Window Seat

It was raining when I arrived in Fort William. It was going to ruin everything.

As I checked into the hostel I told the receptionist I travelling the West Highland Railway.

“The what?” he asked.

“The famous steam train journey through the hills and along the coast to Mallaig.”

“Oh, the Harry Potter train.”

The Jacobite Steam train featured in the Harry Potter films and it seemed this had eclipsed the appeal of the surrounding Scottish countryside. I went to my room bemoaning his lack of interest in my scenery.

The platform was packed. Some teenagers in paper wizard hats were scurrying excitedly up and down alongside the length of the train, looking for the carriage Harry Potter was filmed in, and two little boys were jabbing each other with plastic wizard’s wands that made sound effects. In my carriage I was met by rows of grown adults sat clutching copies of the books. Everyone was there because of the film. I looked out of the window and concluded that was just as well – everything more than a few feet away was shrouded in mist.

All the children and their wizardry paraphernalia were packed on the train by the time my table companions boarded. The group of three seated swiftly and drew out a pack of playing cards, each card embossed with a picture of a different train. They were steam train enthusiasts.

In the absence of anything to look at outside, I struck up a conversation. What ensued was a lengthy testament to the fluid elegance of steam train movement and resonant heritage of the railway we were being tugged along, spoken with unrivalled enthusiasm. I realised that to them I must appear as the Harry Potter fans had to me. I cared only for the pretty hills and waterways of The Highlands. We were travelling the same route from different perspectives.

By the time we arrived at Mallaig I was so enthralled by their attitude that I forwent lunch and waited behind on the platform in the rain to watch the engine being turned around. Now the cultural rift in our party had shown itself. A troupe of Harry Potter and scenery fans almost the length of the train had trudged off to the chip shop and left behind a platform dotted with a dozen or so individuals for whom the journey truly was the real attraction.

On the return leg the mist lifted enough to catch a glimpse of the scenery I had been so eager to see. Without a doubt, it lives up to its reputation but if my view hadn’t been obscured and I hadn’t been forced to look a little closer, the journey wouldn’t have taken me as far as it did. I left the train a tourist of rail enthusiasm, with a new appreciation for the world of those involved and for trains themselves, along with a new acceptance that the Harry Potter fans were part of their own unique culture as well.