Last journey of the Orient Express

In March 1964 my friend Elizabeth’s rich father offered to finance a month’s holiday for both of us in Turkey, including first-class tickets on the legendary Orient Express from Paris to Istanbul. As a twenty-year-old student living on £10 a week, I could not believe my luck. We travelled to Paris on the boat train from Victoria station, and reached the Gare-de-l’Est in time for the evening departure of the famous train, with its distinctive dark blue and gold carriages. Anticipating glamour and romance, we searched for our first-class cabin. As expected, it had French-polished mahogany walls and brass fitments, a banquette sofa which turned into two comfortable bunks at night, and a table with a decorative lamp, but it all looked a bit faded, and worse, there was nowhere to wash except a small cold water basin in the lavatory at the far end of the carriage.