Read An Extract From Elizabeth Day’s New Short Story

Writers On The Rails is a new literary anthology, launched on all Venice Simplon-Orient-Express journeys for 2026. Belmond commissioned six of the world’s most celebrated authors to travel on board and write original short stories inspired by their experience. Don’t have a ticket to ride? We have a sneak peek at Elizabeth Day’s contribution. 

Who’s In Writers On The Rails?

Elizabeth Day, Sunday Times number one bestseller and creator of the How to Fail podcast; Bernardine Evaristo, whose Booker Prize-winning novel Girl, Woman, Other is among the most important works of British fiction in the last decade; New York Times bestselling author Ottessa Moshfegh; Rebecca F. Kuang, the award-winning Chinese American fantasy writer; George the Poet, the pioneering spoken-word artist; and David Nicholls, whose novel One Day was a global phenomenon.

Each writer was invited to travel on board and produce something entirely original: a piece of short fiction born from the particular experience of the journey itself. The resulting stories capture the sights, rhythms and intimate moments of life aboard the train in prose unique to each writer’s vision. The anthology is designed as a keepsake for guests, available to read on board as part of the experience, and intended to inspire future works of literature. 

What Are The Venice Simplon-Orient-Express Routes of 2026?

The Venice Simplon-Orient-Express connects Europe’s most storied destinations, from Paris to Venice, with extended routes to Vienna, Prague and Istanbul. New for 2026 is the Villeggiatura by Train series, inspired by the Italian tradition of seasonal summer living. Four itineraries pair the train with stays at Belmond hotels across Italy: a first-ever route to the Amalfi Coast with a stay at Caruso; a Paris-to-Venice journey celebrating Peter Marino’s redesign of Hotel Cipriani; a Florence trip timed to Villa San Michele’s grand reopening; and a return to Portofino’s Splendido to mark the close of the season.

(c) Ludovic Balay

Here, we share an extract from Elizabeth Day’s story.

Poetry & Prose by Elizabeth Day

Waking up in the Venice hotel room, she felt almost immediately uncomfortable. The light was unfamiliar, the bedsheets strange. No kettle, just one of those coffee machines with capsules that she found impossible to use. She could never find the ‘on’ button. Metaphor for life, she thought, grimly.

Patricia wanted to feel relaxed and liberated and full of the anticipation of adventure. That was what travel was meant to do for you, wasn’t it? But as she opened the pale blue linen curtains to a sky so perfect it would have made Caravaggio weep; her chest was tight and fluttery. She could not shake the anxiety of displacement. Did other people feel like this? She wondered as she put on her black linen suit (purchased online for its practical ease) and brushed her hair with her faithful Mason & Pearson. Whenever you watched a film about travel or read a novel about some sun-soaked expedition to the other side of the world, the experience was rendered with breathless excitement as if the mere act of being elsewhere opened up a myriad of opportunities. Whereas Patricia found that one’s problems travelled as easily as one’s linen suit, rolled up like a creased shadow in the bottom of her wheeled suitcase.

She prepared to walk downstairs to breakfast like a soldier readying herself for battle. She couldn’t bear the prospect of small talk and language barriers and overly attentive waiters. For a brief moment, she thought she might cry.

‘Pull yourself together, Patricia,’ she muttered at her unsatisfactory reflection in the bathroom mirror. Despite attentive ministrations with the hotel iron, one stubborn crease refused to budge from her jacket sleeve. So be it. Off to breakfast she went.

None of it had been her idea, that was the thing. She was someone who valued control, or at least the illusion of it. She needed her routines and the soothing regularity of her own surroundings: facewash by the basin; alarm clock on the bedside table; writing desk with the pens and stapler in exactly the correct position.

He had teased her for it.

‘You’re so set in your ways,’ he had said, and the laughter had shown in his eyes the way it always did. Looking at his face was like being greeted by a lit fire on a cold night. It felt like home. ‘You’re old before your time.’

‘I’m 45,’ she had said because, back then, she had been. ‘Exactly! Prime of your life.’

He had kissed her lips, pressed at first against her neck, his mouth moving upwards to her jawbone and onto her face before his tongue found hers. The fire in the grate exploded outwards and inwards, lighting her alive with a thousand sparks.

Find out more about the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express, a Belmond train, here.