The major highlight of such a trip is the huge cultural diversity that you can encounter in just a few days. Every day is a new currency, a new favourite beer, and a place that feels very different to yesterday. If you are unlucky you may discover a new top scam too. Living in Europe we are lucky to have such differences packed into a relatively small amount of space, east to west, north to south.

In terms of trains, Europe has really divided itself into three areas. In the core (rich) EU countries, heavy investment in rail infrastructure has given us a high speed rail network that can propel us effortlessly between member states. Whilst this is progress, the consequence is the slow death of the night train network, one of the huge pleasures of longer range rail adventure. In the second area – countries like Hungary and Romania, there are few high speed trains, but still great night trains and connections with other trains across multiple countries. In the third zone are the countries that have failed to invest in even maintaining their rail network. Travel in Bulgaria, Greece, Turkey (and a few others) is much harder than it used to be – at the moment.

Travelling east it’s possible to get to Budapest in less than 24 hours. After Munich things slow down, and in my view get much more pleasurable. I would commend travel to Central and Eastern Europe by train. I have recently found a new place in my heart for German beer, for Hungarian wine, and for Romanian cafe culture. I have found the trains to be reliable, safe and great to meet local people and admire the scenery of their countries. In Western Europe I think people have the wrong perception of newer EU members as they might just see migrants in their own country. Travel there and you find amazing cities, culture and heritage that isn’t perhaps well represented in the media back at home.

Train wise, you can experience travel at about 300 km/h as far as Munich on the TGV and then a couple of classic sleepers between Munich, Budapest and Bucharest. There is great joy to be had sleeping on a train arriving ready for a new day in a fresh city. I have yet to try the Belgrade route, I understand while slightly faster, the sleepers are not quite as good.

There is a snag coming, and it’s this. Things break down pretty severely from a train point of view as you head beyond Bucharest. The trains are fewer, they are of lower quality, and sometimes there are no trains at all. To be honest going to Istanbul on the train is a hard and difficult journey, and not one to attempt unless you seek the satisfaction of perhaps the biggest prize in European rail adventure.

Would I recommend it? No, not unless you enjoy old trains, multiple train changes, red tape and sleep deprivation. Take a plane from Bucharest or Sofia to Istanbul. But if you must, if you really have that burning “because it’s there” desire, then good for you. Get plenty of rest, buy provisions, and be prepared for the need to crash out on a good bed when you arrive in Istanbul. You are a born again hard core rail adventurer. Bravo!

When I find the departures board I discover that my train for the first seven hours is bound for Sofia. On platform 1 I spot two carriages getting pushed back into the station.  Where is the rest of the train? The guard confirms this is actually all of train 461, the only daily service to Sofia. One of the carriages looks pretty crappy and has no obvious numbers or markings. The other carriage, number 473 has international pedigree. It is Sofia bound and it is air conditioned. I’m relieved to see I’m in this carriage and not the crappy one.

On board there are about a dozen passengers and the compulsory seat reservations have been issued so that we are all down one end. I sit opposite a slightly scary looking big man with a shaved head and a black leather jacket. It’s actually against the law not to wear a black leather jacket if you are a Romanian man. Smoking and drinking lots of coffee are also mandatory. The inspector writes something on my tickets and it looks like all is in order. The next challenge will be the Bulgarian border in three hours time.

Giurgiu Nord, 15.30
I woke up at the Romanian frontier where in time honoured rail tradition a policeman checks our passports and takes them away. The border between Romania and Bulgaria is a massive flood plain and the Danube itself with a big metal Cold War bridge stretching over it, more than two kilometres long. On the other side we stop again and a Bulgarian policewoman repeats the passport process. On the platform a woman wearing rubber gloves writes our carriage number in her notebook. I wonder what her job is, but am afraid to ask. The Romanian locomotive was detached here and heads back to Bucharest. A new Bulgarian engine will power the two carriages to Sofia. The crappy carriage is still with us, and it’s empty. Other than luck I’m not sure how you would avoid getting a seat in it. The only possible ticketing difference is that it is not air conditioned.
One we set off again the Bulgarian ticket inspector spots my cunning plan and checked I knew where I was going to get off. I suggested what I thought was the arrival time into Gorna Orjahovica and she said “maybe, around that time”. I hope I make the connection, which I think is possibly 16 minutes, depending on which timetable you believe. There is just a single track on much of this line, which amazes me. You would think that two ex Soviet block countries would have better connections, but maybe that’s part of the story of Romania’s independent approach during the communist period.

