The last train-ferry ride in Europe: Milan to Sicily via the Strait of Messina
It is possible to get the train from Milan to Sicily – across the sea – because of this engineering marvel. The last one of its kind in Europe and we test it out.
As far as eccentric trips go, it’s hard to beat the allure of travelling to Sicily by train. Imagine pressing your nose up to the window to watch your train slide right into the stomach of a ferry to cross the Strait of Messina bound for the Mediterranean’s largest island. It’s the kind of Italian craziness I’m totally on board with.
There were once other European train services that included ferry rides. The Hamburg-Copenhagen Vogelfluglinie (Bird Flight Line) service, for instance, crossed from Puttgarden on the German island of Fehmarn to Rodby in Denmark, but that came to a screeching halt in late 2019. Today, the train-ferry crossing from Villa San Giovanni in Calabria – the “toe” of Italy’s “boot” – over to Messina, Sicily’s third-largest city, is the last of its kind in Europe. Day and night trains depart from Rome and Naples bound for Sicily but I’m taking the InterCity Notte from Milan – Italy’s longest sleeper journey (all the way through to Palermo, Sicily’s capital, takes almost 21 hours).
My journey starts in Switzerland – but I make an early rookie error. After finishing a group tour in Lucerne, I take a train to Zurich to connect with a service to Milan in northern Italy. If I’d inspected the schedules more closely, though, I’d have realised I could have hopped off at Zug in central Switzerland to catch that ride to Milan, giving me more time in Lucerne.
I’m barely bothered by the backtracking, though, as I’m not buying point-to-point tickets; I’m using a Eurail pass allowing five days of travel over a month. I shrug off the extra train time and settle back in my seat with a glass of Swiss white wine.
Oh, it’s all very civilised aboard Switzerland’s trains. I can’t say the same for Milano Centrale, though. After I’m decanted on to a platform, I’m shocked by the throng on the concourse. Has a big football match or concert just finished? Later, as I wait and wait for the announcement board to tell me on which platform I’ll find the sleeper train departing at 8.10pm, I realise Italy simply has its own way of doing things.
My train features two kinds of sleeper compartments – with a toilet and shower, or washbasin-only. I’m in the latter category, which is being rebranded from Deluxe to Relax. Relax I can’t, at least not until I’ve inspected every inch of my space. I find a ladder for accessing the top bunk smuggled inside the slimmest of cupboards. A toiletries bag includes soap, toothbrush and paste, razor and shaving cream, and even a sewing kit. I become more unrelaxed when I flick my door’s night lock, only to find I’m trapped. I can’t reopen my door. Like something out of a spy novel, I press my ear to the door to listen for voices. Two female attendants respond to my door banging. One comes in to test my claim but for her the door behaves perfectly. They almost roll their eyes, and I leave the night lock unlatched.
That adrenaline surge takes it out of me. After an inspector checks my ticket, I call it a night. The bunk has all the allure of a hospital bed but I fall into such a deep sleep I don’t wake even for stops at Bologna and Florence. As daylight dawns, I step out into the corridor lined with picture windows. We’re whizzing past citrus trees heavy with fruit and, at times, hugging the coastline so closely I can see people walking dogs on pebbly beaches and fishermen bobbing in tiny boats.
An attendant brings a light breakfast – the tray includes a croissant, trail mix, tarallini (hard biscuits) and orange juice – paired with a welcome freshly brewed espresso (there’s no dining car). I inspect a shared “shower cubicle” but decide to wait until I reach my hotel. Besides, I don’t want to miss a second of the main event – the operation at Villa San Giovanni to split the train into sections and shunt them on to the ferry. Another passenger (who’s travelled from Germany just for this moment) and I press our noses to the corridor windows to catch the manoeuvres. Once aboard the ferry, we step off the train to head upstairs. A cafe sells coffee and Mount Etna-shaped arancino stuffed with ragu. With the crossing taking just 20-30 minutes, I scoff my late brunch and quickly snap pictures of the train sections from the ferry’s balcony-style upper deck.
We reboard and roll into Messina Centrale. From here the service splits and takes passengers along either the island’s north or southeast coastlines. Thanks to another user error (I mistakenly think the entire train continues to Palermo), I disembark at Messina to take a local train to glamorous Taormina.
The wait gives me time to withdraw euros (for the short but eye-wateringly expensive taxi ride from Taormina’s sea-level station to my hilltop hotel) and to ponder logistics. Why do trains board the ferry at all? Why don’t they simply terminate here at Messina or Villa San Giovanni, with passengers boarding the ferry as foot traffic to pick up a train on the other side?
It’s fortunate I’m not Italy’s minister of infrastructure and transport. After all, I’m here for the thrill of experiencing one of the world’s most intriguing rail journeys. For decades, there’s been talk of a bridge connecting Sicily and mainland Italy. That would be a bridge too far – and the death knell for this mesmerising train-ferry trip.
In the know
Rail Europe is a virtual ticket counter for European train tickets and passes. Eurail passes allow unlimited train travel for varying numbers of days. For instance, Eurail’s flexible Global Pass allowing five days’ train travel across 33 countries over a month costs from $545.50 adult plus $9.95 booking fee (certain services, such as night trains and scenic routes, might require an additional seat reservation fee). Passes are stored on an app so board trains
with your phone fully charged.
Katrina Lobley was a guest of Rail Europe.
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