I paid for a private sleeper compartment from Vienna to Amsterdam. When I opened the door, two men were already inside. The train company had double-booked it. Their solution? Put me in a compartment like this with a male stranger for what became an 18-hour journey. He was perfectly kind. This is not a complaint about him, and I suspect he felt awkward too. But I couldn’t change clothes. To use the toilet, I had to climb down from the top bunk and squeeze past his bed. I lay awake all night, fully dressed, scrolling through my phone. The railway knew nothing about my history, my vulnerabilities or why unexpectedly being shut inside this tiny space with an unknown man might leave me frozen with anxiety. This is why privacy and single-sex accommodation matter. Not because every man is dangerous. Because women shouldn’t have to prove that one is before our boundaries and dignity matter. (Photos: the same type of compartment, taken on my outward journey and a view from my bunk).