18.29, Gorna Orjahovica
Connection made, 15 minutes was plenty of time. The timetable supplied by the ticket office in Bucharest is useless. Fortunately I have a copy of the DB Bahn one printed out (don’t leave home without one) and it’s pretty accurate. I couldn’t work out the Bulgarian departures board very well but got to speak to a helpful lady in the ticket office. Platform 4, 18.45 – I’m now bound for Dimitrovgrad.

On platform 4 I’m greeted by two old carriages, the style that have mini compartments. The engine is coming – I can see it in the distance. This is all good. I’m joined by a Taiwanese lady headed somewhere that neither of us can pronounce. She is lovely and we have much in common, so it’s a shame she is getting off soon. Before we depart the woman from the ticket office hops on as well, she is now acting as our conductor. She brings with her an amazing bit of news for me. My next leg, that was to be by bus, will in fact be by train. That means I’m on trains all the way to the Turkish border. I’m not sure if this is because there are no engineering works at the weekend, but I suspect more likely is that the bit of paper I was given in the Bucharest ticket office relates to train travel in the Byzantine period.

As the sun sets there are some good views and I have an open window. This is great, but in my haste to snap something interesting I nearly lose my camera out the window. Schoolboy stuff, get a grip Woodward. It’s an odd combination of open windows but overhead electric power, so from time to time I hear frazzling sounds and the smell the incineration of large insects or small birds. I settle down by the window and the day changes to night as the sun sets. I’m joined by two local lads who I can only guess are heading out for a Saturday night somewhere more exciting than Gorna Orjahovica. They are an odd couple. One is dressed ready for the full disco experience, right down to a diamond earring, the other has a strange emo haircut making his ears stick out through his hair at an odd angle. I’d like to know how they get on, but of course will never know. According to my timetable in 4 hours I shall be close to Dimitrovgrad, ready for my next change.

22.50, Dimitrovgrad
Bang on time again, I’m one of only two passengers left, and changing trains here. The 465 train that brought us here turns itself round, waiting I’m guessing for the reverse operation in a few hours time. Dimitrovgrad looks brand new and you can see what I’m guessing is big investment in the new line. At this time of night there is nothing going on, but the conductor of the train suggests platform 2. Bulgaria uses the cryillic alphabet, so it’s just like being in Russia – I have to guess the words, but on platform 2, none are obvious. Fortunately my fellow passenger, a Moldovian lady, confirms “Istanbul”, so I relax as best as I can and wait for half an hour for our “Midnight Express” to arrive.

This is getting even more crazy. The last two trains have been made up of just two second class carriages. Well now this latest train is made up of just a single (really crappy) one. It is the 493 train from Sofia. I imagined that it would be a big train full of InterRailers, but in fact there are seemingly none. There are five of us on board, and we make a very odd and diverse looking bunch. I read a book once called “Refusal Shoes”. It was about how immigration at Heathrow airport select and deal with people based on their footwear. I’m in sandals tonight, but at least I’m wearing a shirt with a collar. This is the route of the Orient Express after all. Three hours until we reach the Turkish border. The guard has taken down my passport number and nationality, so it will be interesting to see how they do this.

Kapikule, 02.30
I’m sat on a bus waiting to leave Kapikule with my four fellow adventurers, two Finns, a Moldovan and a chap who I can’t place, but he needs a full visa. It’s very dark and very hot on board the bus.

