Editor’s Note: This story originally appeared in Volume 5 of B.H. Magazine. To get your copy (and access to future issues), subscribe here.
(Photos by James Want)
It started with a spring roll. Not just any old springroll – a flawless cylinder of pastry, deep fried until amber. Inside, the flavours of mapo tofu: fermented soybean paste, chilli, and Sichuan pepper. It’s so good, we request another.
Three equally impressive courses follow like a well-rehearsed symphony, the final act being a ‘jungle-spiced’ chocolate ganache to round out the most consistent meal I can recall in recent memory. If it weren’t for the rhythmic clink of silverware and an occasional jolt sideways, you’d think you were dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Chengdu or Taipei. Alas, we’re luxuriating in one of two dining cars on the Eastern & Oriental Express – a gleaming green-and-gold Belmond train that snakes through Malaysia over three nights.
Our journey aboard the luxury locomotive launched from Singapore’s Woodlands station a few hours earlier, where sharply dressed staff lined the platform like bellboys outside the Grand Budapest Hotel. Since LVMH’s acquisition of Belmond in 2019, many millions of dollars have been spent on bringing this beauty back to life; and it shows. Every inch of the Eastern & Oriental Express exudes opulence – think hand-painted panels, cheetah-print accents, and silken upholstery swaddling each of the 15 cars in unapologetic luxury.
We’ve been appointed the smallest cabin out of three available options, a Pullman, which is priced from US$4,650 and features a lounge that transforms into a bunk bed at night, or upon request. At the risk of sounding blunt, if you suffer from motion sickness or claustrophobia, this is not the cabin (possibly trip) for you. The same advice applies if you’re socially anxious or value privacy above all else. Mingling with fellow passengers is encouraged, and frankly, impossible to avoid in close quarters such as these.
In the evenings, the dress code is formal, so we put our best threads on and head straight for an aperitif at the piano bar. There’s something incredibly seductive about cosying up to your significant other in a snug, velvet banquette, while the golden glow of the setting sun flickers through curtain-draped windows and soothing jazz trickles from the speakers.
Wining and dining play a central role in the journey, almost to the point of excess. Before you’ve even finished one meal, staff inform you of the next: “For breakfast, you’ll be seated in the Malaya restaurant car, at table four,” says Amira, our cordial waitress at dinner. After polishing off yet another multi-course meal, curated by acclaimed Taiwanese chef André Chiang, we follow the crowd back to the bar.
As the train forges into the night, its resident pianist and singer belt out classics from the likes of Neil Diamond and Billy Joel. Veuve flows with abandon, bartenders shake Palm Tree cocktails on repeat, and passengers who were complete strangers yesterday become best friends overnight.
Inevitably, karaoke kicks off and continues into the wee hours. After a couple of power ballads, we slip out stealthily and begin our pilgrimage back to the cabin – it’s an obstacle course that lasts the length of 10 carriages, made even more challenging in a floor-length dress and heels.
The following morning, I unfurl from the top bunk with a twisted ankle and a five-star headache. We reluctantly drag ourselves to breakfast; we must not be late or Amira will come knocking. Soon, the train will pull up to Merapoh station, and the only thing that will ease my pain is a restorative Bloody Mary. The E&O version is made tableside with Grey Goose and an eye-watering amount of Tabasco; a sign that this is not their first rodeo.
The carriage slows, as does the pounding in the back of my skull, and Taman Negara National Park materialises in the distance. Everyone is eager to alight the train for the first time since leaving Singapore, more for the fresh air than anything else.
A procession of utes hug the station, and we’re divvied up into their bench-lined trays, according to the activity we selected earlier in the week. Our choice: Capturing Wild Malaysia. Other options include forest bathing, sound healing, and even caving.
Dripping in mosquito repellent, our group of six plunges into the thick morning fog, cameras at the ready. Accompanying us on the expedition is our guide, Sam – a British-Malaysian filmmaker who’s spent most of his adult life capturing wildlife on camera. His most recent work, he tells us, is a documentary about a lone gibbon that lives in Kuala Lumpur’s bursting metropolis.
The mist lifts, but the air remains heavy as we go deeper into the jungle. “Tigers live in this park,” shouts Sam over the revving engine. “But we’re yet to see one.” I am quietly hoping today isn’t the day.
We collectively brace for an upcoming hill, and as soon as we reach the summit, Sam slaps furiously on the roof of the cab. The car comes to a sudden stop, his camo-wrapped 300mm lens already pointed at a tree about 100 metres away. “It’s a female rhinoceros hornbill,” he says softly. “You can tell by the size of its horn.” Moments and many frames later, a male bird glides in and lands next to her on the branch. “Like gibbons, they mate for life,” Sam adds, before we continue on our quest.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at a treetop walk, a maze of towering iron-and-steel structures that look eerily dystopian. Way up in the canopy, a vibrant, almost fluorescent rainbow snakeslithers directly between our feet, then launches itself off the grate into midair. “A paradise flying snake,” says Sam, visibly impressed. He’s never encountered one of those before.
Feeling chuffed about our sightings and also extremely parched, we gladly return to the train and submit to a cool shower and a couple of crisp ales. Life’s tough on the Eastern & Oriental Express.
While the piano bar is opulent, our favourite spot to perch with a beverage and bowl of fried tempeh snacks is in the open-air observation car at the tail end of the train. Like a dog to a car window, it takes every speck of self-control to adhere to the warning sign and not hang my head out the side.
With tropical wind in our hair and a faint wisp of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, we watch the landscape shapeshift from rubber plantations to small farming towns to untamed greenery, the hypnotic tunes of the track replacing our usual neo-classical playlist. Tiki cocktails are brought to us in chi-chi mugs shaped like a tiger’s head, and all is good.
By the end of day two, everyone is moving subconsciously to the rhythm of the train: eat, drink, snooze, repeat. Its next stop will be Penang, along the Strait of Malacca in Malaysia’s north-west.
The following morning, we wake to stillness and peer out the cabin window to discover Butterworth station. After playing a tedious game of Tetris with the breakfast tray and our luggage, the staff escort us onto a private ferry and over to the historic and colourful city of George Town on Penang Island.
I’ve been longing for the distinct smokiness of char koay teow (wok-fried rice noodles) ever since I was last here, so we decide to flick the pre-organised activity and make a beeline for the renowned stall at 82 Siam Road, hoping to beat the morning rush.
Here, at an unassuming street-side cart, Uncle Tan – who is regarded as Penang’s “King of Char Koay Teow” – fries pork fat, plump prawns, eggs, and flat rice noodles at a furious pace and with expert precision, taking zero notice of the long queues forming behind him.
With a takeaway package secured, we frantically flag a taxi and make our way back to the ferry terminal, almost missing our return transfer. We slurp hot noodles from the brown-paper wrapping and smile in agreement; it was totally worth it.
At the breakfast table on the morning of day four, a gentle wave of relief washes over me when I spoon the last of the eggs Benedict and caviar into my mouth, as the train returns to its starting point at Woodlands station. Travelling on the Eastern & Oriental Express is like riding a rollercoaster one too many times – it’s exhilarating, but when the carriage comes to a halt, you’re definitely ready to get off.
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