Splendors of the Orient-Express.

• Author: Rothenberg, Sheila

Traveling across Europe on the famed train is like a trip in a time machine, treating passengers to the elegance and luxury of a bygone era.

Elegant women wearing evening gowns - a few in daringly short chemises layered with fringe - lace shawls draped over their shoulders, jewels flashing, sat back in the velvet-covered easy chairs, sipping cocktails. Their escorts, with dazzling white, pleated dress shirts contrasting crisply with their tuxedos - some in beribboned military uniforms, backs as starched as their collars - hovered over them. Similarly clad couples leaned on a black-lacquered baby grand, listening to popular tunes lightly flowing from the fingertips of a pianist with a seemingly bottomless repertoire. Subdued lighting from the antique wall sconces lent a cozy atmosphere typical of a 1920s salon.

Just when we expected the door to open and Noel Coward and Gertrude Lawrence to stroll in, the room swayed. We glanced out the window into the starlit night and saw the landscape flash by as we went around a curve, reminding us that we weren't in the midst of Europes Cafe Society. Instead, we were streaking across the continent on the famed Venice Simplon-Orient-Express.

That morning, we had stepped ashore from a water taxi at Venice's Santa Lucia railway station. A porter loaded our luggage onto a trolley and led us into the terminal, turning us over to the Venice Simplon representatives. Smartly clad in the Orient-Express' traditional blue-and-gold uniforms, they greeted the arriving passengers, undaunted by what seemed like a mini United Nations of travelers. In a virtuoso display of multilingual brilliance, they deftly fielded questions and supplied information in French, Italian, Spanish, English, German, and even Japanese. Briskly and efficiently, they checked tickets and other documentation, then gently separated us from most of our baggage - in our case, bulging with enough clothes to get us through two weeks in three of Europe's major metropolises. All we would need aboard were an overnight case with toiletries and other necessities and a garment bag with formal wear for that evening. The rest would disappear into the train's baggage car, not to be needed or seen again until we debarked.

Railway stations are built for utility, not beauty, and Santa Lucia is no exception. In contrast to the typical harsh cement of the other platforms, however, the Orient-Express' was carpeted, immediately establishing that this was no ordinary train. As we gazed down its length, that became readily apparent. Each of the railway cars - whether sleeper, restaurant, bar, baggage, or kitchen - was more than half a century old. Like everything else about the train, there is a story behind this.

After 94 years of serving the crowned heads and other elite of Europe, the original Orient-Express reached the end of the line and was terminated in 1977. Saved from oblivion by American entrepreneur James Sherwood, president of the Sea Containers Group, it was restored carefully and lovingly. Cars were located in Spain, where they recently had been retired from active service, and other carriages were acquired from private collectors, railway museums, and catering companies that were using them as stationary restaurants. The refurbished Venice Simplon-Orient-Express took to the rails on May 25, 1982, to the delight of all who remembered its glory days, as well as those who only knew the legends.

We made our way along the platform to our assigned carriage, where we were helped aboard by our cabin attendant, Jean-Marc. He led us down the wood-paneled corridor to our private compartment and ceremoniously unlocked the door. A marvel of compactness, the room had a broad, brocaded, couch-like seat running its full depth with dainty, snow-white antimacassars to lean back against. Richly grained paneled walls bore shelves holding glasses and Evian water, with raised rails to prevent them from tumbling out. A rack held the Orient-Express Magazine and other literature tracing the history of the train and describing available services, a map to help passengers track the 1,065-mile journey from Venice to London, and postcards and stationery. Tucked into a corner, double doors swung open to reveal a mirrored washroom with sink, fluffy white towels, toothbrushes, the lines exclusive VSOE soap, and a dual voltage plug for electric razors. Alas, compactness can go just so far - the toilet is located at the end of the car. Browsing through the fascinating lore of the train's illustrious past, we found that, as usual, Hollywood had taken liberties with fact. Agatha Christie's book actually had been titled Murder in the Calais Coach, and the Pullman car in which most of the movies action took place never existed on the Orient-Express. Before we could become disillusioned any further - perhaps to discover that spies and arms merchants really did not skulk around every corner - Jean-Marc knocked on the door to announce lunch.

For travelers used to eating off a tray as they speed toward their...