Change here, and here, and here ...

Certain kinds of reference books attract certain kinds of personality. These personalities tend to be male. Some might argue that they have been damaged at some key stage in their development. The 55-year-old accountant studying Wisden, the 75-year-old bishop wetting his forefinger to turn the pages of Debrett's - surely some tragedy must have marked their childhoods for them to derive such pleasure from the batting averages of TW Hopkinson in Loamshire's 1948-49 season or the lineage of the de Waldegrave family, to whom the bishop is not even distantly related. As someone who can happily pass an hour or two in the company of a railway timetable, the question equally applies to me. Why do I keep so many of them - Newman's Indian Bradshaw, Cooks Continental. Italy's Pozzorario Generale, British Railways (Scottish Region) for 1965? Why in these few slack hours am I not reading Proust instead?

Like travel writing, the timetable certainly appeals to that fading species, the "armchair traveller"; but its greater charm is its ability to set and solve puzzles. I may never see Friedrichshafen and its airship sheds, but how interesting to devise a route that could take me there on the way from St Pancras to Rome, with the proviso that I must avoid Paris and spend only one night in a hotel. Long ago, the headmaster of Repton public school would set similar tasks as punishment exercises: a boy would be handed a copy of Bradshaw and told to find a way, say, between Great Yarmouth and Exeter without touching London. Long before Game Boys and PlayStations (and unlike travel books proper), the timetable provided the challenge of interactivity.

George Bradshaw, a Quaker printer in Manchester, invented the format in 1841, the timings and route of each train expressed in a grid system, with stations listed vertically and times horizontally. Six years later he published the first edition of his monthly Continental Railway Guide, which is what Phileas Fogg takes with him on his 80-day journey around the world. As railways expanded across Europe it grew to a thousand pages and became inconvenient to carry.

In 1873, Thomas Cook saw an opportunity for a thinner and more convenient guide - edited highlights, you might say - and Cooks Continental was born. From 1988, it has been known as Cooks European, the word "continental" belonging to an era when people shunned tap water in Paris, but in essence it remains the same as the first volume I bought in the early 1970s.

Overnight sleepers are fewer, many named trains have vanished (no more Rheingold or Wiener Walzer), but the little maps of city termini remain and the routes covered number nearly 2,000. Like no other book - at least not one available for £13.50 - it demonstrates the rich complexity of Europe: all those trains, all those junctions, all those travellers and platforms and the smell of coffee in station buffets. So much to be seen that will never all be seen, and can only be imagined.

The journey

You can reach Venice in a day from St Pancras. It takes about 15 hours, changing four times, travelling through France to Lyon, then on to Milan and up to north-east Italy. Or you can take the scenic route, following wiggly lines that zig-zag across the continent, much as you might take B roads instead of the motorway. All you need for the latter is the Thomas Cook European rail timetable and map, an InterRail pass and a fistful of euros.

Back in February I unfurled the map over the kitchen table and started to plot a route, sticking wherever possible to the green lines, which denote their scenic status. There are famously panoramic routes such as the San Bernadino pass through the Alps, but I was after beauty on a budget, and was determined to travel without paying an extra penny on top of my rail pass, or booking in advance.

Four months later I was standing at Brussels station on a Saturday morning. As weekenders wheeled their cases across the marble floor direction Bruges, I hoisted my battered old rucksack onto my back and changed platforms - the first of countless changes over the next six days.

Day one:

The first stop is Marloie. An hour to spare in this unremarkable Belgian town gave me just enough time to sink a beer and buy a baguette and cheese for a picnic. Back on the train I headed to Rivage, then south into the heart of the Ardennes through deep gorges and lush valleys. Trois-Ponts, Vielsalm, Gouvy, Clervaux - the stations slipped by. For much of the journey, a river runs alongside the track and I saw people in kayaks and rafts. The world whizzed past my window, and I hardly noticed the time pass as the gentle rocking of the train lulled me into a state of relaxation. I spent the night in a quiet town called Wiltz in Luxembourg, which has a brewery, a football team and a couple of auberges.

Day two:

From Luxembourg, I headed out east along the river Moselle to the point where it joins the Rhine, which has a railway running down both banks. At St Goarshausen I joined the daytrippers crossing the Rhine by ferry to St Goar, mingling with the crowds as a classic car rally passed through. I climbed up to the castle and hung over the battlements watching the long barges piled with coal navigating the far bend in the river. Hopping back across the river, I moved on to Rudesheim, a quaint old town with timber-framed houses set among vineyards. I explored the narrow passageways and took the cable car up the hill, floating away above rows of vines in the late afternoon sun. I hadn't even heard of this pretty village before I consulted the map that morning. I had passed through some underwhelming places but my meandering route was also revealing little gems such as Rudesheim. My bed for the night was at the Lindenwirt, an old shuttered hotel with a dining terrace. After a foaming weissbier and a plate of pork, I slept soundly.

