My time in Tbilisi has come quickly to an end – what a great city! On Saturday night I find myself in a taxi screeching round bends and street racing towards the train station, music blaring from the upgraded car sound system. I have become something of an expert in all the many taxi scams out there, and enjoy watching the driver go through the motions of using a few of his weaker tricks on me, especially as we have already agreed a fare of 10 Lari. First of all he tries the invalid routine, shows me a scar and says he’s not well. I sympathise and ignore this line of conversation. Then he decides to up the ante and says that the fare is actually priced in US dollars. I smile and pat him on the shoulder – treating this move as though it is a bit of Georgian humour. This completely defuses the possibility of a renegotiation. Keep smiling. Then he decides to try the ‘double fare because you are only one passenger’ routine. I just wag my finger and show hime my 10 Lari note. Finally he starts driving like an absolute tool, perhaps to scare me into paying more, but I just close my eyes and breathe deeply. Eventually we pull into the station still alive and in a taxi with no new scrapes or major missing parts. Exasperated at my resolve he gives in and helps me with my luggage. I give him 15 Lari, that’s about a £1 tip. He settles for that looking a little like he has been ‘done’, and wishes me well. Georgian taxi drivers are real chancers, as well as generally quite dangerous drivers.

Tbilisi station is set inside a shopping centre. Up on the second floor the display board rolls in Georgian and then English, confirming all is in order. I head to platform 1, and the train is there but locked up as I’m too early. Eventually the Azeri ladies who run tonight’s train open the doors and let a few of us on board. I’m in carriage number 6, berth 7, it’s a modern SV, or two berth first class carriage. It looks a bit ‘Cold War’ on the outside, but it is clean, comfortable and quite new inside.

I’m sharing tonight with a charming Frenchman called Gerrard, who lives in Reunion and has been travelling around Iran in a way that British and US passport holders can only dream of. The train is made up of a couple of SV coaches, 4 ‘kupe’ (four berth) carriages, and for the adventurous, a single ‘Plaskart’ wagon containing 52 open plan berths. Once again there is no restaurant carriage, a consistent disappointment so far on nearly all of this trip (I guess there was one on the Paris – Munich TGV, but I was served at my seat). Up front we will be pulled to the border by a Georgian locomotive. The carriage attendants are keen to chat, and one speaks quite good English. The banter is friendly and strangely flirtatious.

We set off with a series of bumps and bunny hops down the line at about 20.40. On board everything seems to work, but I don’t try the television in the room as its unlikely to be showing anything in English. The toilets are pressurised and there is an enormous red button on the wall with a sign saying ‘Unload!”.

At about 22.00 we reach the Georgian frontier, and the train stops here for an hour. I have no idea why, but the upside of this inactivity is that we are allowed to get off and hang out with the dogs. There is even chilled beer on sale at a couple of enterprising pop up shops by the side of the Police station. I enjoy a couple of Aisi (Icy) beers before we head into Azerbaijan. Typical of everything I have experienced on this trip a couple of Georgian men who speak English help translate my beverage requirements and generally look after me.

I’m greeted back in the compartment with a fairly simple customs form to complete. No gold, currency over $10000 or firearms to declare. The fun starts around midnight. My Azerbaijan e-visa is checked and taken away along with my passport. The drill is that we each have to attend an interview and have our photographs taken in a compartment down the train. When my turn comes it’s all going well to begin with and I’m invited to take a seat opposite the officer who will be deciding if I’m to be admitted. He has a massive plastic box on the table with his computer inside and a camera mounted on the top. It’s the sort of box that is indestructible and people use to transport very classified things. As he takes my photo and he speaks to me in a very polite way, with soft and precise English. At this point one of the carriage attendants appears round the door and chats to him whilst he types something inside his plastic box. They are talking about me, but I can’t work out quite why. I guess she tells him I’m that I’m a wealthy retired businessman, and more importantly in her mind, an English gentleman. He hands back my visa, and given what has been said, I can’t stop myself saying something silly like “are we done?”.

