I went to university for all the right reasons - driven by a hunger for a top-notch education and the promise of opportunity. But while my friends buried themselves in textbooks, I found myself daydreaming in lecture halls and mapping out routes across continents in the margins of my notebooks.  

Instead of aimlessly hanging out on campus at night, I worked under the strobes and basslines at the best club in town. I spent my nights pulling pints and getting paid to dance along to British pop groups like the Spice Girls, Oasis and S Club 7. Every hard-earned pound I made went straight into my savings account, quietly building towards the life I dreamed of far beyond campus.

Perhaps surprisingly, I graduated with honours on 20 July 2000, and after enduring just six weeks of my first office gig, I scored a job with Eurocamp. Between you and me, the lure of free travel and accommodation across France and Switzerland at the end of summer was all the motivation I needed to quit on the spot (and it was one of the most liberating moments of my life).

When my mum dropped me off at London Stansted Airport on 10 September 2000, tears streaming down both of our faces, she had no idea this was my own personal Brexit - long before Boris Johnson and Nigel Farage made the headlines. It was my first solo trip off the island without family, and I was both terrified and elated to bring my years of daydreaming of adventure to life without dipping into my savings. 

It wasn’t easy waving goodbye to mum, but after I pulled myself together, I joined the group of strangers and instantly made friends with Emily, a gregarious and charming lass from Liverpool (she was the kind of girl who made your sides ache from laughter). It didn’t take long for me to re-embrace the excitement of flying to Geneva to enjoy the rest of the summer in Europe with my chatty new companion. It was back in the day when I could talk to anyone, and EasyJet was cheaper than a round at Wetherspoons (a chain of pubs in England, for the uninitiated). 

Once we’d collected our luggage at arrivals in Geneva, it was time to mix with the rest of the Eurocampers before we were bused to our first campsite. Emily and I gravitated toward Disco Des - loud, completely bonkers, and impossible not to like - and Jeanette, a quiet girl with a sharp wit and a calm presence that balanced out our newly formed group. Most of us were fresh out of university, but there were also a few proper adults who were there to keep an eye on us young’uns!

Once we arrived at the first campsite in France, we were all equally shocked to be lodging in four-person tents (we were all promised a ‘luxury’ camper van, as it was the end of summer in the Alps). But, on the plus side, we were all missing home and muddling through the same experience together - and, in true British fashion, we made the most of it by cracking jokes and getting on with things. Plus, it was hard to feel gloomy when we had the privilege of lodging in an empty campsite by a pristine lake in the middle of the snowcapped mountains.

I forgot to mention that we were the démontage team (a fancy name for cleaning and dismantling crew), tasked with scrubbing the tents, clearing out the furniture, and storing everything away for the winter. It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but the locations were incredible, and we often had entire sites to ourselves as we were deployed at the end of the summer season. We worked long hours and got caked in mud, but it felt more like a giant playground. 

I approached working at Eurocamp the same way I had when working in nightclubs - after all, I was being paid to travel. But the real highlight was spending my days outdoors with a bunch of like-hearted souls, working and laughing together in the elements. We used to make up songs and limericks to pass the time, and everyone mucked in, as we scrubbed the muddy groundsheets and washed out the often-disgusting fridges. 

After 25 years, the exact locations of the campsites we dismantled in France are hazy, but I remember spending about two weeks each in Passy, Le Bourg-d'Oisans, and Lake Annecy. We often visited quiet, quintessential French villages that invariably had a bakery and a greengrocer.

I can still smell the yeasty warmth of fresh baguettes, the buttery sweetness of croissants, the sun-soft, earthy scent of tomatoes, and the pungent tang of cheese drifting from behind the counter — sharp, creamy, and impossible to ignore. And yet, when you tucked those simple ingredients into a crusty baguette, it became something greater than the sum of its parts. It was pure, culinary heaven; the kind you only find in France. 

But the real highlight of our trip was spending two weeks at a campsite in Lauterbrunnen, a charming Swiss village nestled in the valley between the mountain ranges of Jungfrau and Schilthorn, near Gimmelwald. It was like stepping into a dream, where time stands still, the air is pure, and every glance reveals a postcard-perfect moment.

Writing this magazine article has brought a wave of nostalgia, carrying me back to the days when I was consumed by daydreams of world expeditions. My natural hair colour may be fading (heavy sigh), but my love for adventure and train travel endures—though now, I much prefer slow travel and the comfort of luxury hotels. 

Still, some of the most transcendent moments didn’t come from far-off places or grand itineraries. Working outside, with my hands, was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Not because of what I saw or did (though it was magical), but because of what it gave back to me—gifts like friendship, a connection to the universe, and an even deeper love of being in nature—all of which can feel like perishable commodities and not something the human soul can survive without. 

And yet, those things are still within reach at any age. All you have to do is open your heart and follow that little voice inside — the one from your inner child that daydreams in lecture halls and maps out routes across continents.