A man with a big moustache has been shouting orders at us and making us move around together between various police and customs buildings. If we had stayed any longer I’m sure he would have had us marching. One passenger does this every weekend, so I followed him. He’s Finnish and very ably exhibiting his national character, he’s as cool as a cucumber and very understated – he left his ticket on the train and was made to go back to get it. He explains to me in broken English that the train was moving away whilst he did this and he had to jump off. I tell him I’m pleased he made it back and he looks at me in a very deadpan Finnish way and says simply “Shit happens”.
I have discovered that the crappy carriage I was on for the last couple of hours has in fact come all the way from Sofia, no change at Plovdiv required. Normally I would be attracted to a direct train, but it was a really horrible local commuter carriage. My trains down from Romania today were much better, even though the journey has been six hours longer and I have needed to change twice.
Our bus first of all has to negotiate crossing the massive queue of lorries waiting to get into Bulgaria. There are miles and miles of them. Quite incredible. Once this is done we limp along the toll road in a top gear that doesn’t quite sound right. My plan has been to stay awake until getting on the bus then catch some sleep for the 4-5 hour run into Istanbul. In reality sleep isn’t possible on the bus. It’s hotter than a sauna, my seat won’t recline. The metal part of the heater by my feet is so hot that it burns or melts anything it comes into contact with. The hours pass slowly, but eventually I realise we are much closer to the centre of Istanbul than I had thought. It’s a fantastic dawn over th Bosphorus and I tag along with the Finnish guy who shows me how to use the metro (not built when I was last here) and avoid the usual station taxi scam.

Unsurprisingly I’m not in good shape, and I’m relieved when my hotel organise a temporary room at 7am just to allow me to wash and sleep for a few hours. As my head hits the pillow I actually start to hallucinate. I see a huge swarm of flies in the room swirling all around me, then all flying together into one mass before vanishing. Am I on the edge of a train based breakdown?

I could not understand much of the departures board. It’s a sign I’m getting to the margins of the part of Europe that I know. I could however read the word “Bucharesti”, and headed for platform 7 about half an hour before departure.

From what I can see it’s an all Romanian train, and I’m in the only sleeper carriage, number 422. There is also a couchette carriage next door, and beyond that a restaurant carriage. That’s a good sign, and it’s staying with us for the whole journey. Up front there are several more seated carriages. This is a much longer trip than the “Kalman Imre”, leaving Budapest at 19.05 and arriving at noon the next day in Bucharest. Once again it’s a train going to more than one destination, and only part of it is going to Bucharest. My first impressions are that its the perfect train for me. It’s modern, clean and I have time to relax this evening and no dawn arrival.

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There is, however, an immediate problem after we depart. It’s a minor point, but apparently I have no ticket. The person at SNCF who sold me a ticket has actually just sold me a bed reservation. I put my peaceful and positive hat on with the steward and we came to a special arrangement. I’m relieved that he’s a good chap and speaks pretty good English. Another minor hurdle in the mission quickly solved. It’s my fault for not spotting that this ticket said just “reservation” and not “ticket and reservation”. I didn’t spot it as the three other tickets SNCF sold me were fine. I did smile tonight when I heard the station announcer declare that “optional seat supplements are obligatory on this train” Glad that’s clear then.

I had a picnic in my compartment consisting of my cheese roll, some pretzels and a rather fine Hungarian red wine made in a Portugese style. In a schoolboy packing error I forgot my plastic collapsible wine glass, so I purchased a plastic cup for 20 Florints. I seem to be rapidly turning into an InterRail peasant.
A morning update. I have woken after some reasonable sleep in a pretty comfy berth. After assuming that there would be no border formalities, I was glad that I hadn’t gone to bed, as an immigration officer knocked on my door at just after midnight. Romania may be in the EU, but this is the end of the Schengen zone. My passport was scanned on the Hungarian frontier, and then we made a short hop into Romania, where a policeman just checked my passport and copied a few details by hand into his notebook. I worked out there was a one hour time change here too, so turned in just after 01.30am. It was a noisy night with lots of tooting and horn blowing and a few engine changes, but the ride is very good and the line is mainly straight. No suicidal breaking on this train.

I headed to the restaurant carriage for breakfast. Sadly it’s a fairly dead place, and the only thing buzzing were the flies. I had a luke warm thick black coffee, but didn’t linger as the windows were to dirty to see out of, and the views of the Carpathian mountains were quite good. The staff were friendly enough, but chef didn’t seem too keen to cook anything. Most of the other travellers got off at Brasov, no doubt off for some Count Dracula based tourism. The scene outside at first is of bare rock mountains, old steam engines, and wooden buildings, but this changes to chicken factories and petrochemical plants as we pass the open plains nearer to Bucharest.