He looks at me very seriously after I have said this, and responds with just one word, “No”. Then the ‘Great Escape’ and ‘Columbo’ moment combined. Just one more question, ‘Have you been to Armenia?’. Of course I have, the stamps are there in my passport, but I look contrite and confirm to him that I have in fact been in Yerevan for a few days, but nowhere else. I dare not even say the words, but what he probably wants to know is that I have not visited Nagorno-Karabakh. My confession of having visited Armenia signals a change in approach and he gets out a notebook and starts taking my details down. I’m not sure if this is just theatre to intimidate me, or possibly something else more worrying. His boss arrives (five stars on his epaulettes, but I don’t think he’s a general) and is also incredibly polite. After a quick chat and a bit of staring at me, I’m eventually accepted as a tourist. A green stamp is added at the opposite end of my passport from my Armenian one. I’m in and allowed to return to my compartment where Gerrard is interested to find out why it has taken so long. Its his turn now, but I don’t think Iran poses as much of an issue on this particular border.

The final step is the customs man. He’s been tipped off I’m the only person in the carriage who has been to Armenia. My bags are all out and being inspected in the small space of the cabin. I don’t know what he’s looking for. When a Captain walks by I say ‘hello’ to her. She smiles and simply asks in good English if I have anything with me from Armenia. When I say ‘no’ its all over and the customs man leaves me alone to repack.

It should have been a comfy night on this train, but as is the way in the post Soviet empire, the air conditioning is deemed a bit decadent and switched off. I have learned that its pointless arguing about this. Better just to open the compartment door and a window in the corridor and let the air forced in by the speed of the train ventilate the otherwise sealed compartment.

By 07.00 I’m up and about. Gerrard snores gently, and I try not to wake him as I fold up and return my bedding. The carriage attendant fusses around me and makes me a cup of tea which is served with some boiled sweets. Outside the skies are dark and lightning streaks down on the oilfields and marshlands. We pass occasional settlements of mud huts with modern houses being built around them, a sign of the oil boom no doubt. Herds of goats tended to by their herdsman wander past nodding donkeys of an altogether different breed.

Things are going well until will stop at a place on the outskirts of Baku where the train stops and is declared officially broken. It takes about an hour to abandon the striken locomotive and get attached to a new one, and many people give up and leave the train here to find a bus.

We eventually arrive into Baku in the middle of the thunderstorm at around 10.30 am. A policeman helps me sort out a taxi and the need to find an ATM. I’m tired but content – another successful night on the rails. Then it occurs to me – this is my final objective – I have travelled from London to Baku, probably about 5500 km, in 19 days. It might not sound very far, but it has been a little complex in places, particularly in Turkey.

My journey ends here, but it is possible to take a ship across the Caspian Sea to Turkmenistan and onward east on the Silk Route. But the ferry no longer has any official timetable and takes more than two days to make the crossing. I note the possibility of using this route to circumnavigate the world by train and ship at a future date, but it would of course be much faster and easier to take the Trans-Siberian to Vladivostok. I wonder why Phileas Fogg didn’t opt for this route? Even Michael Palin chose to head through the Gulf to India and Singapore..

I hope you have enjoyed reading about this journey. I will wrap up my learnings in a later post when I am back behind my desk in deepest West Sussex.

It’s a short stroll into the station, where I find a large and very peaceful Soviet designed hall that reminds me of a Moscow metro station. I can see a few people waiting, but there is no hustle and bustle here – presumably because there are only two or three trains a day, and it’s not exactly a commuter route taking a meandering nine hour journey over the border to Tbilisi. I speak with a young lady at the ticket counter, and as I had hoped, my train is due to arrive about 30 minutes before departure right outside the hall on platform 1, so I’m in the right place.

As I wander out onto the platform I see the carriages are being shunted onto our platform early. The 202 is the returning ‘Armenian’ 201 service from Batumi, and I recognise some of the crew straightaway. They don’t seem that pleased to see me, but I think that’s just a Soviet railway thing.

This is a summer only train, mainly scheduled to take Armenians to the Black Sea for their holidays. It’s a 16 hour ride to Batumi, but the route the train takes in the summer is still faster than the route in the off season. Lets be honest, this isn’t an ‘express’! The train heading this way is about half full, whereas the one I took coming from Batumi a few days ago was 100% full, as passengers are returning from their well earned summer break.

