A Familiar Welsh Voice

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We woke up when Paris started coming back to life and we went into the station to catch the first train to Calais. We’d just got settled when a guard came along and told us that the train was going to be split half way through the journey and we were in the half that was not going to Calais. We found the correct carriage and were just getting settled again, when I heard this familiar Welsh accent. Two seats back was Allan, half way through chatting up a group of French girls. Coincidence or what!

Allan was on his own, as Richard had had his passport and Inter-rail ticket stolen. He was still in Paris trying to sort it out. We waited in Calais for him, but it was three hours before he turned up, now able to leave the country.

We had to rush to catch the next ferry and promptly hit the duty free shops. I got more beer than I was able to carry and consequently had a hard time getting back to Cambridge, especially on the tube.

Whereas when I got back from around the world, it was with a mixture of happiness and sadness that I arrived back in England, this time it was with complete relief. I got home and had a huge great pig-out meal, although my capacity had been substantially reduced by my inter-railing experience.

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