The first morning train sets off while the station lights are still on. It is a short train with three carriages, mostly carrying locals with flasks of coffee, a couple of hikers with rucksacks between their knees and a few travellers who have heard about the stop but can hardly believe it.
About halfway along the route, where the tracks follow the hillside, the train slows and finally stops altogether. There is no platform, no sign and no announcement – just a few friendly words from the driver. Everyone knows what comes next.
Below, the valley is still in shadow. Then sunlight reaches the distant ridge, slides down the slopes and spreads across fields and rooftops, one by one. Faces appear at the east-facing windows. Every time, someone forgets to take a photograph because they are so absorbed in the view.
A pause that became a tradition
Nobody seems to know exactly when the stop began. Some regular passengers believe a driver started the tradition years ago on quiet mornings, and the habit stuck. Others suspect the timetable was discreetly adjusted to allow for the pause. However it began, those few minutes are now part of the journey, and nobody seems in a hurry to change that.
Commuters who take this route every day say they still look up. Visitors usually board with their phones ready and get off with their phones in their pockets.
Then the brakes squeal, the carriages give a gentle jolt and the train continues uphill – a few minutes late, but nobody minds.