For this journey I have been able to secure a ticket in SV, first class, and I’m introduced to the lady who runs the single carriage of this type – No. 2 – on the train. Once she has verified I’m not a second class passenger sneaking in to the luxury of SV, I’m shown to a clean and comfy two berth compartment. Here I am dazzled by the extra set of gold net curtains, a pair of VIP slippers and an industrial quantity of fruit pastilles. It turns out I’m not going to have to share today, so I have space to relax and unwind. I like meeting people in shared compartments, but it’s also nice to have a break and a bit of solitude too. That is why I like crossing Siberia with my own compartment so much.

Once I have my gear stowed I hang around on the platform with the crew, and meet a few slightly mad fellow passengers. Nearly everyone is headed to Tbilisi. The timing of this train is such that I don’t really see it as a sleeper, even though I have a bed. Departing Yerevan at 15.30, our arrival in Tbilisi is scheduled for 00.12, so I have a hotel booked at the other end. What I do like about mid afternoon departures like this is that the scenery can be stunning and its good to see everything in daylight before the night draws in. That’s probably the reason it is not so busy – unless you are heading on to Batumi you could just buy a seat in coach. But this is £35 I’m happy to spend for the extra comfort today.

The driver eventually blows the engine whistle, and I’m ushered back on to the train – we set off right on time at 15.30. Other than a minor scuffle over the number of fruit pastilles permissible for a single first class passenger to consume, everything goes smoothly (FYI – it’s just one box). The toilet is kept very clean, the samovar works, and most amazingly the carriage has free wi-fi that seems very fast to me. This is a rail first, as I have actually assembled most of this post whilst on the train. I carry a very thin and light MacBook with me, and my photos can be transferred wirelessly onto it from my Fuji X-T20. I used to do this on my iPad, but now I use WordPress I like to have the full functionality of the OS X version and a decent keyboard.

Watching the desertified plains and rolling hills out the window (train travel cliche!), I eat my rations of a single meagre ham and cheese roll. The Armenians take their bread very seriously and its actually pretty tasty. I decide to take a tactical nap at around 19.00, as I want to be fresh and ready for the border games that will start later on, and there will be no chance to rest then.

Shortly after 21.00 an Armenian soldier dressed in full combats looks in to my compartment, switches on the main light and glances around. Maybe I’m too well camouflaged to be seen in my yellow t-shirt and gold scarf in a compartment completely furnished in shades of yellow and gold. Focussing in my direction he doesn’t seem to concerned to eventually spot me. He takes my passport and after a cursory check, hands it to his boss, who says a lot that of course I can’t understand. Maybe they have noted my special Armenian train camouflage technique?  There is no time for further debate though, as a smartly turned out immigration officer arrives in his dress uniform, complete with the computerised M&B 1980’s “Battleships’ game that is actually his mobile passport scanner. When he stamps my passport I thank him and he says that I’m very welcome. I only hope that these Armenian stamps don’t give me any trouble when I head for Azerbaijan in a few days time. You may well be aware that the direct border between these two countries is closed, which is why I’m headed back to Georgia as an intermediary.

A bit later on I’m visited by a serious man in blue overalls wearing rubber gloves. He’s the customs man, and he asks me a whole checklist of questions which culminate in his interest in cash, gold and firearms. I like to think I have an honest face, and after a while he marks my name off his list and goes back to searching other parts of the train.

We arrive in Tbilisi about 15 minutes late. Its not one of my favourite stations in the world, as the very high bridge between platforms has only stairs, and it’s a long, long, climb up with a 30 kilo bag. Outside I go through the usual taxi routine, and end up with a deal that’s inflated, but not so much as to lose sleep over. The driver looks both disappointed and offended at the same time that he’s only managed to get 20 Lari out of me. And so ends a long trip, my head hits the pillow at about 02.00am.

I’m here in Tbilisi for a few days before embarking on the final leg of this trip to Baku at the weekend.

I’m very early, and at first the guard of carriage number 6 says I can’t come on board for another 25 minutes. This is a Soviet style carriage, so the metal steps are pulled up like a drawbridge, and I’m not getting on until he lowers them. I hang around the carriage taking moody selfies for a future project.

But then just when I’m getting too hot in the afternoon sun, in a turn of good fortune I meet the jovial and larger than life station master, who seems to take a like to me. He’s a big chap with a big personality, and he has more gold braid on his shoulders than a Bolivian tank commander – just a few words from him seems to wither the man on the train, and with a shrug of defeat, I’m in.