We arrived in Bucharest Nord on time and I said goodbye to our excellent steward and also to the well travelled passenger in the next compartment, who by chance was English. My mission now was twofold. Firstly, not to get scammed (me, get scammed in a Romanian railway station?) and secondly, to see if I could get some onward tickets to take me to Istanbul, the next leg of my Orient Express journey. I’m pleased to say that I succeeded on both counts.

After queuing at the ticket counter and fending off several people who didn’t believe in queuing, I realised I was at the wrong ticket office. Never mind, I’ve done that before. When I finally found the hidden international ticket office, I got to speak to a younger and very slightly more friendly ticket lady through a little hatch. I had written my cunning plan on a card, so I just handed it over and let her read my transportation requirements. I’m clearly not the first to make such an audacious request as she immediately passed back a bit of paper telling what I knew, that the journey to Istanbul is currently using two trains and two busses and takes at least 18 hours. I smiled and told her that this was indeed what I wanted, and once she had done her best to talk me out of the idea, the booking was made without fuss. It cost 195 Lei, about £38, all major credit cards accepted.
Happy to have this done I then prepared myself for the station tourist taxi scam again, but with renewed determination and confidence in my ability to win. Bucharest station is world class in taxi scam leagues, and some would be horrified that I was attempting to get a cab without pre booking it. First the touts came, then the feeders, then the fake porters – they all converged on me and I swatted them off one by one staring ahead and making random swerving manoeuvres. Finally I came face to face with the kingpin, the commission tout himself, on the taxi rank. I ignored him and tried my first cab. He refused to take me. 1-0. The second cab wanted a fixed price, so I moved on, 1-1, and I got into the third cab before the tout could get between us. My fare was on a meter and about £3.50 for a 15 minute downtown journey. 2-1 to me.
I have a couple of days here to recover and prepare myself for the next leg.

My carriage is number 263, in the middle of the train. It is a distinctive and rare looking Hungarian sleeper, painted light blue. At one end a steward called Oscar greets genuine passengers and stops drunk German’s looking for the last train to Stuttgart from getting onto his carriage. His face says he is used to this. He studies my paperwork and ushers me aboard. I’m in berth 11, which happens to be the very first one in the carriage. That’s bad news for me as it will be a bumpy night over the wheels, but at least the toilets are at the other end. The carriage next door is locked off to prevent any InterRailers heading to Croatia sneaking in. I have booked a single berth compartment, which in effect is just blocking off a three berth one and using it for single occupancy. As I booked it at the last minute I have had to pay an exorbitant “full” fare (£170), but all my other plans work around this train so I have taken the hit. By comparison, on the Romanian leg later in the week, the same set up and nearly twice the distance, cost me £80.

On the plus side the sheets are clean and the air conditioning works. It’s slightly grubby, but not really dirty. The bin contains a few cigarette butts. So much for non smoking. I lay my things out and settle in.  We set off on time, and it’s immediately clear I should have taken some sea sickness pills. The carriage bounces along, swaying from side to side as we accelerate. There isn’t much to do, and it’s been a long day so my plan is to sleep for as long as possible.

Oscar comes to see each passenger to explain how the lights and the door locks work. There are three locks on the inside of my door, and I’m not sure why we need to be locked down like Fort Knox tonight. With that done he wishes me goodnight, but before he leaves I ask him for a spare pillow. He stares at me blankly, so I show him my single pillow and hold up two fingers. “One bed, one pillow” he says. “But I have paid for three beds..” I remind him. He ignores this and retreats down the corridor. I thank him for his help and go digging in my bag for the secret key. If you have followed my adventures before you will know that I can open pretty much any door or compartment on most trains. All I need to do here is unlock and pull down an unused berth and then get a pillow myself. I hope you don’t think this makes me a bad person. With this secretive pillow hijack completed, Oscar then surprises me by returning with the fabled second pillow. I don’t think he notices what I have done, which is just as well. This has happened to me before, and my guess is that he had not realised I had bought a single compartment, maybe he was thinking I was just a lucky lone passenger in a triple. After this incident he seemed much more helpful..
As directed, I locked up my door, and turned in straight away. It was a good plan but after about half an hour I had to rethink a few things. The problem was that the train was constantly speeding up then braking. Braking much harder than I had ever experienced on a train – this was the deceleration of a jet aircraft landing on a short run way. Surely trains would have seat belts if this were envisaged? I was okay as my berth was across the direction of travel, but everything else in the compartment was hitting me or something else as the driver braked. Even my bag was landing on my bed. I put the light back on and decided to just lay everything flat on the floor so nothing could fly away. With this done I wedged myself into the narrow bed and tried to drift off.

