Forty-two days across Eurasia: An intrepid train traveler's epic journey from London to Incheon the long way

This article is by Joel Down and read by an artificial voice. The night before I set out for Seoul — an 8,900-kilometer (5,500-mile) trek as the crow flies — I was sharing a beer with friends on a rooftop in London. As the fire pit crackled between us, one of them relayed his girlfriend's reaction to my plans. "What's wrong with the bloke — can't he just take a plane?" "Really? So she thinks I'm mad." "We all do, but it's the right kind of madness," he assured me. At least I was well-prepared. Armed with a 70-liter (18.5-gallon) slash-proof backpack, a spare phone, a spreadsheet of expenses, a laptop and a long list of bookings, I had done the legwork. Many of the finer points had been fleshed out with AI, which could even find the email addresses of niche transport companies when I needed them. The legitimacy of this research was called into question, however, when I asked Copilot to create a map of my very linear route. It drew a giant circle from "Londan" to "Incheen," even suggesting I take a ship through mainland Russia. London to Milan For now, all I had to do was catch the 9:33 a.m. Eurostar to Paris. I found my way to the elegant redbrick facade of London St. Pancras Station, hugged my mum tightly and assured us both that everything would be okay. There is hardly a better train to demonstrate the possibilities of rail travel than one that goes under the sea and connects two European capitals in less time than you can read Baudelaire's "Les Fleurs de Mal" (1857). The Eurostar is perhaps the continent's smoothest operator, with air conditioning, upholstered furnishings and an iconic lick of paint. I took my seat next to a family who were quizzing each other on Premier League footballers. "Odegaard or Saka?" The father asked his son. "Saka, obviously!" Came the reply. They supported Arsenal, my football team, which felt like a good omen. Setting out from low-lying Paris, my next train would tilt the journey skyward, eventually hitting 1,050 meters (3,445 feet) at the border town of Modane in the French Alps before burrowing through the mountains and striding past Bardonecchia, an Italian town nestled at the foot of a vast ridge. This part of the ride is particularly inspiring, with the tracks veering toward cloud-capped peaks and overlooking deep valleys awash with urban lights. I leaned into the window as dusk stole through the valley and the train began its slow descent toward Milan, the industrial and fashion capital of Italy. Milan comes at you all tangled tramlines, concrete sculptures and speeding sedans. However, behind the bravado, I found it to be a friendly, sentimental, even peaceful city. I bought a piadina — an Italian flatbread — the next day, and spent a few hours taking in unusual sights like Bosco Verticale, a "living" skyscraper draped in trees. I then returned to Milano Centrale and boarded my train to the coast. Another high-speeder, it glided past emerald vineyards, sloping hills and industrial tracts before shooting above a forest canopy and inching toward the northeastern Italian port city of Trieste. Views from the dining car were dazzling in this last stretch; the broad surface of the Adriatic Sea looked like a sheet of blue silk, ruffled by the wind. Trieste to Zagreb I spent the morning in Trieste, drinking coffee and discovering some local sites, including a home built with vinegar instead of water in the mortar — above the door is a sculpture of three eagles tearing apart a snake, symbolizing the defeat of the French emperor Napoleon by Russia, Prussia and Austria. However, the hostel stay brought me down to earth with a bump. It was unsettling to be staying in such places again after so many years without having to deal with loud snoring or moldy rooms. Sure enough, there was a sadness about the hostel in Trieste, where lonely men sat in the bar watching late-night basketball, and the staff swore at people for leaving the door open. It was not like I had a choice in the matter. My esti...