Carriage number 6 has four berth kupe style compartments, but with some very Armenian adornments like gold curtains and complimentary fruit pastels. The windows are sealed and the air conditioning isn’t on, so I sit on the steps of the carriage and watch a steady stream of Armenian holiday makers returning home with much baggage.

The train is completely full and I share the compartment with Paul, the first Briton I have met in over a week, a bearded youngish Armenian chap, also headed to Yerevan, and a smartly dressed older man, who is getting off in the middle of nowhere. I have forgotten what kupe class is like, but quickly find myself getting used to the limited space of communal living. I have a lower berth, which gives me bagsy rights on the small table by the window. I’m much happier on the lower beds as night time trips to the toilet can go dramatically wrong when descending from high up.

The journey to Yerevan is around 16 hours, and we pass through Tbilisi at around 10pm before heading south to the Armenian frontier at Ayrum (00.46 am). We have around 30 minutes sat in Tbilisi station, so most of us hang around on the windy platform until summoned back on the train. A couple of American tourists roll up to our carriage attendant and want to swap from where they are located in another coach – I have no idea what has gone wrong, but hang back as I don’t fancy changing berths at this stage.

Much to my disappointment there is once again no restaurant carriage, but I have stocked up on some local cheese stuffed pastries for my supper. Once the sun has set we read and then try and get some sleep; something I don’t manage very well. The Georgian police board the train at around 11.00pm, collect passports and travel with us until the border. I had heard that Armenian security checks could involve a one to one interview, but nothing could have been more different from this tonight. Well after we have actually crossed the border, a smartly turned out soldier enters our compartment (at around midnight) and asks if he can sit on my bed. I’m hardly likely to refuse, and before I know it I’m sat next to him like we were going to play a game of cards. He sets up his passport scanning machine, something that reminds me a bit of a 1980’s electronic version of ‘Battleships’. No further questions are asked, and with my freshly stamped passport back in my hands he leaves us. Our bags were not searched and we were then left alone for the night.

The next few hours were not much fun for me, but this wasn’t really the fault of the train. At one point I needed to use the bathroom with some urgency. I met two large ladies at the end of the corridor who insisted that this wasn’t possible (I think was in their smoking and gossiping space) – ‘its finished” they said, waving their arms – but I haven’t got where I am today by being put off by such people. I returned with the carriage attendant, and as if by magic the toilet door is opened and is working just fine. Second class ‘Kupe’ carriages often smell quite ‘lived in’, and this one was no exception. It might be psychosomatic, but all I could smell was stale urine. Paul smelt nothing other than the burning of our worn out brakes. Added to this the aircon went on and off throughout the night, changing the climate from nice, to sweaty and back again to nice constantly. Just to add to my misery I had tooth ache and the drugs I had didn’t seem to control the pain. I lay there feeling a bit sorry for myself until the sun rose and Mount Ararat (in Eastern Turkey) emerged seemingly close by.. but I couldn’t spot Noah and his Ark.

This hasn’t been a particularly relaxing journey, but the company was good, and you learn to take the rough with the smooth. The carriages were 100% sold out, so do try and get a reservation made well in advance if you are considering taking this train. The beds were comfy, and as long as you bring your own supplies, everything will be fine.

I’m now spending a couple of days in Yerevan – first impressions are very good. I’m actually headed back to Tbilisi on the same train in reverse later in the week, but in single SV (first class), so it will be interesting to compare the experience.

The ‘Dogu Express’ pulls in slowly from the west, pulled by an old and slightly brutal looking TCDD diesel locomotive. Aerodynamics are clearly unimportant at the speed we will be travelling at over the next 24 hours. The train is made up of seated wagons, couchettes, a restaurant car and sleeper carriages towards the rear.

The modern style of carriage is called a V2000, and they are simply great. I’m in carriage number 8, and there to greet me is Michael, my carriage attendant. I’m on board after a cursory ticket inspection, and I unpack in the sleeper compartment.

It’s a little older than the one I had coming from Sofia, but every bit as comfortable. I have packed my luggage so that I don’t need to open my big bag; I have everything I need in my daypack and camera bag. My first priority is to unpack my shopping and stock the fridge. Getting provisions was easy, however getting beer was very hard. But I haven’t got to where I am today without learning a few tricks, and I have some ready chilled beer and a bag of ice from my hotel.