The train had other ideas. Over the next six hours I was put through some fairly intensive Hungarian train passenger crash test dummy testing. Every time we stopped the steward dropped the steps to pick up non existent passengers. This made a noise like a small family car being dropped upside down onto concrete from about 10 feet. The alarm kept on going off – I didn’t know what this meant, so like everyone else I ignored it. The train decoupled and recouped five times (that I counted) – with the unsurprising banging and crashing that usually accompanies such a procedure. Several times we must have switched engines as the power went off. In the compartment this was signalled by loss of lighting and air conditioning. The quality of my sleep was thus probably on par with a foot soldier on night sentry duty in the Vietnam (American) war. I only got few short bursts of fatigued sleep, but I made the best of it.

For some reason I had imagined there would be border formalities during the journey, but of course I was wrong – this journey was all inside the EU and the Schengen rules were in play. We spent much of the night in Austria, and after leaving Vienna at 06.00 we then crossed into Hungary at about 07.30. I lay on my bed dressed and ready for action but dozing occasionally until Oscar served me a breakfast tray at about 08.00. This consisted of a risky chicken sandwich, a croissant in a sealed bag that was guaranteed to be fresh for several years, and instant coffee. I passed on the food, but needed the caffeine badly. We pulled into Budapest Keleti station at 09.24. As The Four Seasons would say, “Oh what a night”..

Oscar, still in nice first class mode, helped be get my bag onto the platform and wished me a good day. The sun was shining, and the station felt different to those of the day before – less ordered and full of people selling random things. This included lots of books. I contemplated picking up a cheap copy of “The Greatest Chess Moments of the Twentieth Century” before deciding I needed to find a shower as a priority. Shopping for exotic paperbacks could come later. Doing my best to avoid a classic train station taxi scam, I still managed to fall for a mild version of the train station taxi scam, but it was just a non metered slightly inflated price in Euros, nothing to feel too bad about.

Time to explore Budapest, which was looking amazing in the late September sunshine.

Like a puzzle from the “Crystal Maze” television show, the door to the lounge does not open. At first I think it’s a door controlled by a sensor, so I move about, gently at first, and eventually even throwing some shapes. The door stays firmly closed. I look around feeling foolish, but there is no obvious sign of how to get in. The soldiers stare but offer no guidance. In the end I have to wait for a regular who shows me the secret button, hidden on a pole behind a bush. Very cunning.

I have an hour or so to wait for the 9577 TGV to Munich. Munich doesn’t really feature much as a connecting stop in the original timetable of the Orient Express, as Vienna was the major rail junction. Here trains headed for either Bucharest or Istanbul. Today Munich is a better staging post for me going east, as it gives me access to a connecting sleeper train tonight headed for Budapest. There are several trains headed from Paris to Munich, mainly German ICE trains, but once a day there is also a TGV operated jointly by DB and SNCF.

The “duplex” or “double-decker” trains are huge, and the silver locomotives look very impressive. Just in case you might not be aware, the “Double Deckers” was a slightly cult and influential British children’s television show in the 1970’s. There is a catchy theme tune too, but I shall spare you from that here. My service today is the latest (third generation) version of this TGV type, known as the EuroDuplex. It’s a cool train, and I don’t care if you think I’m a trainspotter for saying so.

