The most marvellous train journey I have ever had has to be the one that we did and are shortly to do again btween Nice and Monton. The French Riviera has wonderful views all the way along here. Stop offs can be had all along the way and each one is a wonder in its own right. The hop on hop off nature of the journey really gives you a feel of a tour bus for what you see. I found some very useful articles on what to see here and here. Kevin Ireson, York

The journey from Palma to Port de Sóller reminded me of a scene from an Agatha Christie thriller. The set - a train carriage from 1912 retaining all of its original character replete with leather armchairs and sofas, ornate light fittings, brass luggage racks and sash windows. The wooden Sóller train has been weaving its way through the Tramuntana mountains for nearly 100 years, powered by an electric locomotive - the only one of its type that is still in use today. Leaving the bustle of Palma de Mallorca the railway takes you northward, across the plain, then starts to wind its way up into the mountains and through the 13 tunnels of the Serra de Tramuntana to reach the valley of Sóller: a stunning 27km journey punctuated only by mountains, olive trees and lonely white washed villas. With a stop en-route for photo taking the train takes one hour to achieve its goal: Sóller, a charming small town dominated by the old train station and a central square edged with cafes and patisseries, accessible only via tiny narrow streets barely wide enough for a car. Any visit to Mallorca should include the Palma to Soller train journey - a step back in time and a chance to see the real beauty of the island. Tory Russo, London

I stepped onto the train, ready to endure hours of discomfort, disease-ridden food and harassment from beggars, perhaps even a mugging or two - I was 18 and knew I was about to become a proper 'traveller'. Imagine my suprise when confronted with the softest squashiest seats, (that converted into beds with my own curtain to separate me off from everyone else: at first I still thought I might be need it), beautiful lush scenery and the delicious morsels proffered up to my window at every station. I was travelling to Chiang Mai from Bangkok and was most disappointed, no-one at home would be interested in this tale. The curtain stayed open the whole way - Rhian Hampson-Jones, Windsor, Berks

It was New Year's Eve as we boarded the Red Arrow train at 11pm in Moscow. It was a bitter cold walk to our carriage on Platform 1, snow falling steadily. As we stepped onto the train, warm air caressed us. We opened our Champagne and shared it with our travel companions. Supper was served in a Victorian style restaurant. As we slept we slowly chugged across the ‘Doctor Zhivago’ landscape, arriving at 6am in St Petersburg with no one to be seen but our guide - Maggie Skilbeck, York

The scenic railway of the White Pass and Yukon Route, narrow gauge - Skagway, Alaska via White Pass Frontier to Lake Bennett, Canada - 40.6 miles and then to Whitehorse, Yukon territory, 110 miles (1898-1900). Constructed to connect the Gold Rush, Klondyke mines, to the outside world. The human misery of the man-made ice stairway over the Chilkoot trail was superceded by the dead-horse trail, which became the railway. It climbs 2805 ft with gradients of 4% traversing dramatic mountain, glacier, and waterfall views, tunnels and crossings over vertigo-challenging trestles. Like Alaska, it's awesome, steeped in history, atmosphere and unsurpassed - Dan Mooney, Howth, Co Dublin

My most memorable train journey took place between Sofia and Istanbul in August, 2003. Whilst sitting in our cabin, two Bulgarian women entered with screwdrivers and dismantled the wood panels on the wall. Out of a black holdall bag came fake designer watches, which were then crammed into the walls. When we got to the border crossing our cabin, tickets and passports were checked. The watches of course had alarms which went off in unison - just after the guard had left our cabin. We escaped a prison sentence - but were not fortunate enough to get our free watches in return for our silence! - Claire Davies, Bridgend, South Wales

Where is some of the most beautiful mountain scenery in Europe - and where is the best place to lose your passport and Inter-rail train pass? On the train journey from Stresa, by Lake Maggiore, to Montreux. You travel from the Italian lakes through the Simplon Tunnel, the longest rail tunnel in the world, on to Spiez and across central Switzerland to the shores of Lake Geneva. During a stop in Gstaad, my fellow inter-railer realised he had left his bumbag containing all essentials in the train toilet of our now departed train. After passing time over a coffee, the bag was waiting for us - having been handed over by the conductor on our train to the one coming the other way. Wonderful scenery and Swiss efficiency at its best - Pam Ashing, Edinburgh

