take my breakfast order. He told me I could choose six items from the menu. I asked my Danish neighbor, who lives in Berlin and hates flying, for advice. She didn’t wear glasses, so I helped her read the small print: veal liver pate, gouda cheese slices, muesli yogurt, and salami.
“Trains have really come a long way,” she marveled. “Breakfast used to be a dry bread roll and bad coffee.”
While I was relaxing at the bathroom vanity, the flight attendant returned with a bottle of German sparkling wine. I asked him if anyone was in the other two beds. He said he would know in Leipzig, and added, “I hope no one comes, and then you can get a good night’s rest.”
To kill time, I wandered around my section of the train. The beds in my cabin were stacked like shelves. I climbed a ladder to the top bunk, which was protected by a safety net. I peeked down and wished I had a climbing harness. I played with the mood lighting, then headed to the front of the carriage, where I could connect to the train’s internet and watch Railnet TV.
At midnight, I declared the cabin my own, and I celebrated by brushing my teeth in my own private sink.
In the morning, I opened my eyes to see a Bernese Mountain Dog strolling outside my window. We were in Basel, about 90 minutes from Zurich. A staff member brought me a vegan breakfast (green tea, two slices of Mestemacher bread, and a jar of raspberry jam). I ate it in bed as the Swiss landscape flashed by.
After the morning rush was over, the shared showers became available. I went in and tried to close the door. It came off its hinges, so I dragged it inside. Just as I was lathering up, the water stopped. I went back to my room and washed myself in the sink. The door was locked.
I found a flight attendant and he opened the door for me, no questions asked.
I would have preferred to stay in the sleeper car, but unfortunately, the final leg was fully booked. For my journey from Zurich to Budapest, I chose the next best thing: a couchette car. Four of the six beds were set up. My cabin mate, with fluffy bangs and a sweet smile, helped me set up my bed (fitted sheet, top sheet, brown blanket, pillow) across from her. She didn’t speak English, but her body language conveyed that she was ready for sleep.
Like other trains, there was no common area, but the corridor was equipped with pull-out chairs. I grabbed one and waved to a mother with a baby who was sitting next to me.
At Bukz, the last stop in Switzerland, we had an hour’s layover. Adult passengers and school-children spilled onto the platform, smoking and dancing. I spoke to an employee, who explained that I was on the Hungarian side of the train and he was on the Austrian side. He said I could stay in his carriage, which was brighter and more modern. But the train was going to be detached, so if I didn’t get back to my cabin by 3am, I’d end up going to Vienna instead of Budapest.
In the morning, I woke up to their feet dangling dangling in front of my face. My other two roommates had arrived late in the night and silently climbed the ladder into my bed. They lived in Liechtenstein but were visiting Budapest, the hometown of one of the women.
From on high she shouted out the best things to do in Budapest, highly recommending the Széchenyi Thermal Baths in Heroes’ Square for a peaceful soak.
After three nights on a sleeper train, I was ready to forgo hotels and planes, and although I was a little sleep-deprived and shower-deprived, the sacrifices were worth it (if you enjoy a solid eight hours of sleep and a luxurious bath, you probably wouldn’t agree).
First of all, I saved a ton of money. The most I paid for a trip from Berlin to Zurich was $218, and that was just for the airfare, hotel, and transportation to the city center. I had a few extra expenses like luggage storage and toilets in the train station, but they were nothing.
Speaking from experience, I appreciated how easy it was to catch a train – there were no security checks, no baggage restrictions, no liquid restrictions, and I explored three cities until 30 minutes before departure, which would not have been possible if I had traveled by plane.
Along the way, I learned some valuable wisdom: Next time, take a sleeper car, and if possible, travel with a friend or family member who can provide a doctor’s note that they don’t snore. Follow Smith’s advice and take an earlier evening train, preferably closer to dinner time, so you can enjoy the on-board experience more. And remember to grab your room key before heading down the hall to shower.