I head for carriage 11, seat 93 – it’s a top deck seat in first class. I had booked a seat facing the direction of travel, and seat 93 isn’t. The reason for this as I later discover is that the train changes direction in Stuttgart. Right on time at 15.55 we cruise out of Paris, and once out of the suburbs we quickly break the 300 km/h barrier. It feels effortless and the ride is incredibly smooth. This is a journey to savour as the seats are very comfy and I’m pretty tired. I fall asleep almost immediately and wake up in Strasbourg, 1 hour and 40 minutes later.
The staff on the train are great. They all speak German, French and some English. In the end I give up with my French, as I don’t want to accidentally address a German in French, so I just stick to English. It seems best all round. A friendly chap with a cap at a jaunty angle and a pierced ear takes regular orders for food and drink. I’m just not feeling well enough to eat, but I manage to drink lots of water.
After a relaxing afternoon passing through some great scenery, the train glides into Munich at 21.30, the end of the line for this service. Munich is not a particularly modern or beautiful station, but it has a huge number of platforms. This leg has been easy, comfortable and shows off all that is good about European high-speed rail.

My plan here is to hold my own mini Oktoberfest in the two hours I have before my next train. One of the helpful DB staff confirms that I need to be on platform 14 at 23.35 for Budapest. As I head for a beer keller I have to do a bit of a double take in the station concourse. Nearly everyone is dressed in lederhosen or traditional costume. The men look slightly comical and the women look just lovely. Oktoberfest is a big deal locally as well as internationally, and I feel quite underdressed. I hope to return to Munich later this trip, as the prices for rooms are incredibly high in September. Tonight I’m going to keep heading east.

There were three trains departing in the next hour, one to Disneyland, one to Paris and one to Brussels. Identifying passengers headed to Disneyland was easy. They were either (a) wearing Mickey Mouse ears, or (b) carrying vast quantities of Trans-Atlantic baggage in suitably garish colours, or (c) all of the above. Once they had set off I readied myself, but an announcement was made about a “small technical problem” with our train. The delay was only 20 minutes, but it made me think about the consequences for anyone with a tight connection.
I positioned myself with a hopeful crowd at the escalator gate to platform 9, and waited for the doors to open. Propelled forward amidst a party of school kids, I was distinguishable on the escalator as the only person not wearing a red school baseball cap. Up on the platform there were two trains, our delayed service and the next one, and I quickly found carriage number four on board my train – a new E320 Eurostar. What was unusual about my carriage was it had a film crew on board, the full smash with loads of equipment. I found a rather nice PR lady sat in my seat. We agreed that it was my seat, and with a lovely smile she admitted that she didn’t even have a reservation. “We booked the whole carriage” she explained. A few of the production crew were surprised I had a ticket in the middle of their film set, but we agreed I had a valid ticket for seat 63 in coach 4.

A couple of the creatives gave me a good look over, and I heard one woman say to the other “he’s okay there”. It seemed like I might have a part to play, so kept quiet about my lack of an Equity card. They were all rather nice and chatty, like I might be in the green room before a popular TV show. I only hoped make up were on board too. It was about at this time that one of the film construction crew felt something was wrong. “This is your train?” he asked me. I thought it was much my train as his train, but I got my ticket out once again and showed him too, as if to make my presence legitimate to the film crew. He pondered over it for some time. “But this is the 11.24 – you are on the 10.24 – I thought we had the whole of this carriage”. And so the situation dawned on me. Opposite me on platform 10 was my train, about to depart. It was a cock up of Mr Bean proportions, and all my fault. How could I be such a fool? I was supposed to be a long range rail adventurer, but yet I had just made the most basic schoolboy error in my blind rush for baggage space. I then got to re-enact that train scene from the much under rated 1980’s John Cleese comedy “Clockwise”.