1960's Motorail, London to Edinburgh. The car tucked away, as we children would shortly be. Frantic with excitement,spilling into a compartment shared with my sister. Hairy blankets, two pillows, shoe cleaning kit; monastic bunks, a fight for the top one. The blind, too stiff to open. Basin with push-down taps, and small cupboard beneath, housing the chamber-pot, with a stern sign warning 'No Solid Matter'. Much muffled hilarity. I woke at Crewe, lifted the blind, blinked at sodium lights and tenders, then slept, waking to the kindly steward bearing a tray. Blind up. Auld Reekie. My heart's still there - Sarah Crowden, Wimbledon, London

In August 2000, my wife Senja, and I got married in Finland. For the honeymoon, I thought that as a surprise she would like to relive a rail journey I had taken five years previously. Imagine her surprise when, after a 12 hour ferry trip to Stockholm, I informed her that we would be taking a train to Narvik on the Norwegian coast. Through occasional breaks in the rain, mist and fog my wife saw snow on the distant hills. On arriving in Narvik, it was so cold and wet that we had to buy jackets. Then the fun of finding a hotel began. A word of advice: Your honeymoon should not be spent in the company of 20 others in the mixed dorm of a local hostel. However love works in mysterious ways, as we are still happily married - Ray Fitzgerald, Middlesex

It's 1994 and my husband fancies trying the newly opened Moscow-Vladivostok Trans Siberian route. July finds 23 assorted British optimists and a nervous Russian guide assembled at Moscow station awaiting the legendary Rossiya. We expected modern, clean, with curtains, carpets, polished samovars, happy helpful provodniks and reputedly awful food. We got filthy, crammed with Russians, Stalin-esque provodniks, damp grey bedding and no air conditioning. Windows cleaned at stops, bedding hung out to dry, vodka 50p a bottle, carriage parties frequent, passengers increasingly grubby, food and Russians wonderful. Lasting friendships made, and this was only the start - Susan Sexton, King's Lynn

The Shatabdi Express, from Delhi to Chandigarth connects you with the toy train at Kalka - a charming six-hour journey to Shimla, the summer capital of the British Raj. This 96km narrow-gauge line built in 1924 ascends above 7,000ft, passing through 103 tunnels, lofty arch bridges with spectacular views of terraced plantations, deep chasms and cool green forested hills. The picturesque halts at the local stations, provides a pleasant break where you're greeted by smiling Indian vendors. You finally approach Shimla with its distant views of the snow clad ranges of the Himalayas - Dougie Skilbeck, North Yorkshire

Tucked away around the back of the bustling main station in Nice is the station for a journey with Train les Pignes. The name relates to the pine cones which formerly helped to start the old steam trains. The train takes you through the suburbs of Nice along river valleys and through mountains and gorges to arrive at Digne les Bains three hours and 151kms later. The journey provides a wonderful feast of scenery with plenty of time to soak up the culture of fellow passengers - both locals and tourists. "Defense de fumer" notices were carefully observed by all - except the guard and ticket collector - Mary Gass, London

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Can a train ever be a magic carpet? Yes, if it transports you from a dark wet chilly January evening in northern France to a "fairytale" land of mountains covered by a crisp white coating of snow, drenched in early morning sunshine. The 18.30 sleeper train from Calais to Chur in the Swiss Alps took hundreds of skiers every Friday night during the season in the 1960’s. This train no longer runs but you can still make the overnight journey from Paris to Chur. While skiing may be the purpose of the holiday, the journey can be pleasurable too - Nick Gilbey, Dorset

Mon billet a tombe dans la mer! Carefree, careless, 17 and broke, and leaning on the scabby rails of the old Dieppe ferry, a gust snatched our tickets from the top of my open bag. The wonderfully brassy French purser took pity and provided a handwritten letter of explanation. With only her letter and a doleful "mon billet a tombe dans la mer", I travelled the French railways for three weeks to the south and home again - Penny Isitt, Cambridge

Taking our two small, train loving boys on the 30-hour Beijing to Ulan Bator trip was fantastic. Our four berth compartment in the old but comfortable train immediately became a cozy home-cum-playroom. The exhilarating trip to the buffet car through heavy doors, freezing wind and rattling carriage connections was rewarded with homely Chinese cooking. The frequent trolley service selling allsorts from noodles and toothbrushes to toys, provided a contrast to the views. A highlight was the undercarriage change to accommodate the different gauge sizes of each country - Annette Moore, Bedfordshire

