Confessions of a smoking teenage hitchhiker

The Man Who Pays His Way: Yes, I was too cool (and poor) for Interrail

After seven hours thumbing at a service station outside Beziers, we were begging to be tyrannised by timetables (Getty Images)

Simon Calder, also known as The Man Who Pays His Way, has been writing about travel for The Independent since 1994. In his weekly opinion column, he explores a key travel issue – and what it means for you.

Smoking, as you know, is both stupid and expensive. But back in the 1970s it was cool – to the extent that my trendy comprehensive school (motto, approximately, “whatever”) created an official sixth-form smoking room.

As a teenager in Crawley, nicotine addiction was an easy habit to acquire. And apart from the medical and atmospheric harm it caused, smoking also came with a considerable financial hit.

So when I wanted to explore southwest France, Spain and Portugal, Interrail was out.

At the time I was frisking people at Gatwick airport (as a holiday job, not a hobby). A month’s pay was roughly equivalent to the cost of a month’s unlimited travel on the trains of Europe using an Interrail pass.

But satisfying a craving for nicotine and trying to look cool in the common room meant foolishly spending a small fortune on a half-ounce of Old Holborn and a packet of Rizla cigarette papers every couple of days, so that precious ticket to all corners of Europe was tantalisingly beyond reach.

The cover of one of the first Interrail passes, from 1974, owned by Simon's sister (Penny Ritchie Calder)

Besides, I tried to convince myself, Interrailing was far from cool. Who wants to become a slave to the tyranny of timetables when you can simply cast your fortunes to the wind?

I talked my college pals Roy and Tim into joining me. Somehow, in a pre-mobile phone era, two days after splitting up to hitch south from Paris we managed to meet up at the Franco-Spanish border. (Talking of Franco, the fascist dictator, he had recently and conveniently died – meaning my left-wing parents would allow me to travel to Spain.)

Once across the frontier, the billete kilometrico (a ticket that permits one to travel a specific distance) allowed the train to take the strain in Spain. The then terrible rail network was implausibly cheap, and the same applied in Portugal – itself all a freshly democratised nation.

But once back in France, the ruinous prices of the chemin de fer forced us back on to the roads. After seven hours thumbing at a service station outside Beziers - the only entertainment being a visit from the police to inform us that hitchhiking was illegal - we were begging to be tyrannised by timetables.

After a series of short hops to Lyon, salvation arrived in the shape of the Athens to Paris express coach, which had just dropped off a few passengers. With remarkable generosity, the driver allowed us to take their seats for the final overnight leg to the Place de la Concorde, free of charge. Hardly a supersonic performance overall, though.

I finally gave up smoking aged 34, following a couple of flights on which my fundamental human right to spread noxious gases around the cabin had been banned by the airline. Only occasionally are my nights punctuated with dreams of taking up the habit again.

Finally, I am getting that Interrail pass. Thanks to a flash sale marking the 50th anniversary of the scheme, you can buy three months of unlimited travel for just £375 – which, even on the wages of new P&O Ferries crew, is a lot less than a month’s pay. One- and two-month passes are also available for rather less cash.

The passes are on sale until 11.59pm on Tuesday 10 May. Even if you don’t know when you will be able to travel, digital passes bought now can be used at any time in the next 11 months. As Steve Winwood was singing at around the time I was hitching: while you see a chance, take it.

This is the best of times to be a traveller on the rails of Europe. But no smoking, OK?