I looked at both end doors to the carriage I was in, now blocked by cameras and scaffolding, said goodbye to the posh PR lady and legged it. “You’re on the wrong train” the conductor told me as I got myself back onto the platform. Top marks for stating the obvious, if only he had been there to direct me before I boarded. Fortunately I didn’t have time to be embarrassed. My train was making final preparations to depart, but as a result of the delay it wasn’t clear exactly when. My bag was still in the wrong train at the other end of the coach. I had to make this my priority, so ran down the platform and extracted it. I almost made a clean getaway, but was blocked by more film type scaffolding being carried on. Once I had persuaded them to reverse, I made it back out and bundled myself and my luggage into the door of the train on the opposite platform. Thank heavens my bag only weighs 13 kg this trip. I’m sure it wasn’t the advertised platform, but it was clear on the door display, and I just hadn’t paid attention. I hadn’t even had time to find out what the film was. Had I just turned down a part in a Hollywood blockbuster? Only time will tell, as I shall recognise my carriage and my seat on the set.
I was surprised to find space for my bag as the last passenger on the train, but I did. I was in second class but the seats were spacious enough. The carriage was a mixed bag of businessmen on cheap tickets, a party of school children (the red caps – I should have followed teacher) and well dressed women off for some major retail therapy. I hope they hadn’t seen my performance on the platform. No one seemed to notice me inside, so I shuffled to my seat and hoped that I might have got away with it and my rail adventurer credibility was still in tact.

I’m a big believer in the luck that comes from something going wrong early in an adventure. What had just taken place was a timely reminder, a “get a grip” moment, but hopefully the only major glitch for this mission.

Emerging an hour or so later from the channel tunnel, we streaked through the French countryside towards Paris at just under 300 km/h. The sun came out as we ventured further inland, something that improved my mood somewhat. With my minimalist packing I was dressed in just shorts and sandals. I must have been thinking Greek beach when I chose my wardrobe. Although the train was full, I was happy with my big new seat in second class, if only I wasn’t feeling a bit unwell. Anyway, there was no time to get depressed – I had some more trains to catch today.

Waverley Station has a strange atmosphere on a Sunday night. Police officers patrol a fairly deserted concourse. The bar is busy with stag and hen parties winding down after a busy weekend. They mix rather uncomfortably with walkers and cyclists returning from the mountains dressed in a uniform of lycra and sporting impressive outward bound accessories.

The Caledonian Sleeper sits at platform 11 waiting for its passengers. There is no hurry. You can get on  40 minutes before it sets off. I head for carriage C and “check in” with the stewardess. Angela gives me the impression that she has been doing this for years. To her the lifestyle is a vocation, a calling. We quickly establish that I’m having a bacon roll for breakfast and I know the drill. She let’s me on, after scribbling something artistic but without any obvious meaning on my ticket.

I dump my bag in my compartment and head for the bar carriage. It’s not the nicest type in the Caledonian Sleeper fleet (they have leather sofas) but is nonetheless comfy enough. I treat myself to a late night cheese plate and a glass of Chilean merlot. Hopefully they will help me sleep without strange dreams. I know from experience that there is no point trying to go to bed before Carstairs, where the train gets connected to the Glasgow service with some fairly serious jolts and bangs. The bar carriage is busy but not full. As always it’s a mixture of tourists, businessmen, priests and politicians heading for a week in London. I can’t quite work out the accent of the man sat opposite me, maybe it’s Danish. He feasts on haggis, neaps and taties, washed down with a bottle of Irn Bru and some ice.

Back in my compartment I settle in to my eight by four foot space. The carriage is ancient, but at least everything works. The bedding is surprisingly nice, and once I have figured out how to turn off all the lights, I manage to get a few hours reasonable sleep.

I have worked out from past experience that breakfast served in your compartment sounds good, but impacts on sleep, as one feels the need to get up and dressed before it actually arrives. Instead I ask to have it served in the bar. The first light of dawn backlights Watford Junction station as I enjoy a reasonable bacon roll and a terrible cup of instant coffee. Great Britain is an age behind Western Europe in train coffee terms, and I hope it catches up soon.
Euston has to be one of the most depressing stations in England to arrive in. We come to a halt at platform 1 in the underground bunker. It takes me five minutes to walk the length of the extended train and get out into the concourse.
I need to get into my rail adventurer mode today. This means never passing on the opportunity to eat or get clean. Euston has a lounge with showers, so I take full advantage. Depressingly without thought for passenger needs, there is no washbasin in the shower room, so I shave and brush my teeth in the shower. Hard core InterRailing on day one!

