Can a European sleeper train replace a pricey hotel? We tested it out.

When I finally woke up, I was in Berlin, Zurich, Budapest. It was as if I had checked into a hotel and discovered a secret transporter behind the shower curtain.

In Europe, sleeper trains are experiencing a boom. Railway companies are introducing inaugural routes, expanded service and modernized cabins. Train enthusiasts are thrilled by the overnight train movement, of course, but so are environmentalists, slow travel advocates, budget warriors and politicians tackling climate change.

“People who take sleeper trains are fed up with the airport and airline experience,” said Mark Smith, who founded the Man in Seat 61, an online train guide, “and they want to cut their carbon emissions.”

Overnight trains resemble a mobile hostel. Similar to a stationary room, the sleeping quarters provide varying levels of privacy and cushiness, and fit a range of budgets. Whether you stay in a private cabin with a shower or bunk with six strangers and share a bathroom, the upshot is the same. You can sleep through the travel portion of your European vacation and be awake for what matters most: the destination.

“Overnight trains are at the frontier of travel,” Smith said. “The problem is now a lack of capacity. They are just not building them fast enough.”

The last time I overnighted on a train, I was in college. I nursed a neck crick and lack-of-sleep hangover for most of the trip. Decades later, I was ready for another sleepover on the rails. So, in early June, I boarded the first of three sleeper trains. The ultimate test was: Would I bound out of my compartment ready to explore each new city, or would I wish for a hotel bed I could crawl into?

Get your eight hours of sleep

The overnight train rewrites the rules of travel. Shorter isn’t always better, for instance. At the very least, the length of the trip should cover the recommended amount of sleep — seven or eight hours. You should also factor in extra time to get settled into your cabin and enjoy breakfast before disembarking. Other considerations: You don’t want to board too late and risk nodding off in the station, or arrive too early in the new city and have to wait around for restaurants, shops and attractions to open.

“If the night train leaves at 7 or 8 in the evening, you can have a bit of time to open a bottle of wine and read a book by the glow of your berth light,” Smith said. “And you don’t want to arrive at 6 in the morning.”

For my journey, my latest boarding time was at 10:30 p.m. (Amsterdam), and my earliest arrival was 6:30 a.m. (Berlin). My excuse: It was my first outing.

The other critical decision is the type of accommodations, which range from totally private if you’re willing to purchase the whole cabin to shared among as many as six strangers. (Women-only rooms are available.) You will probably want a bed, which is not a big ask: The majority of compartments cater to people who sleep horizontally. However, if you’re the resilient type, you can book a cabin with seats and sleep upright.

The experience: Leg 1 to Berlin

For my train experiment, I booked three straight nights, starting in Amsterdam. I had a full day (plus early evening) in each destination: Berlin, Zurich and Budapest. I checked my luggage at the train station and, when necessary, washed up there, too. I could drop into hotels, but only to charge my phone and cool off — no catnapping allowed.

I booked the first leg on European Sleeper, a community-owned start-up that debuted in May 2023. In March, it extended its Brussels-to-Berlin service to Prague, a nearly 16-hour trip.

I had booked the top-tier accommodations, a sleeper cabin with a real bed. A few days before my departure, I received an apologetic email informing me that I had been downgraded because my cabin was broken. The company didn’t specify what exactly was busted.

An employee later told me the cars date from the 1950s to the ’90s. He said new cars can cost $5 million to $8 million each, so railways often refurbish or retrofit used ones.

“The fact that this train is still rolling is nothing short of a miracle,” he said.

In my new digs, I had three female bunk mates, the same number and gender as my original booking. But I was now in a “couchette” — train lingo for a room with seats that convert to beds. I also lost many of the other hotel-caliber comforts, such as the duvet (now a paltry blanket), the en-suite sink (now a basin in the bathroom shared by everyone in my car), the welcome glass of wine or soda (a carton of water), and the towel and toiletries (had to bring my own).

Upon entering the cabin, I placed my hand on the upper bunk and felt something soft and warm. It was my roommate, who had boarded two hours earlier in Brussels. My other cabin mate, who hailed from The Hague, had an early-morning meeting in Berlin. She wasted no time transforming her seat into a single bed, laying down the sleep sack, thin gray blanket and pillow.

Before crawling into her cocoon, she stretched an arm across the narrow space separating our beds and handed me a wad of cotton containing wax earplugs.

“I’m a snorer,” she said. “I brought you these.”

I wasn’t tired, so I went in search of a diversion, a challenge on a train whose primary activity is sleeping. I found the cabin attendant in her cubbyhole and inquired about a cafe car. She pointed behind her, at a kettle and basket of tea and coffee. She flashed me a sympathetic look and offered me a free coffee.

“Because I was downgraded?” I asked.

“No, because you are nice,” she replied.

I resumed my wanderings and settled in the bike storage area, the only open space. A procession of Canadians passed through, toting cans of beer. A member of the entourage joined me on the floor. Toby said his group of 18 were on their eighth annual surprise trip. Only the two organizers knew the itinerary. He never asked where I was going, keeping the secret to the end.