Day three:

Monday's leg of the journey turned into a round-the-houses epic as I took an unplanned tour of the Odenwald, a little-known region between Frankfurt and Stuttgart. There were villages perched on wooded hilltops, small farms, and whole fields of buttercups. It looked like good hiking country. After six more changes I connected to the Schwarzwaldbahn (Black Forest railway). Built between 1866 and 1873, the line, which runs from Offenburg to Singen is a fine example of outrageous railway engineering. There are 39 tunnels in total, each one named with a plaque that you can just catch as you whip past. Every couple of minutes you're plunged into darkness, then comes a flashing glimpse of misty mountainside or the foaming river below. As the track twists and turns, you snatch views through flickering pines into the valley below. Like the latest ride in a theme park, it was almost worth turning round and doing it again. And again. I picked it up in Hausach and stopped en route in Triberg, whose claim to fame is the world's largest cuckoo clock.

Day four:

I crossed into Switzerland at Lake Konstanz, and spent a morning picking my way along the south side, hopping from one train to another, until I reached Bregenz in Austria. There I joined an express train through the Arlberg Pass. The guard shook his head when I asked if there were any windows that opened so I could take photos but he did recommend I sit on the right-hand side up to Langen,and on the left on the way down. It was dramatic stuff. The mountains had snowy peaks and the rivers were in full flood. The valley floors were swathes of green grass with chalets scattered up towards the tree line. On we climbed until the only way ahead was through a tunnel deep inside a mountain. Finally we emerged at St Anton, where I stopped for some tea in the resort and a stroll in the thin air. Then it was downhill all the way to Innsbruck, where I stayed at the Hotel Weisses Kreuz in the centre of the old town.

Day five:

From Innsbruck a smart Austrian train in red and white livery climbed up through the foothills of the Tyrol. Gradually, the terrain became more rugged and the escarpments steeper until at the Italian border at Brennero we were hedged in by mountains in cloud. In this South Tyrolean town, things looked Italian - salamis hanging in the delicatessen, caribinieri drinking espresso in the cafe - but people spoke to me in German.

As we rolled down a long, broad fertile valley towards Bolzano and then on to Trento the roof tiles turned from grey slate to terracotta and the mountain pastures gave way to vineyards.

From there, the main line follows the river to Verona, but the scenic route took me via Bassano del Grappa. Toiling up the hillside, the two-coacher curled round until it presented a panoramic view of the city, encircled by craggy mountaintops dusted with snow. The railway passed through the middle of villages, alongside backyards and gardens, vines and flowering orchards close enough to touch. We stopped at 22 stations in less than three hours until, with a thunderstorm threatening, we wound through a huge foreboding chasm out into the flatlands that extend to the lagoon.

I rested up at Hotel Al Castello in Bassano, a small jewel of a town, an easy day-trip from Venice. Built around three small piazzas, it's the kind of place where you feel you don't have to do much. There's a fine old wooden bridge over the river where the locals gather for evening aperitifs at the Nardini grapperia. I drank, debated football with new-found friends, and filled up on authentic pizza for supper.

Day six:

My final morning and I had time to browse the market where the entire town seemed to have congregated, followed by a leisurely lunch of the local speciality - white asparagus with chopped egg.

I'd put the Thomas Cook timetable through its paces (or perhaps that should be the other way round), catching more than 30 trains across seven countries in six days. You could easily make a similar journey with fewer stops and connections. But I recommend taking it slowly, lingering for a day or two in places you've happened upon.

Within a couple of hours I was sitting on the prow of a vaporetto enjoying the view of the palazzos along the Grand Canal, feeling as if I had had two holidays in one.

Way to go

Getting there

London to Brussels (eurostar.com) from £59 rtn. InterRail passes (0844 848 4070, raileurope.co.uk) valid for 10 days of travel in a 22 day period cost £305.

Where to stay

Hotel Lindenwirt, Rüdesheim am Rhine (0049 6722 9130, lindenwirt.com). Hotel Weisses Kreuz, Innsbruck (0043 512 59479, weisseskreuz.at). Hotel Al Castello, Bassano del Grappa (0039 424 228665).

Further information

Thomas Cook European Rail Timetable (£13.50) and Map (£8.99) available through thomascookpublishing.com or by calling 01733 416477.