Jason Slaughter doesn't just review a Swiss hotel; he exposes a hidden infrastructure war where tax policy and corporate greed are actively dismantling the most efficient way to travel across Europe. While the destination is the world's highest hotel, the real story is the author's frustration that getting there requires a flight simply because the night train network is starved of capital. This isn't a travel log; it is a damning indictment of how artificially cheap air travel has strangled sustainable rail, leaving travelers with no choice but to burn carbon just to reach a place that demands a train to enter.
The Tax Disadvantage
Slaughter opens by contrasting the car-centric sprawl of his past life in Canada with the seamless connectivity of Amsterdam, yet he quickly pivots to the systemic barriers facing European rail. He writes, "Don't you love it how airlines aren't required to charge VAT on their tickets, and they don't pay tax on their fuel, but the railways do charge VAT and also need to pay tax on their fuel and electricity? Yeah, that's great." This rhetorical question cuts to the heart of the issue: the market isn't free; it is rigged against the greenest option. The author's argument lands hard because it moves beyond nostalgia for old trains to a concrete economic critique of why new ones aren't being built.
He notes that the rise of low-cost air travel in the 1990s caused rail carriers to abandon sleeper cars, a decision that has taken decades to reverse. As Slaughter puts it, "It takes time to buy new rolling stock and to start up new night train routes, so for now, there aren't nearly enough night trains available to meet demand." This delay creates a bottleneck where demand is high, but supply is artificially constrained by decades of policy neglect. Critics might argue that market forces eventually correct themselves, but Slaughter's experience suggests that without regulatory intervention to level the playing field, the correction will take generations.
The cost for the flight plus a hotel in Geneva was twice as much as the night train would have been, yet the train was the option that didn't exist.
Engineering the Ascent
Once the author bypasses the broken night train system by flying to Geneva, the narrative shifts to the triumph of Swiss engineering. The journey to Gornergrat involves a rack railway that climbs 1,500 meters using a three-phase power system that has been in use since 1898. Slaughter highlights the elegance of this design, noting that "three trains going down generate about enough electricity for two trains to go up." This detail transforms the train from a mere vehicle into a self-sustaining energy loop, a stark contrast to the fuel-dependent aviation industry he criticized earlier.
The author describes the modernization of the line, where new trains with massive windows offer views of the Matterhorn, replacing the "cute and little" original locomotives. He observes that the railway uses the Abt rack system, a "clever" mechanism designed in 1882 that remains the gold standard for steep gradients. This section serves as proof that the technology for sustainable, high-altitude travel has existed for over a century; the failure lies not in engineering, but in the political will to fund it elsewhere.
The Observatory and the Isolation
The hotel itself, perched at 3,100 meters, functions as both a luxury retreat and a scientific observatory, a duality Slaughter finds fascinating. He writes, "The observatory was built on top of the hotel in the 1960s and it was in use for scientific research until about 15 years ago. Today, it's used by school children in Switzerland to learn about astronomy." This repurposing of infrastructure underscores a broader theme: when you remove the car, you create space for education and community rather than just commerce. The isolation of the location, enforced by the requirement to take a train, ensures that the experience remains immersive and disconnected from the rush of modern life.
However, the author admits that the trip was marred by maintenance closures that forced a bus ride for part of the journey. "Our ride up to Zerat wasn't nearly as quick or comfortable as the train, but this bus was about as good as it gets as an alternative," he concedes. This admission is crucial; it shows that even in the world's most reliable transit nation, the system is fragile. If the rail link breaks, the entire experience degrades, highlighting the absolute dependence on a single mode of transport.
The Return Journey and the Future
The return trip reveals the current state of the European night train revival. Slaughter describes boarding an older train with "capsule rooms" that are decades old, contrasting them with the newer rolling stock being rolled out by operators like ÖBB. He notes, "The bed was comfortable, and I didn't hear any noise from any of the other cabins," finding solace in the simple, rhythmic motion of the train. Yet, the experience is a patchwork of old and new, a transitional phase in a much larger shift.
He concludes that night trains "combine transportation and a hotel, which makes them very cost effective, and the whole experience is so much more relaxing than dealing with airports." This final comparison is the piece's strongest argument: the night train isn't just a mode of transport; it is a superior product that offers time, comfort, and efficiency simultaneously. The only barrier is the lack of scale, a problem that requires massive investment to solve.
Bottom Line
Jason Slaughter's coverage is a masterclass in using personal travel to expose systemic failure, proving that the dream of a car-free Europe is technically feasible but politically stifled. The strongest part of his argument is the clear link between tax policy and the scarcity of night trains, while the biggest vulnerability is the reliance on individual travelers to navigate a broken system. Readers should watch for the next wave of rail investment, as the demand Slaughter describes is only going to grow as the climate crisis intensifies.