Full Speed Ahead

High in the mountains between Spain and France, a long-neglected train station has become an opulent hotel. Simon Willis takes an express trip to a hidden chapter of World War II.

A few years ago, I was flicking through a magazine when I saw a photo essay about abandoned train stations. They were images of sublime squalor. The grand Greco-Roman columns of Michigan Central Station in Detroit were covered with graffiti. The Art Deco posters on the walls of the St.-Martin Métro in Paris were gradually peeling away. But the most haunting place in the collection was Estación Canfranc, high in the Spanish Pyrenees.

From the outside, this 790-foot-long Beaux-Arts palace looked like it had been transplanted from a fashionable Parisian boulevard. When it was completed in 1925, Canfranc was the second-largest rail station in Europe, after the one in Leipzig, Germany. Inside, the structure had cathedral-like proportions, as though it had been erected not merely to facilitate train travel but to worship it. Huge arched windows let in shafts of beneficent light. The ticket counter could almost pass for an altar. But by the time the photo essay was published, the congregation was long gone. The building closed in 1970 and had been empty ever since. Its vaulted ceiling was slowly moldering, and the floor was covered in dust and debris.

Now the travelers are back. One recent afternoon I arrived in Canfranc to check in to the station, which has been transformed into one of Europe's most spectacular new hotels. Its scale and grandeur are incongruous, given that Canfranc is a remote mountain hamlet near the border of Spain and France. The town, which sits in a narrow valley enclosed by steep, forested slopes, has a population of only 600.