I should mention that it can be quite hard to get a ticket for a sleeper on this train. Tickets go on sale 30 days before departure and are usually sold out within a day. You can buy them online, but not wishing to miss the moment, I paid a really helpful Turkish travel agent to get this for me. They are called Amber Travel, and recommended over at Seat 61. I must say I found them excellent to deal with, and e-tickets were sent to me well in advance.

The carriage fills up mostly with Turkish families that I’m guessing are headed to their homes in the country. I’m the only European in this carriage. I discover quite a few of the people on board are actually just seeing other people off, and they are eventually shepherded off by Michael. A man tries to join me in my compartment, but I’m having none of it as I have paid the rather good value 20TL supplement to have the place to myself. Much to my embarrassment it turns out that he is my next door neighbour and he is trying simply to give me one of my bags that I have forgotten that I have left in the corridor. I spend the next few minutes apologising profusely.

We set off on time at 17.55 with a jolt. This is uncharted territory for me, and I remind myself that ahead of me Turkey has borders with Syria to the south and Iran to the south east. Places that normally feel very remote, but are now becoming just a bus ride away.

Not quite settled, I decide to complete a close target recce of the restaurant carriage. It’s the only disappointing thing that I can find about the train. It sells just snacks, no hot food and no beer. I’m pleased that I have come prepared. The carriage itself is really nice, but the service has been stripped back to a basic catering franchise. One of the things I love about sleeper trains is being able to linger in the restaurant and chat to people, but with no reason to hang about, this one is devoid of customers and atmosphere.

My feast is Turkish bread, cheese and ham washed down by icy Efes beer, and it’s a nice way spend a few hours watching the sun set over the hilltops. With the night comes a fresh surprise. There is a new moon tonight and it is pretty black outside. So dark in fact that I can see the Milky Way from the train. This is my first ever experience of train-based astronomy, and as we swing around, the stars re-orientate above me – quite amazing.

I turn in at midnight, my bed has already been made up by Michael, all I have to do it lower it, which takes five seconds. Sleep doesn’t come as easy as I had hoped. I eventually drop off and then wake with a start at around 05.00 am – we are in a tightening curve and the carriage is shaking, the brakes are squealing and everything not in a bag is now on the floor.

Unable to get back to sleep I tidy up and prepare for the day ahead. Michael puts the kettle on and I rustle up a cup of reasonable coffee and some breakfast. Outside the landscape is rocky and slightly Mars like, were it not for the head waters of the Euphrates now cutting deep into the valley bottom alongside the train tracks.

The toilets in this carriage have remained clean and are worthy of mention so I can pass on some important safety tips. The carriage has a WC at each end, an Asian squatter at one end and a western toilet at the other. The squatter has a pressurised flush, however if you press it also pressurises and fires the ‘bum gun’. Be very careful, as you might need to change for dinner. The western toilet also has a pressurised system and a separate bidet button. This is why, it would seem, it has been flooded. I would avoid pressing that button too at all cost.

We stop half a dozen times and the families get off with large amounts of luggage. One couple have managed to stow a complete plastic patio furniture set in an empty compartment. The great thing about this journey is that there is most of the day to sit back and take in the world outside the window.

My destination today is Erzurum, and we arrive, almost on time, at 14.30. This has been an amazing journey, and the highlight of my trip so far. I’m brought back down to earth though with a ride in a taxi that should not be on the road. Apart from the smashed windscreen, the horn does not work. To a Turkish taxi driver that is like a pencil without lead, and my driver beats his steering wheel as if it might make it start working again. A night in a simple place tonight before what might turn out to be a complex set of border arrangements tomorrow, as I plan to get a bus to Hopa and then walk across the Georgian frontier at Sarp. If I’m successful Batumi beckons, but looks like it might be greeting me with thunder, hail and torrential rain.

Descending into the tunnel that forms the working part of the station, I discover that it isn’t possible to get onto the platform until 30 minutes before departure, or even to go through to a waiting room. Instead I have to hang out in the rather grim bowels of the station with the stray dogs until security opens. Speaking English has become pretty pointless here as no-one seems to understand. Eventually one of the security guys uses the translate facility on his phone which works well – I’m going to have to try that..