Earlier this year I travelled from London to the Sahara by train (well it wasn’t possible to get all the way by train, we had to take a bus and then a camel to reach the desert itself). The first leg was the standard Eurostar experience to France, but in Paris things became more exciting. We boarded the "train hotel" which took us to Madrid overnight and sipped wine and ate cordon bleu food as we raced through the French countryside. On waking the next morning we were greeted by the mountains, villages and chateaus of north eastern Spain and after a day in Madrid it was time to board a sleeper to Algeciras. Then, the ferry to Tangier and then finally, with the most talkative "couchette mates" I’ve met, the Marrakech Express into Morocco - Kate Marshall, Surbiton, Surrey

The first half of an 11-hour Trondheim to Bodo journey was classically picturesque. Mountains looming beyond birch girdled lakes, in the pale light of a midsummer night. But it's the final third, between Mo and Fauske that haunts you forever. The train, bell clanging intermittently, cuts a red dash between a low, white Arctic sky and a craggy plateux of grey rock, splotched with tarns and remnants of winter snowfall. Steaming streams and waterfalls fissure and animate the moonscape, then the rooftop of a weatherboard house peeps from a crevice, suggesting human presence while punctuating the sublime remoteness - Geoff Small, Staffordshie

Crossing Australia from Sydney to Perth on the "Indian Pacific" is an adventure. You pass through time zones and areas where man and animals have adapted to the harsh environment over many centuries. You travel from eucalyptus covered mountains to dry dusty treeless plains and deserts seeing kangaroos, camels and wedge-tailed eagles. Heading west settlements become sparse and you finally reach Cook, a refuelling stop on the Nullarbor with four residents where you were once invited to become ill to save the local hospital - Chris and Hilary Makepeace, Cheshire

"I've told the guard you're deaf and dumb so stay silent for the 13-hour journey," whispered Olga as she waved me off on the overnight train from Kiev to Moscow. "If anyone spots you're a foreigner, the best that will happen is you'll be robbed!" As the train pulled away, the man opposite pulled out a huge knife and began to slowly peel a cucumber. I fled into the corridor for the rest of the night, while he stretched out on my seat, picking his gold teeth with the sharp point of his knife. - Maria Marron, Reading

This summer we needed to travel back from Scotland to Southampton. The first part of our trip was on the train from Mallaig on the West Coast of Scotland to Glasgow. This is a fabulous trip and must rate as one of the greatest in the world. We saw a Red Stag posing as if for a post card and many birds of prey. The scenery is breathtaking, the train comfortable and the fare reasonable. Do it if you can. - Liz Barron, Southampton

An epic journey down India's east coast from Calcutta to Madras took two nights and almost three days. The bare, sweaty, second class carriage was packed to bursting. The journey was punctuated by tales from a wise old man holding court with stories which always ended with the proclamation "that is the Indian way", and countless cups of sweet chai and herb-infused omelettes delivered by boys at stations. When the train arrived, four hours late, no-one cared. - Bill Tuesday, Watford

Late Spring, Iraq, 1977. My companion and I left the marbled halls of Baghdad Central Station, on our way to Mosul, where we were due to meet old friends from university. I soon realised I could have walked there faster. The views at least were interesting. The train screeched to a halt. A man jumped off and was shot, dead. Two guards told me he was a robber. Everyone just looked away. - Keri Thomas, Birmingham

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Battling altitude sickness in Bolivia, five of us journeyed from Uyuni to Villazon, on the Argentine border. Our inept guide, Goncalo, had nonchalantly secured us cheap "popular class" seats, and we were soon escorting yelping housewives off our seats, whilst other child and chicken-bearing locals harshly scrutinised our unwelcome arrival to their carriage! Clinging to our seats for 10 hours the origin of train travel by "popular class" seat became all too apparent! - Sean Morgan, Isle of Mull

My most enduring childhood memory was my annual trip from London to Brighton onboard the Brighton Belle, its brown and cream livery giving the train such a look of opulence. The coaches were reminiscent of an elegant Victorian drawing room and on the downward run a liveried waiter would bring orange juice with all the flourish and politeness of someone serving royalty. On the return, afternoon tea was served from fine china with a teapot patterned with the Pullman coat of arms. I decided that my father must be incomparably rich - how else to travel in such style and afford to pay the 2/6 Pullman surcharge - and 1/3 for me! - Richard Thomson, Surrey