Ready for the day ahead I stroll over to St Pancras and drink expensive coffee in Searcys Bar until it’s time to check in for the next leg, to Paris.

First the bad news. Interrail isn’t as simple as it used to be. I would expect it to be more expensive, but it’s also now more complicated than it used to be. The need for reservations and supplements seems now to undermine the freedom that it once gave me. Interrailler’s also seem on occasions to be second class citizens, with limited open reservations on some trains. It used to be great to be able to hop on any train and sort it out with the conductor in the old days, but I’m not convinced that is going to work any more. Add to this that I’m keen for a proper bed on the night trains, and a supplement and reservation is needed for any night trains anyway. The price of these at short notice seems the same with or without an Interrail ticket on some of the trains I need to use. To cut a long story short, I’m going to buy my tickets one by one, as I go along. This will be probably be slightly more expensive, but it gives me ultimate flexibility. I will pay more for those last minute tickets, but it seems like the way to go to feel “free”. Interrail is just not the deal it once was. My 2nd class £150 “all you can eat” for a month student ticket in 1987 now costs £489 (as an over 26 year old) before adding on the reservation supplements, which will be several hundred pounds with the sleepers, and of course the Eurostar, which also isn’t included.

There are some other challenges too. The territorial and political landscape of Europe is quite different in some places to how it looked 30 years ago. Last time I went to Istanbul I travelled through Yugoslavia and on to Greece, crossing from Thessaloniki into Turkey. I had to totally avoid countries behind the Iron Curtain, such as Bulgaria and Hungary. These days there is no longer a rail link between Greece and Turkey, but on the plus side, Eastern Europe is mainly visa free. It’s not an easy time to be travelling in some of these parts, and I have considered my security carefully. There are of course risks, but to me they are acceptable.

I have packed my train kit up this week. I’m trying to carry far less than I normally do for the Siberian winter. I have just a single big bag, and if my scales are right, it only weighs 13kg. Add to this my mobile office – a shoulder camera bag, and its the most “alpinist” I have ever been on my rail adventures so far. In case you were wondering, the Iban shield is staying at home, it just lives in my hallway!
I was thinking over breakfast yesterday about my experiences from all that time ago, and what advice my 21 year old self would now give my 49 year old self getting back on the rails of Southern Europe. As a student I might have had little money, but I also had few worries and no real perception of possible dangers or what might go wrong. Young people might not have great life experience, but they are mainly positive and optimistic. Taking chances and being unorganised are all part of the Interrail spirit of adventure. These days I tend to over plan (is there such a thing?) and work through endless scenarios of disaster before setting off. So I think my student self would probably tell me to “chill out”, relax, and have fun. Being a happy Interrailer is all about living in the moment and not worrying about the past or the future. My 49 year old self would probably encourage my younger self to engage better with local people, avoid McDonalds at all costs, and to try and speak a few words of local lingo.

I know the route I’m planning to take now, at least as far as Istanbul. After some research on the original route of the Orient Express, I realise that there are several routes, and none can be achieved exactly in the modern world as they were in the last century. I’m going to travel from Paris to Munich, Munich to Budapest, Budapest to Bucharest, then try my luck at the train and bus routing from Bucharest to Istanbul. The engineering works on the railway lines in and out of Turkey have made train travel all the way impossible for several years now. I had been waiting for this to be fixed, but my impatience has got the better of me – I’m going for it,  train or no train for the last leg from the Turkish border into Istanbul. I’m planning to exit Turkey via Sofia, and then decide if I’m going south to Greece, or north to the Czech Republic and Slovakia.

The interweb has of course made planning such a journey much easier than it was in the 1980’s. I won’t carry a printed timetable with me this trip. A combination of Seat 61, and the DB navigator app give me almost all that is needed. Just add TripAdvisor for some ideas on accommodation and what to see, and I have nearly all that I need. You would think it would be easier to book tickets too, but I have found this quite hard so far, in the end buying some of my tickets over the phone. Many can only be purchased cost effectively at the station in the local country. I had the most luck with Voyages SNCF.

I shall update as the journey progresses. Its not too late to join in!