You might have thought that St Pancras station was beautiful or quirky, but you would never have called it glamorous. Not until now, that is. With the opening of Europe’s longest champagne bar – all 315ft of it, equivalent to four train carriages – St Pancras just got sexy.

I’m sitting at about the 180ft mark, on a brown leather banquette, heated to ward off the chill under the vast arches. The champagne is flowing, the oysters are sliding and, just feet away, behind a glass partition, a Eurostar train is easing its way down the platform – next stop Paris.

I confess that I’m from Derby, and St Pancras is my station. By that, I mean it’s where the main line from Sheffield and the Midlands has terminated since it was built in 1868; where I alighted for college in 1983 (I never quite got around to going back on a permanent basis); where I ran along the platform, heading home for my brother’s wedding; and where I queued in the cold, trying to get north in time for Christmas. It’s not a place where I have ever drunk champagne.

Now there are more than 40 varieties from which to choose, from a glass of Jean-Paul Deville Carte Noire NV for £7.50 all the way to a bottle of Krug Collection 1949 for £2,700. There are just two bottles of that last one, kept in a nearby safe. Impulsives, please note – you’ll have to allow 15-20 minutes after ordering for chilling.

If I’d asked for either of those drinks at the Shires – the old railway pub that was apologetically tucked away in a corner nook – I’d have got a black eye and 15 or 20 minutes of seeing stars. It was an unspeakably grotty place, serving scowls and poorly kept John Smith’s bitter. The floor was sticky, the games machines were distracting and the meat pies were utterly miserable.

A crisp-suited waiter hands me the new bar’s food menu, snapping me out of my reverie. There’s a champagne breakfast at £17.50, with plates of canapés from £7.50 and open sandwiches from £6.50. Proper open sandwiches, these: not the train wrecks of mangled sausage, egg and ketchup that were scraped together at the old platform-side Traveller’s Fare cafe, but “Gubbeen, heirloom tomato chutney on granary bread”, no less.

Ah, and here comes the 16.12 from Brussels, gliding along the platform. Through the windows, the passengers look excited, some a little stunned. They’ve had their Waterloo: nice though the curvy roof was, this entrance is as grand a station arrival as you’ll find anywhere in the world. A little girl waves from the window and, caught in the spirit of the place, several diners on the next table wave back.

If I have one gripe, it’s a selfish one: the country’s and the Continent’s gain is my loss. You see, next time I catch the train up to Derby, it won’t actually depart from beside the champagne bar. No, no: services to the Midlands have been shunted to a new annex just beyond, where the vaulted ceiling, and the magic, stops.

Still, us Midlanders don’t really mind being nudged out by Eurostar, and our platforms are only a short walk away. After some bubbly in style, the 12.04 to Sheffield will never be quite the same again. And who cares about the 12.04 to Sheffield, anyway? I’m definitely coming back here just to glam it up, sans train tickets.

It’s all very well, this newfangled champagne-and-trains thing, but we shouldn’t forget the classics, should we? Here are six station watering holes that have been doing class for decades, not days.

SIRKECI ISTASYONU, Istanbul

In its halcyon years, the Orient Express from Paris to Constantinople lurched to its final stop in Sirkeci, hard by the walls of Topkapi Palace. You can ride the route today and, even though the station is less polished, it looks just as oriental as it did when it was unveiled in 1890 by the Ottomans – like a riotous pink sultan’s pavilion.

Take a seat outside the Orient Express Restaurant (00 90 212 522 2280), on the platform beside track one. Peach tablecloths flap in the breeze, liveried trains gleam and the waiter brings chunky glasses full to the brim with dry white Villa Doluca.

Next stop: Bucharest, in your couchette on the Bosphorus Express (www.tcdd.gov.tr), which departs Istanbul nightly at 10pm, up through the remote expanses of Thrace and into the dark forests of Bulgaria, with sporadic villages glinting.

