An Indian, an American, and a French couple walk into a Michelin-starred restaurant in the Spanish village of Arriondas.
No, this is not the setup for a joke (though, by the end of lunch, we were laughing enough for it to qualify), but it was the perfect place for a motley group of travellers to attempt a real conversation, language barriers be damned. Somewhere between the third course and the third glass of Albariño, Nicolas from Normandy leaned across the table, consulted Google Translate, and asked me: “Are we living differently?”
I don’t think he meant to be so profound, but the question lingered long after the dessert wine was over. Lulled by the rhythmic rattle of the train, I was convinced that we must, at once, try living differently. Slowing down. Tuning in. Tasting each note instead of gulping it down. At least, that’s the kind of thinking that creeps in when you find yourself on a train-hotel hybrid gliding across northern Spain—there’s no pressure to post photos from tourist hotspots, no urgency to respond to notifications on Instagram, and heck, no fixed address to return to every night.
I had committed to a week on the Costa Verde Express on a whim: six days sleeping, relaxing and waking on a luxury train-hotel that rumbles along the Cantabrian coastline, through Galicia, Asturias, and Cantabria, plus the Basque Country—an unbeatable prospect to any millennial workhorse. The beauty of this ride through the changing landscape is a reminder that sometimes the best kind of travel isn’t about getting somewhere—it’s about stretching the time in between.
The Costa Verde Express rumbles along the Cantabrian coastline, covering Galicia, Asturia and the Cantabria region
Here, the invitation to slow down starts right at check-in—held in the 15th-century Parador (one of Spain’s oldest hotels) in the pilgrim town of Santiago de Compostela, where the trip begins, and ends in Bilbao (or vice versa). No computers, no gadgets, no express suite check-in; just a clipboard and a sheet of names, the old-school way. An hour later, we are ready to drive to the station in the sleepy shipping town of Ferrol, where our hotel-on-wheels awaits our arrival.
A white-glove welcome and a pop of bubbly later, we are ready to roll out. From the beginning, there is a transportive, old-world glamour to it all—the kind that feels plucked from a sepia-toned film. Several of the carriages date back to 1923—original Pullman cars restored with modern upgrades—and are steeped in the elegance of early 20th-century luxury rail travel. As we roll along Spain’s northern coast, passing sleeping towns and remote valleys, my main-character energy and I flit through the train compartments to suit different scenarios: First, at the dimly lit dining car decorated in the Belle Époque style, where dinners are served on crisp linen and where the meal unfolds in courses. Next, at the bar carriage, where you can wholly surrender to the views outside, a stiff Negroni in hand. And later, at the library and piano room—an informal parlour of sorts—where guests can mingle after hours.
As for my resting space at the end of the day, it’s a private quarter where I spend the least amount of time. On the train, the 23 ensuite double cabins are compact but thoughtfully equipped with a minibar, safe, wardrobe, wall-hugging bed, and clever luggage space underneath it. Space is tight, yes, but the expansive landscapes outside your window more than make up for it.
