After ten days in Istanbul – a well-balanced mix of Bosporus explorations, culinary experiments between baklava and köfte, and the heroic determination to conquer the city in small portions – it was time to say goodbye.

Our starting point: the venerable Sirkeci railway station.

Once upon a time, the Orient Express rolled through here. Even Atatürk departed from here for Carlsbad to draw inspiration for a modernized Turkey from the abundant healing waters and Bohemian healing treatments – today, one would probably call this a wellness retreat with geopolitical added value.

Since this year, the old train station has been renovated as a cultural monument, while the long-distance trains have long been banished from the city center. Today, anyone leaving Istanbul does so 30 kilometers further out, in Halkalı – a name that sounds like a Turkish dessert and that for us is also true in some way. Unfortunately, it’s just concrete.

There is hardly anything left of the chic of bygone times, when rail travel was still a privilege of the wealthy class. 

Although: To be honest, rail travel remains a privilege to this day. Not the glamorous privilege of bygone eras, when you sat enthroned in the Orient Express surrounded by crystal glass and velvet upholstery; but a more modern, quieter one: that of those who have the time – and are willing to pay a little more for it. A paradoxical privilege, because it means traveling more slowly and less comfortably, while the world around you is getting faster and faster.

Seen in this way, the railway is a kind of living museum: you not only buy a ticket, but also the experience of ignoring the speed and technology of the present for a few hours.

Our farewell itself takes place deep underground, in a concrete cave. No last look at the old city with its minarets, no glittering sea that hugs the city on three sides. Instead: gray walls, neon lights, and the realization that the romance of traveling sometimes ends abruptly at the train station.

So we rolled towards Bucharest with several changes of train. We had planned to spend two buffer nights there – not out of tourist curiosity, but out of respect for German railway reliability: connecting trains are more like loose promises than binding commitments.

From Bucharest it was on to Vienna for one night, then on to Hamburg for another. Then he was back in the north – familiar, foggy, cool, and with pre-Christmas decorations.

We will only have to get used to all of this again.

You can find the final track of the journey here here.