GARE DE LYON, Paris

This was the way all great stations were meant to look at the turn of the 20th century: grand and gothic, with a stonking clock tower. If its grandeur has to contend these days with neon kiosks, there’s a splendid retreat. Le Train Bleu (www.le-train-bleu.com) has fed and watered well-heeled travellers since 1901, when its belle époque looks were first revealed. It’s like an explosion in a Ferrero Rocher warehouse, dripping gold. Gild the lily with a glass of fizz and a dozen oysters.

Next stop: Burgundy – you’re now in the mood for food. Board the 2.54pm TGV (www.tgv.co.uk) to Dijon and you’ll soon be sipping a syrupy aperitif at boisterous Le Quentin (00 33 3 80 30 15 05), on Place du Marché.

KAZANSKY, Moscow

Three of Moscow’s main stations sit like bonneted old sisters around Komsomolskaya Square, where the cheap-CD sellers trade. The most elegant is Kazansky, which was embellished handsomely in the early 20th century. In part, this was to reflect increased traffic with Kazan, the capital of Tatarstan: the station’s arresting tiered steeple is a nod to that city’s landmark Suyumbeki Tower. In the ballroom-size hall, there are signs of big journeys ahead: families around huge bags, and tearful farewells.

The faded old Irish Bar (00 7 495 266 1670) is a hilarious time warp. (Why the plastic tortoise among the dishes in the cabinet?). Given that it is probably freezing outside, make it a stiff one: a shot of Russky Standart voddy, Arctic cold and down in one.

Next stop: Kazan, on the Tatarstan (#002), leaving Moscow at 10.08pm, into Kazan for 8.45am. There’s supper available en route, and the chance to hunker down horizontally. For Russian train tours, contact Exeter International (020 8956 2756, www.exeterinternational.co.uk).

KELETI PALYAUDVAR, Budapest

Budapest gained some of its greatest civic icons in the twilight of the Hapsburg dynasty, and this was imperial Austria-Hungary’s most impressive nexus when it opened in 1884. Before the first world war, princes chugged off from here to hunt on the Great Plain. Today, Keleti Palyaudvar looks battered and ghostly from the street: a huge-windowed aviary of pigeons.

Baross Etterem (www.meko.hu), a few steps from the entrance, is a real trip back in time, all dust and red upholstery. Try goulash, fish soup and – for perfect Hungarian hydration – perhaps a foam-capped Dreher Pils.

Next stop: Vienna, mere hours from Keleti. The 9.10am will get you there for 12.08pm – and there’s a dining car. For seat reservations, visit www.raileurope.co.uk.

HLAVNI NADRAZI, Prague

The main station had grand beginnings as a salute to Emperor Franz Joseph, after whom it was christened when the dust sheets came off. Below sculpted nudes, modern human traffic can verge on the hustly, but it’s still a potent reminder of vaulting late-imperial ambition.

Do double espressos and almond cake under the soaring dome of Fantova Kavarna, beside track one. The shabby art-nouveau cafe has seen more elegant days, yet recalls a glamorous old Europe of fox-fur hats and espionage.

Next stop: Benesov, 75 minutes away, with departures hourly. Chateau Konopiste, just beyond town, was hideaway to Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the Hapsburg crown prince whose assassination in Sarajevo triggered the first world war. Tour the gothic-Renaissance oddity, noting the many trophy heads of exotic game.

CENTRAAL STATION, Amsterdam

Commanding Stationsplein, on the wide IJ River, Amsterdam Centraal cuts a classic dash in russet stone, animated with spires, dials and a weather vane on high. Derided when it opened in 1889 for obscuring the city from the sea, today it channels nobly the whirlpools of commuters and scruffy InterRailers. Take a tongue-tickling Grolsch at Grand Cafe Restaurant 1e Klas (www.restaurant1eklas.nl), on platform 2B. The waiting room for first-class passengers in the late 19th century, it is now a lofty-ceilinged pit stop, with dashes of art nouveau.

Next stop: Zandvoort, a breezy North Sea resort, half an hour away, with departures at 15 and 45 minutes past the hour. Cafes edge the strand in summer; dunes and pines lure low-season walkers and twitchers.