on the road less travelled in Ireland and france

It was autumn. Time for adventure. Anna, my then girlfriend (later wife), and I both had a month off from work/study. That meant four weeks in Europe with a Eurail train pass in hand.

The Eurail Pass, introduced in 1959 and formerly known as Europass or Eurorail Pass, is a rail pass which permits travel (now) through 33 European countries on nearly all railroads. You could rock up at a train station in Europe, with your booklet then note down your starting point and destination, get it franked and jump aboard the train (in the Second Class compartment usually).

Our jumping off point was usually Paris. Get from Dublin (train,ferry, train) to the French capital and … well, there was always plenty to see. We’d ride the overnight train down to Switzerland, camp at Lake Constanz. Maybe Zurich to Innsbruk? Then to Munich (for Ocktoberfest)? Augsburg? And loop back to Paris.

Of course, in the 1980s, you were only allowed to ride trains in Western Europe. Communist Eastern Europe was a no-no. It was behind the Iron Curtain – impossible to get into, impossible to get out of.

If we weren’t camping, we would drop in and see friends in the Irish Dispora who had a spare bed/couch available in return for beer and a chat. We’d stay a few nights, before digging out our European rail network map and decide our next destination.

In 1984, we returned to Paris and stayed with a friend of Anna’s – let’s just call her Maire – who was an au pair and happened to have a roof-top apartment and was feeling homesick. Maire agreed to let us sleep on the floor of the tiny bedsitter. (Again it had a separate kitchen, and a squat toilet/shower down the corridor.)

Again we saw the sights for Paris, enjoyed the sunshine and the warm weather. This time we had local knowledge thanks to Maire’s Algerian-born boyfriend, Max.

It was after a long day of being tourists that we discovered the Maire had forgotten her apartment keys. It fell to me to break down the door to get us inside. It also fell to me to repair said door, repaint it to make it look like nothing had happened. Maire was afraid she would lose her job. My skills as a handyman came in handy with the repairs and matching the colour of the paint with the filler.

Another problem we faced on the Paris stay was a few more Irish people arriving at the apartment – in a bedroom meant for one person (maybe a maid) were sleeping top-to-tail five Irish people.

We packed our rucksackss, said our farewells and headed for the nearest train station bound for Switzerland.