Eventually, a staff member making the rounds ordered us back to our cabins. I tiptoed into my compartment, installed my earplugs and wriggled into the sleep sack that had as much charm as a laundry bag.

At 5:45 a.m., the cabin attendant appeared at our door with coffee and an update: We were ahead of schedule and had to idle in order to ensure a punctual arrival in Berlin.

The experience: Legs 2 and 3

For my second and third overnights, I booked passage through Nightjet, which is owned by the Austrian rail company ÖBB. For the Berlin-to-Zurich trip, I reserved a sleeper car, the highest-end option, which cost about $214 per person. (On this particular train, the cushiest choice was still shared among up to three guests and didn’t have a private shower.) Still, after the spartan night on the European Sleeper, I greeted each amenity like an old friend that I’d missed terribly.

While I was digging through my goody bag — slippers, earplugs, eye mask, Tutti Frutti candies — a steward entered my compartment to take my breakfast order. He said I could choose six items off the menu. I consulted with my neighbor, a Dane who lives in Berlin and does not like to fly. She didn’t have her glasses on, so I helped her read the tiny print on the menu: calf’s liver pate, Gouda slices, muesli yogurt, salami.

“The trains have really stepped it up,” she marveled. “Breakfast used to be a dry roll and bad coffee.”

I was cooing over my bathroom vanity when the cabin attendant returned with a bottle of German sparkling wine. I asked him if anyone was occupying the other two beds. He said he would know in Leipzig, adding, “I hope they don’t come, so you can just rest.”

To pass the time, I poked around my section of the train. My cabin’s beds were stacked like shelves. I scaled the ladder to the top bunk, which was protected with a safety net. I peered down and wished I had a climbing harness. I played with the mood lighting before heading to the front of the car, where I could connect to the train’s internet and watch Railnet TV.

At midnight, I proclaimed the cabin was all mine. I celebrated by brushing my teeth in my private sink.

In the morning, I opened my eyes to discover a Bernese mountain dog strolling by my window. We were in Basel, about 90 minutes from Zurich. The attendant dropped by with my vegan breakfast — green tea, two slices of Mestemacher bread and a pot of raspberry jam — which I ate in bed as scenes of Switzerland flickered by.

After the morning rush, the shared shower was available. I stepped inside the stall and tried to close the door. It fell off its hinges, so I brought it inside with me. I had just lathered up when the water stopped flowing. I returned to my cabin to rinse off in the sink. My door was locked.

I tracked down the cabin attendant, who opened the door for me. He didn’t ask any questions.

I wanted to stay forever in the sleeper car, but alas, it was sold out on my final leg. For the Zurich-to-Budapest voyage, I chose the next best option, the couchette carriage. Four of the six beds were set up. My cabin mate, who had teased bangs and a sweet smile, helped me make up mine — fitted sheet, top sheet, brown blanket, pillow — across from hers. She didn’t speak English, but her body language said she was ready to call it a night.

Similar to the other trains, there was no communal area, but the corridor was outfitted with pull-down seats. I claimed one and waved at a mom with a baby sitting a stool away.

In Buchs, our last stop in Switzerland, we had an hour layover. Adult passengers and kids on a field trip spilled onto the platform to smoke and dance, respectively. I chatted with an employee who explained that I was in the Hungarian section of the train and he was in the Austrian half. He said I was welcome to hang out in his car, which was brighter and more modern. However, I would have to return to my cabin by 3 a.m. or I would be bound for Vienna instead of Budapest, since the trains were set to detach mid-trip.

In the morning, I woke up to a pair of feet dangling in my face. The other two roommates had arrived late in the night and quietly crawled up the ladder into bed. They lived in Liechtenstein but were visiting Budapest, the hometown of one of the women.

From up high, she shouted down recommendations for Budapest. She strongly recommended the Szechenyi Baths in Heroes’ Square, where I could soak in peace.

After three nights on sleeper trains, I am ready to quit hotels and planes. Though I was a little sleep- and shower-deprived, the sacrifice was worth it. (If you require a solid eight hours and a luxurious soak, you would probably disagree.)

First and foremost, I saved a bundle. The most I paid was $218 for the Berlin-to-Zurich trip, a fragment of the cost for a flight, hotel and transportation to the city center. I had a few additional expenses, such as luggage storage and the bathroom fee at the train station, but they didn’t add up to much.

Experience-wise, I appreciated the ease of boarding the train. No security checks, baggage limits or liquid restrictions. I explored my trio of cities until a half-hour before departure time, an impossible feat if I had traveled by plane.

Along the way, I picked up some nuggets of wisdom. For the next time, I would stick with the sleeper car and, if possible, travel with friends or family members who can provide a doctor’s note asserting they don’t snore. I would follow Smith’s advice and catch an earlier evening train — maybe closer to dinnertime — so I could enjoy the onboard experience more. And I would remember to take the room key before heading down the corridor for a shower.