The anticipation was palpable as our train gently eased out of Moscow, leaving the chaos on the platforms behind. This was the big one. Over 5,000 miles and three weeks until we reached our destination of Beijing. Having settled into our tiny but cosy compartment, we ventured to the dining car where we discovered that borscht was not the easiest thing to eat on the swaying train. Cups of freshly picked raspberries and home baked bread from babushkas on the platforms supplemented our diet as we watched Siberia, Mongolia and China pass by. - Kathryn Warren, Mid Glamorgan

The rail journey from Innsbruck, capital of Austria's Tirol, to Reutte, a provincial "outpost", is a captivating one. The sense of adventure begins with a steep ascent out of Innsbruck providing aerial views of the Inn Valley as the train twists and turns along the mountain's edge and dives through tunnels. The descent towards the German border and back into Austria is wonderland in winter as the train glides past the snow covered landscape dotted with cross-country skiers and dominated by the Zugspitze, Germany's highest mountain. - Liam O'Mahony, Co. Limerick

My most memorable train journey was spent struggling under the seat of an overnight steam train from Mombasa to Nairobi dressed in a smocked Liberty print frock trying to retrieve my pet bushbaby caught in the springs. Numb to it's bites and the possibility of rabies and immune to the awe of sunrise over the plains I greeted my mother at the bustling station covered in dirt, tears pouring down my face but grinning. Circa 1950 - Carol Freeman, Woodbridge, Suffolk

Oh look, it has curtains! We squealed, contented little piglets bouncing up and down on the sprung velveteen seat of our own private compartment. Picture it: 1992, two backpackers exhausted from a summer of toil - one dishwashing in Lugano, one picking peas in Edinburgh. Now: Milan to Taormina in style. What if the next compartment was even nicer? Shall we check? We did - taking our excitement and backpacks - but leaving the upgraded tickets behind. Thirty minutes later, punctured and petulant in standard class and anticipating the very long and uncomfortable journey south - Alan Spinks, Edinburgh

The joyous rail journeys of my youth in the 50's and 60's come back to me now, travelling from Warsop in Nottinghamshie to Udine, Italy, to visit my Italian mother's parents. The boat train from London to the couchettes from Paris to Udine was an adventure to be savoured for a little boy who loved trains. How I marvelled at the changeover in Paris, when confronted by no available carriage and a row of reserved compartments, a French guy produced a very large flick knife, broke open the lock on the door and everyone piled on. The guard who arrived saw what had happened, gave a Gallic shrug and promptly disappeared - David Taylor, Grantham, Lincs

Memorable? Inter-railing 1986, we decided to take in West Berlin, only we hadn’t twigged that the inter-rail ticket only covered us to Helmstadt. Travelling the umbilical rail up to Berlin, flanked on either side by barbed wire fences and tank manoeuvres, was no time to discover we had the wrong ticket and only a small amount of cash. As the ticket collector began taking on all the menace of my worst KGB nightmare, a French speaking German man intervened and paid our £50 excess, rationalising that an Englishman once saved his wallet from being stolen in Paris. True European unity - Geoff Corbishley, Sutton

Train journeys are all about the people - and in my travels from Venice to Vienna and back I encountered some of the most unexpected caricatures I could have imagined: from the elderly Italian gentleman who couldn't comprehend that New Zealand would have a female Prime Minister to the three jovial Ukrainians who offered me endless helpings of bread, cheese and beer despite not understanding a word I said. Oh, and a Nigerian acrobat who'd come to Austria to join the circus and was en route to erect the Big Top in the next town - Natalie Gyles, Edinburgh

After two months Inter-Railing Europe in 1980, my Aussie companion and I were adept. To avoid hotel bills, we took overnight trains and booked couchettes. Laundry was a constant bane, so we washed our smalls and hung them on washing lines strung underneath the top couchette. One evening we unpacked our picnic of wine, bread, chicken, Ann was writing postcards and I was knitting, when the conductor came by to check tickets. He opened the door but doubled over laughing at the little home we had made and went off, clutching his stomach and staggering, to fetch the other conductors - Sue Kilbracken, Carrigallen, Leitrim

