For decades, I was an Interrail sceptic. It was down to my early travel history. My first venture abroad, aged 13, was a school day trip to Dieppe in northern France – an experience that, to me, was at least as exciting as man setting foot on the moon, which happened in the same month. That excursion included inhaling clouds of Gauloises cigarette smoke and battling with Gallic plumbing of the kind that would terrify the bravest astronaut. Yet I sailed back to Newhaven enriched and enthralled by the exotic world beyond.
I craved the opportunity to explore Europe beyond a few hours on the Normandy coast. By the time I was 17, the unlimited travel pass known as Interrail had been invented. Just the thing.
