In the magical flying car sequence in "The Chamber of Secrets," Harry Potter and his friend Ron Weasley desperately pursue the Hogwarts Express as it streams northward. They fly over Scotland's West Highland Railway Line, perilously maneuvering the flying car between the 100-foot high arches of the spectacularly curved Glenfinnan Viaduct. They catch up with the train when it reaches the "Hogwarts School for Witches and Goblins, somewhere in the Highlands." That famous viaduct has been featured in all the Harry Potter movies.

In early May last year, I traveled across the Glenfinnan Viaduct on another famous train, The Royal Scotsman, on a real time, round trip from Edinburgh and back again.

The sound of welcoming bagpipes on the platform at Waverley Station receded into the background as passengers boarded the train and were shown to their quarters by smiling, tartan-clad crew members. My well-appointed cabin had Scottish prints and wall sconces on mahogany walls, a roomy wardrobe, a pretty dressing table, and a private bath with fluffy, white towels on a heated rod. Best of all was the view out the wide window. I sat in silent awe as we crossed the starkly beautiful Rannoch Moor, dramatic with its desolate pools of dark water and mist curling around distant hills. We passed the long, blue finger of Loch Lomond, pointing straight northward, and the deep mountain valley of Glenfinnan where in 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie rallied the clansmen in his unsuccessful battle for the British throne, and Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Britain.

The scenery was just as enjoyable when it was shared with other passengers, some 30 of us on the train ‹ mostly Brits, some Scots and a few Americans. We gathered in the observation car, which became our drawing room, a comfortable place where you could curl up in a comfy chair and read a book, but more often a place where conversational friendships were formed. Led by The Royal Scotsman's host, Quentin Bunting, he of hearty good humor and vast knowledge of things Scottish, the trip was like a delightful country house party.

My favorite spot on the whole train, despite the combination of Edwardian splendor and modern luxury inside, was the covered, open-air platform at the end of the observation car. There was usually a small group out there enjoying the Highland air, deep in conversation or just getting a better look at the scenery as it approached and then disappeared behind us. During the occasional stops along the route, we would exchange greetings with the local stationmaster or people on the platform.

There were trainspotters as well. The use of railroads for public transportation began in Britain over 150 years ago and ever since, the British have been uniquely fascinated by trains and the engines that pull them. Trainspotters often form clubs, gathering on major train platforms, railway bridges or hillsides near the tracks, sometimes bringing sandwiches and flasks of tea. They are familiar with the train schedules and we often passed groups of them, standing expectantly, carrying binoculars, cameras and tripods ‹ even notebooks where they jot down the names of the engines and their numbers. I certainly hadn't expected an audience on this journey, but after all, in a small way, we were all involved in the progression of The Royal Scotsman, one of the most famous trains in the world.

In two mahogany paneled dining cars, meals were part of the house party effect. Chef Frankie Quinn, of the Michelin-starred Restaurant Andrew Fairlie at Gleneagles presides in the galley. Served on Royal Worcester china emblazoned in maroon and gold with the Royal Scotsman crest, Chef Quinn's menus feature the freshest ingredients available locally, miraculously combined in his tiny working space. Chicken and langoustine salad, seared Atlantic scallops, roast loin of lamb with truffle risotto and homemade sticky toffee pudding, for example ‹ all paired with personally recommended wine selections.

Two out of three dinners on this "Western" tour were formal occasions. The women wore cocktail attire and most men wore dinner jackets ‹ except for those in kilts (worn often and proudly in Scotland). And no, I do not think that only the attractive men wear kilts. I think that a kilt simply flatters every man who wears one. After dinner, passengers repair to the observation car to enjoy a coffee or rare single malt Scotch. On one night, we were entertained by stories and legends recollected by a local Highlander, and on another, a young Scotswoman brought her harp aboard and sweetly sang for us. And of course, we always discussed the day's adventures. All the irresistible breads, pastries and other delights that issued from the galley made everyone aboard feel a need for exercise. And after hearing the stories and passing through the scenic wonders of this legendary land, I for one, was anxious to explore. We left the train at least once a day for some kind of gentle adventure.

We cruised Loch Awe past the melancholy 15th century ruins of Kilchurn Castle. We ferried to the Isle of Bute to Visit Mt. Stuart, the Victorian Gothic estate built by the 3d Marquess of Bute who spared no expense indulging his passion for astrology, mythology and religion and his obsession for unrestrained, fantastical decoration. In spite of tea and buttery Scottish shortbread in the library, we were glad to escape to Mt. Stuart's extensive gardens. But, still damp from a recent rain, even the gardens were strangely atmospheric.

Simple pleasures are often the best. We walked to the beautiful Morar Sands, a gleaming white sand beach across the sound from the magical Isle of Skye. Our intrepid host took off his shoes, rolled up his pants and tried - not very successfully - to get everybody to follow him into the cold water. There was a big black dog on the beach ‹ I think it was a Black Labrador. Our host picked up a stick and threw it into the sea. The dog plunged in after it and in a frenzy of joy and a great shaking of water, galloped back and dropped it at Bunting's feet. We all caught the spirit, took turns throwing the stick and at least a dozen people had to change into dry clothes when we got back to the train. We had as much fun as that water-loving dog.

The Royal Scotsman offers six tours of varying lengths and routes and different excursions. There are castles to visit: Eilean Donan - after Edinburgh Castle, the most photographed one in Scotland because of its stunning site on an island between three mountain lakes; Cawdor Castle, 14th century home of the Thanes of Cawdor, associated with Shakespeare's Macbeth; and pointy-towered Glamis, Seat of the Earl of Strathmore and childhood home of Her Majesty, the late Queen Mother. And distilleries: you might visit Strathisla Distillery or Glen Grant, the home of Chivas Regal. There are often opportunities for boating, hiking, fishing, golf and even clay pigeon shooting.

On the morning of the fourth day, I was up early, sorry that the trip was ending, but looking forward to a full Scottish breakfast and the good company of a woman from California with whom I'd become friendly. All smiles as she arrived, she told me she'd just made arrangements to stay on the train for its next tour.

"We leave this afternoon, go across the Firth of Forth Bridge and wind up in Strathisla at a traditional Scottish ceilidh!" she said gleefully. A ceilidh (pronounce kay-lee) promises singing, piping, dancing and inevitably a good time. I was envious, but I had plans to spend a few days in Edinburgh and that too, always means a good time.

For more information:

Web Site:www.royalscotsman.com; www.royalscotsman.com;

Telephone: 800 922-8625