Once the gate opens I queue Turkish style, that is trying to bat off the mainly older men who don’t think queuing is for them. They are incredible chancers, and just breeze past everyone. A woman at the ticket check looks at my passport and then my bag and declares a surcharge needs to be paid, as it is bigger than an airline carry on – fortunately I have a big bundle of small denomination notes. I wondered if it meant it needed to be put in a special wagon for bags, as it gets tagged, but that just means the surcharge has been paid, it just goes in the racks like on most other trains.

Up on the platform the modern train is there, and I find carriage 1, seat 2C situated at the rear of the train. It’s comfy and roomy. Nothing to grumble about here.

In business class there are three seats across, C being the single one. Siting on the right hand side facing forward gives better views through most of the journey.

Business class didn’t cost much more than standard class, and it was well worth it for the four hour journey. The train was full, but no one was standing – unlike in the UK, you can’t get on without a seat reservation. Tickets go on sale 10 days before departure and sell fast.

We set off on time at 11.15, and cruise at around 150 – 180 kph much of the way, making few short stops. A simple lunch in a box is served, and I get offered several cups of instant coffee, all included in the ticket price.

The view outside the window changes dramatically during the journey. At the start the line hugs the Bosphorus, where tankers sail through from the Black Sea – I even spot a submarine on the surface transiting from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean, something not in the I-Spy book of rail adventures – if it were it would surely be worth over 1000 points.. Then the landscape becomes flatter, drier until it begins to feel quite like a desert until we reach the outskirts of Ankara.

We arrive in Ankara gar (station) right on time at 15.11, and I’m blessed with a working escalator to reach the street. If you had a bag like mine, you would understand the horror of climbing long sets of stairs. I must learn to carry less kit. This has been a smooth journey, the hardest part actually reaching Pendick in Istanbul – eventually the line will come all the way into the city, possibly back to the old and venerable Haydarpasa station. That’s going to be amazing. I’m here in Ankara now until I catch the fabled Dogu Express tomorrow afternoon. In fact I realise that all of the remaining trains on my journey from now on will be long distance night trains (sleepers).

Sofia station seems to be a good place to me. It’s a large, slightly brutal, Soviet inspired building, but it is clean and seems safe. Getting a ticket for the Istanbul train proves very simple once I have located the hidden counter 22. If in doubt start at counter 23, and it will all work itself out. The platforms are mainly under the station and each is described as East/West (in crylic) by a letter after the platform number, which is really just indicating the position on the same long platform.

Tonight the platform for the Istanbul train was announced about 40 minutes before departure, and there on platform 4 was the train, made up of a mixture of Turkish and Bulgarian carriages. At the front were four similar looking modern Turkish coaches, most looked like sleepers (2 berth), but maybe a couple of them were actually couchettes (4 berth). Outside they all look the same.

The Bulgarian loco hauling the train tonight for the first stint was ancient, and could be part of a vintage train restoration rally. The driver spoke a little English and seemed like the sort of person who was used to fixing things designed for Stalin.

The two white polo shirted Turkish carriage attendants were very professional, but at the same time enjoyed a joke or two, which is just as well as the passengers were a wonderful mix of nationalities – Japanese, Portuguese, Russian, German and Turkish amongst others. Many were students on their first Istanbul adventure. I recognised several of them from Serbia, and it was nice to share the next leg of the trip with the ‘Balkan gang’ on such a wonderful train.

On board the sleeper, the first class compartment is a two berth set up, with one above the other. The lower berth pulls down too, so it is a proper bed, both wide and comfortable, and bags of pressed bedding are supplied complete with smart Turkish rugs. But the big news of the night was the ‘kitchenette’. I’m calling it a kitchenette, as each two berth 1st class compartment has its own fridge, and a big table top complete with a further table that sides out, presumably for late night kitchen supper parties.

This really is taking comfort to a new level, especially if you have brought your own picnic. Added to this, the compartment has a good air conditioning system , with a heating set up that can be adjusted but also isolated, giving you just cool air. The window also opens. Sleeping carriage nirvana!

