On the Eurail trail

Press, 12 October 1976, Page 29

On the Eurail trail

By

LYN LIPSCOMBE

The unexpected had happened. Instead of waving itchy-footed young things off at the airport. I was boarding a plane myself —with a Eurail Pass in my pocket along with the precious passport which told the World I had reached senior citizen status. And my travelling companion was my elder sister.

Our pass entitled us to two months of unlimited first-class train travel through 13 European countries, from Portugal to Norway. Apart from a few—very few—French phrases, English was the only language we knew*, and we would be entirely dependent on our own resources.

Several questions squirmed in our minds. Would we be able to cope with foreign languages? find our own accommodation en route? read railway timetables? arrange reservations? and avoid getting lost in strange cities? Admittedly, the travel clerk had emphasised that some people, travelling on their own, did not enjoy their holiday because they found strange languages a barrier. He listed the advantages of a conducted tour but failed to win us over. We opted for thistledown freedom; the chance to w’aft here and there —- and back again, if w r e wished — and to stay longer in one place if it appealed to us.

The high season for European travel does not get under way until June, so there was no trouble finding spare seats on trains. It was seldom necessary to reserve first class seats, since most people seemed to travel second class. But in Spain it was compulsory to present one’s pass at the booking office and obtain a complimentary tic-

ket with reserve. Most Spanish trains appeared to be crowded, and anyone hoping to catch one on the spur of the moment would probably find it fully booked.

Also, seats on the posh trans European expresses had to be reserved. If this was not done a supplementary charge was collected en route. Finding bed-and-breakfast accommodation was not difficult. All large stations were equipped with separate offices to give information on train connections and accommodation. A small fee was charged for the address of a pension, guest-house or hotel, but these places could be relied on for cleanliness and service. A tourist-ac-commodation licence, prominently displayed, assured patrons that the standard had been officially approved. We also became acquainted with a more pleasant method of obtaining rooms. A "scout” would approach us as we emerged from the train. It might be a man in hotel uniform, like the one who met us in Lucerne; or an attractive blonde in jeans who took us to her parents' pension in Munich; or a plump, motherly woman, in her Sunday apron, who met us in Salzburg. We remembered the warning “The French people won’t help you at all.” when we became “bushed" on our first day in Paris. We wanted to get back to our hotel, but which way to go? All around us was the pulsating, continental scene: gay awnings on all the buildings, open cafes where people lounged in the sunlight and streams of noisy cars unleashed as lights changed to green. We withdrew from the colourful street parade, taking refuge under a tree decked in spring foliage. Then began the map-reading routine which was to become a familiar pastime. On went the spectacles, out. came the map. We peered at the small print.

A short, elderly man — as ordinary as our next-door neighbour at home — hesitated. He approached diffidently, and offered to help. We showed him our hotel card. He located the street, and began to direct us. Seeing our blank expressions, he tried sign lan-

guage while we watched intently. His arm pointed straight ahead, his elbow curved left around a corner, then straightened. He almost waved his arm off.

We started off confidentaly, but faltered w'here the street forked. Our self-appointed guide had been watching from a distance. He hurried up. beckoned us to follow, and led us to the home straight. We “merci beau-coup-ed” him gratefully, and he went off, smiling. This was a sample of the assistance we received wherever we went. And it wasn't an infrequent occurrence, due to our erratic sense of direction.

We had chosen April to begin the tour, thinking the weather would be emerging from winter bleakness. Fields and trees were bright green with new growth, and the brilliance of tulips cheered our path from Spain to Norwav.

These people were always dependable, we found. They described the accommodation available, the price and what it covered. Sometimes, they even arranged a courtesy car to take us there. We followed the custom of inspecting the rooms before committing our selves, but not once did we feel like objecting to what was offered. The aproned lady w r as a lonely widow who kept herself in pocket money, and company, by letting the spare bedroom in her modem flat. She went out of her way to aid her paying guests. In the evenings we were invited into her lounge to watch television, surrounded by 32 pot plants. One of these was a magnificent amaryllis in glorious, crimson bloom — a joy then, and also in retrospect.

In our first few weeks, we hired taxis frequently. Then it occurred to us that we were being “taken for a ride” in more ways than one. Most taxi-drivers didn’t — or preferred not to — understand English, and this led

to some journeys, as well as the fare, being greatly magnified.

To ask for accommodation near the station seemed to be the logical solution. In Copenhagen, the bureau sent us to a large hotel. We were told this was in the “red light” district, as most areas around city railways seemed to be, but the assistant said; “You’ll be all right if you stay inside the hotel.” We did. Feeling braver next morning, we walked along the back street, reading the garish signs above the many sex shops and film shows rubbing shoulders with one another.

Railway timetables seemed simple enough to understand although the 24hour system, in general use, confused us more than once. However, on presenting ourselves at 10 p.m. to catch the 20.00 hr. train, and finding we had missed it by two hours, was a lesson that registered deeply. Under the Italian headings of “Arrivi” and “Partenze”, it was easy to know which trains were coming and which were going. Germany, with its “Ankunft” and “Abfahrt”, made things more difficult.

We tried to choose a departing train on the “Ankunft” list, and an Englishspeaking girl next to us kindly directed us to the “Abfahrt” timetable.

Norway, with its “Tog Kommer Fra” and “Tog Gar Til” posed a similar problem. In spite of being on trains practically every day for almost nine weeks we enjoyed the experience. If we got tired of sitting we could stand and look out the top half of the large windows, feeling at one with the passing countryside and the breeze from the open spaces. We followed the advice of travelling light and had to curb the tendency to buy souvenirs unless they could be mailed home. Otherwise, if we bought something new, something old had to be jettisoned Because we were always on the move, our clothes were new to the strangers we met. Every night there were odds and ends to be dried on the central heating in our rooms. If we stayed somewhere for a few days we made use of local drycleaners. We were thankful for our ruthless packing methods when we saw other travellers ham-strung with heavy suitcases and multiple bags, trying to attract porters while we waltzed independently on our way. Now that the world-wide supply and price of petrol is causing apprehension. train travel is becoming more popular as a means of transport. We set out with some doubts about our ability to cope but needn't have worried. It was a breeze.

Two senior citizens set out to find Europe their own wav