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Calcutta had poisoned my 18-year-old English complacency as badly as it had my stomach. I caught the next outbound train I could. At each station chai vendors sang eerie songs and bony old women pleaded through the metal window grate as tiny children swept the floor for money. I thought I glimpsed the Ganges- a dirty little river and I fell asleepdreaming of the Thames. I woke to a roar. I looked out at a vast freshwater ocean and everything living had gathered on its banks. A man opposite smiled and whispered “Ganges” - Lewis Jenkins, Hastings

My most memorable railway trip took me from Saigon in Vietnam to Llanrwst in Wales via Algeciras in Spain. It took 15 days and nights travelling over 12,000 miles through eight time zones, two continents and 11 countries traversed by five international express trains on five different railway gauges. The seasons changed from a hot and steamy Saigon to spring and cherry blossom in Beijing, winter with frozen rivers and lakes in Siberia and then an early summer on the Gulf of Cadiz - David Jones, Denbighshire

One evening in March, 1967, I crossed from Poland to the Soviet Union and transferred to a steam-driven sleeper. Sleep came easily – for a while. I woke suddenly to almost tangible, claustrophobic darkness. The carriage lights were inoperable and the train was hurtling through the night. Terrified, I raised the window blind but so dense was the darkness that nothing could be seen. I decided that sleep would be preferable to remaining conscious of my imminent death. I next awoke to a gloriously crisp, sunny day. For hours the train had passed, and for more hours would continue to pass, through vast tracts of budding, glistening, uninhabited birch forest. I had learnt something of the smallness of my island home - Gillian John, Cardiff

At Moscow's Yaroslavksy station, awaiting departure for Ulan Bataar in Mongolia, you really get the feeling you are heading into the unknown. In our compartment was a Mongolian jeans trader who brought over 100 pairs onto the train to sell on the way. At each station he would leap off, sell about 20, jump back on, thrust a pile of roubles in my hand and jump off again with more. I became his accountant! It isn't the most scenic journey in the world but I have more stories from those five days than in the rest of my travels put together - Gareth Jones, London

My most memorable rail trip ever was in 1976, when I travelled with a friend from the north-east of England to Foggia in southern Italy to teach English as a foreign language. We left Newcastle-upon-Tyne early on a damp, foggy September morning and as we travelled south through France and eventually into Italy, felt like intrepid explorers edging our way into the unknown. The sights, sounds and smells of that journey - which took us two days - will live with me forever - Christine Baelz, Cumbria

Grimy Queen Street Station 5.15am - a dark 1958 morning. A 15-year-old boy on his first big adventure alone. Sitting in a cold carriage of the 5.30 Mallaig train. Pulls out at six and sits two miles out for an hour waiting for the northbound sleeper from London. Then – magic – two K2’s shovelling smoke and steam into the watery dawn past the wakening Glasgow tenements and shipyards. Whistlefield -Shandon- Garelochhead, then into Crainlarich; the mountain Highlands; Fort William, the magic of Glenfinnan, the Isles of the West unfolding before a virgin travellers eyes. The steel rail world awaits - Robert Buntin, Renfrewshire

Interrailing with five girls around the Balkans last summer was eventful but not more memorable than our encounter with Serbian border police. As the only lad, fresh from school, I was forced off the train at 3am after my friend Elizabeth produced a temporary passport, the real one having been stolen in Sofia. She and I stood petrified as the border-guards telephoned Belgrade, presumably to check the authenticity of the document, taking breaks to shout at us in Serbian and wave their Klashnikovs about; Klashnikovs they were perhaps not unused to firing - Oliver Smith, via e-mail

My most memorable rail trip was the once a year trip by Rovos Rail from Dar-es-Salaam to Cape Town. 13 days of five star luxury in a faithfully restored Edwardian train travelling through Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe and South Africa. Superb and varied scenery, top class cuisine and comfort, and an attentive yet unobtrusive crew. The personal touch was supplied by the owner and his wife accompanying the tour and could be seen solving the many problems that arise when travelling on single line track of uncertain maintenance and only intermittent re-fuelling facilities. Magnificent throughout is the only description - Jim Smith, Petersfield, Hampshire

My most memorable rail trip would have to be the Regionalle between Florence and Rome. The scenery was magnificent and it gave us a great opportunity to see the country and the people close up for the first time. In our compartment was a man who got off at every station to make sure it wasn't Rome, and an older woman who as we pulled out of every stop, wanted her bag down off the rack to check everything was still there - Jonathon Skinner, Cork

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