There was a bit of a party atmosphere on board, and I felt very safe and comfortable to be amongst the passengers on this train. At one point a very nice Turkish woman knocked on my door and asked me if I was Russian. I asked why she might think that. She had checked the manifest and there were several Russians on board, and she expected them to have a surplus supply of vodka! If we were not getting up at 02.00 I would have joined her in her quest.

The only snag with this train is one of timing. The train departs at 21.15 from Sofia, and really you need to be disciplined and go to bed immediately, as between 02.00 and 04.00 you are up dealing with officials on the Bulgarian border and then the Turkish border at Kapikule. You then get to go back to bed until around 08.00 where the train currently terminates at Halkali station on the outskirts of Istanbul. Here there is a bus transfer into the city which drops you outside the original Sirkeci station terminal building.

You might wake up in the morning and vaguely remember a dream about getting off the train at the Turkish border. The process takes about 30 minutes for passports to be inspected and stamped. Your luggage stays on the train, so its just an amble over to the immigration office, a stamp in your passport and back to bed. There seemed to be no interest in my paper e-visa – I can only assume that their system just shows that I have one when they scan my passport.

Halkali station is currently a massive engineering project, and as the footbridges have not been finished, getting from the train to the bus involves a 10 minute walk through the building site, and no hard hats are provided. The bus transfer is included in the ticket.

This route is only going to get better now as the line engineering works get completed. It is already much better bet than two years ago, when I last made the journey (from Bucharest) – back then there was a five hour bus journey from the Turkish border at Kapikule. I have to mention that as a young man I remember InterRailing here a couple of times from Greece (now no longer possible) – back then the train rounded the Golden Horn and terminated in the wonderful Sirkeci station, now a railway museum. This was the ultimate way to arrive Istanbul for the first time, and I wrote a little about this experience in my first book ‘Trans-Siberian Adventures’.

My taxi driver is keen to impress and drives us right onto the main station platform to drop me off. There are a few backpackers and locals hanging around, but not always trusting second hand news, I breeze into the station master’s office and enquire about today’s train. I seem to have moved into the mode of speaking loudly in English, as though I will be better understood. It seems to work here. The member of staff with the best English answers my questions and it turns out that the train is already here and ready to go in half an hour. Being a signed up member of the Tufty Club, I’m nervous at walking across tracks, but that’s required here to reach The Balkan, where it lurks on on platform 3 like a rebellious bad boy of a train.

There are no signs, clocks or screens at Topcider. It’s the sort of station that you ask where to go and which train to get on. My options today are simple as there is just one train and two carriages. The one I have a reservation in is a commuter coach and does not look like a comfortable place to be for this 12 hour journey.

Instead I find a seat in the second coach. It doesn’t look like its going to be busy today, and other than a few tourists, no one seems to care about which seat they are supposed to be sitting in.

You may have noticed the distinctive livery of The Balkan, but it’s not an official one. It seems that nearly all trains in Serbia are covered in graffiti. I have seen some so bad that I wonder how the driver can see out the front!

Right on time at 09.06 the driver hoots his horn and we set off down the line with all the doors still open. The rules on this train are in character with its external image. People smoke at the open doorways and the guards seem to view both the open doors and the cigarettes as totally normal. To compensate for this the air-conditioning is switched off and we adjust the climbing temperature by opening up the steamy and grimy windows as best as possible.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about today’s journey across Serbia is the police presence. I couldn’t work it out at first. At nearly every stop a gang of them would get on and question people before leaving. The more this happens the later the train gets and we are soon a couple of hours behind. At one place a plain clothes woman asks to see my passport and actually gets on the phone to someone to discuss my presence onboard. One of her colleagues joins in and asks me where I’m going. “Azerbaijan” I tell him, but I think he misunderstands me and thinks I have said Afghanistan. More police arrive and notes are made about my passport whilst I explain that I’m actually headed to Baku rather than Kabul. Eventually they move on; I’m not what they are looking for. They head down the carriage to interview one of the German hippies.

Later in the day a fresh squad bring a sniffer dog onto the train. All of them are armed with at least an automatic pistol and a baton. They mean business. It would seem you can choose your own gun in the Serbian police force. Most of them go for a Beretta 92F, some fitted with custom wood grips. Someone told me that no one liked the Beretta until Mel Gibson used one in the 1987  film “Lethal Weapon”. Now they all use them.

