Which type of train traveler are you? The kind who looks forward to several hours of peace and quiet to listen to a podcast while watching the scenery go by? Or the productive type, who aims to finally finish their crossword puzzle/book/emails (but ends up falling asleep after 10 minutes)? The kind who complains before a delay has even been announced, and who dreads nothing more than a noisy seat mate? Or the type that just prays their kids will be on their best behavior? The organised kind, who packs a snack for the ride, or the disorganised kind who is forced to bankrupt themselves in the dining car? The type who imagines the lives of the people on the platform, or the type who becomes friends with every other passenger? Marco is a “railfan”. Part of a group of train enthusiasts, that know every railway on the continent and their locomotives, and even plan their trips based on these two factors.

— PLATFORM 16, 2ND SEPTEMBER 2026

I don’t know how many of us there are. Probably a lot. Far more than you’d imagine. You might run into us in the middle of a field, knee-deep in snow, or clinging to a rock with one hand while holding a camera in the other, at 6 a.m., when the light is at its best. We don’t even have a name in fact. Some people call us “trainspotters”, others simply say “train enthusiasts.” It’s a small world that embodies all the beauty, turmoil, and madness of visceral passions—those that arise for no reason at all.

There are those who know everything about the technology and engineering of trains, those who love to travel by rail, and those who are interested in their history… As for me, I’m part of the group that wants to photograph them.

That’s how I got started—when I was bored one cloudy Sunday, with a cheap little film camera, taking wonky, blurry photos of the railroad tracks near my house. I must have been barely 14 years old. I remembered how, when I was even younger, my grandparents would take me to the train station to watch the trains go by—as people sometimes do with children to try and keep them occupied. They were loud, fast, and colorful; I’d make up stories about where they were headed, and I’d even learned to recognize them. In short, I really liked them. Usually kids grow up and one day lose interest. But for me—like thousands of other people, trust me—that day never came.

She was serious; she didn’t have that slightly incredulous, slightly mocking tone with which I’ve often been asked that question in the past. At the time, I didn’t have a ready answer to give her. “I just like them, that’s all,” I said. But then I thought about it.

Of course, there’s an element of competition and achievement: traveling hundreds (often thousands) of kilometers to find that specific locomotive at that specific station—especially if it’s a “rare” train, one that’s becoming increasingly scarce. Just like amateur birdwatchers or Pokémon card collectors. And then there’s the joy of photographing a beautiful landscape and often capturing a heartwarming story about a stationmaster, conductor, or passenger—especially in remote areas where trains remain the only accessible means of transportation.

But it’s also about letting yourself be carried to places you probably would never have visited otherwise. If you let yourself be guided, the tracks choose the route for you; all you have to do is sit back comfortably and see where it takes you. Sometimes the trips are endless, flat, and deadly boring; other times, they hold real surprises. Remote mountain routes where you can gaze out the window, perhaps leading you to those family-run inns right across from the station, where railroad workers on their lunch break chat with the innkeeper as if they were among friends.

We plan meticulously—juggling maps, schedules, and connections, scouring the farthest corners of the web—the forums—in search of information. We secretly exchange tips in WhatsApp groups dedicated to scouting locations. And we end up forming friendships that last for years. Then we set off, organizing road trips, full of anticipation. Sometimes everything goes smoothly; other times we return home with meager spoils. The variables are endless: delays, breakdowns, cancellations, thunderstorms…

There are even agencies that organize safaris all over the world so that train enthusiasts can see steam locomotives—now out of service—in action. More than once, I’ve found myself alongside people from Japan, the United States, or Australia. Sometimes we might end up spending the afternoon having a drink with a team of Bosnian switchmen; other times, we’re explaining to the police why four people have been standing motionless on a railroad bridge for two hours, cameras in hand.

And then there’s the layout of the train cars, which forces you to share a confined, almost intimate space where, for a few hours, you find yourself face to face with a stranger. And you always end up exchanging a few words with the people sharing this journey with you for a few hours: “So, why do you take pictures of trains? Why do you love them so much?”

“It’s just another excuse to travel, discover new places, and meet new people. To be in good company, to be part of a community, or even to engage in a little friendly competition with friends and with yourself.” So that’s the long answer.

And then there’s the short answer: “How could you not love them?”