Speaking with a couple of friendly Brits at the end of the carriage, we conclude that this may be all about the flow of people from the south (Albania) toward the EU border (Bulgaria). It would seem to make sense, and if I’m ever on the run I will know now never to take a Serbian train.

As we reach the south of the country, the broken industrial landscape changes to one of mountains and meadows. Once we have left Nis, the train backs out the way we came in and we take a junction onto a single line that climbs through the mountains. It feels more like Colorado than Serbia to me. Incidentally if you are a steam fan, I noticed a whole graveyard of rusty engines outside the station there.

I chose the right carriage. As the day went on the other one began to small terribly, and I suspect that a major accident might have occurred in the single toilet. As the sun set we reached the Bulgarian border, where we surrendered passports once more. My passport was inspected so many times that I had given up putting it away. The only difference with this border was that the Bulgarian security people inspected the roof of the train and peered into voids with a long snakelike light, presumably looking for people.

I got rather confused by my timetable at this point, as a result of the names of some similar sounding places, like Dimitrovgrad, and the change in time between the two countries. The train was due to arrive at 20.19, but at 21.30 I calculated we were still two to three hours from Sofia. The wonders of the modern world saved me though, back on EU telephone roaming I figured out we were actually much closer, and in the end we arrived at around 22.00.

This journey was always going to be a bit of a challenge. I did actually find it mainly relaxing, if a little hot during the afternoon. The passengers were all charming, and the train staff and police were pleasant enough. I brought along a days food and 3 litres of water, but had run out of water several hours before we got in to Sofia. So if I was doing this again I would overstock on rations just in case. By taking this route I have broken the back of the mileage to Istanbul, with just a nearly direct night train ahead of me. By contrast the northern route via Bucharest leaves more mileage until its final day.

On arrival in Sofia a few passengers who had booked onto the Istanbul Express missed the connection, and had to get a seat on the 23.00 bus departing out front. The international ticket office closes at 21.00, so the chances are you will need to come back the next morning to sort out onward tickets even if slightly delayed. Sofia station struck me as large, clean and safe – a good place to be, with helpful staff and lots of seating. They have even placed a few steam engines around the building.

Two carriage attendants stand outside scanning the approaching travellers. Most passengers with reservations in the Croatian carriages have rucksacks and wear espadrilles. I’m the only person here without a visible tattoo. I wonder where they are going, perhaps to crew on smart yachts in the Adriatic or to play bongos and breathe fire at late summer music festivals. I seem to be the only long-range rail adventurer here.

Bob (I shall call him ‘Bob’ as I didn’t discover his real name) at first says I’m in compartment eight, then changes his mind to three, then eventually shows me to number six. Inside is a clean and well laid out home for the night, set up for me as the sole occupant – there are two further berths, the top one is incredibly high up. My dreams come true and there is both air conditioning and a fully functional opening window. But I’m roasting and sweaty from manoeuvring all my bags, so I dump them and join the guards back out on the platform to enjoy some cool late evening air.

We eventually set off on time at 11.35, and the carriage feels incredibly smooth. Stealing as many pillows as a dare from spare berths I retire for the night. Before I settle in Bob reminds me twice to lock my door and tells me that we have a border inspection at around 08.00am, so there is time for a reasonable sleep once I have rigged an improvised cover out of duct tape for the night light that seems bright enough to illuminate a small town.

I wake early to the sound of silence. We are sat in a station in Slovenia surrounded by goods wagons. There has been much shunting in the night, and can I remember most of this as the lights and air conditioning switch off each time the engine is uncoupled from the train. Outside there is weird weather. Low clouds drop from the mountains and blanket the valley tops. The sun is blocked from view until it slowly burns through the early morning haze.

The crossing into Croatia is uneventful and Bob serves me a cup of coffee and a long-life croissant in my compartment before we arrive in Zagreb at just after 08.30.

This has been a very comfortable run, only slightly spoiled by feeling a need to wake early in case the train reaches the border whilst you are still in bed. Speaking of beds, this one has been wide compared to other European sleepers and very comfortable. I wouldn’t like to be in the top berth though, unless ropes are provided along with a complimentary course in belay climbing. The only other slight negative has been the two tiny toilets, both of which have been without water and one without electricity.