Ben grew up herding kangaroos into cross-fire kill zones with AC/DC blaring. Now he’s in Bhutan, battling altitude pills that make beer taste like sweaty socks. Survival, Australian style.

At 4,000 meters Bagger is still talking, which is impressive given the lack of oxygen and his surplus of opinions. Our guide introduces Bhutan’s Warrior-Monks; we counter with beer, cynicism, and a wooden phallus.

In St Petersburg’s White Nights, Europe feels like a flawless stage set—Hermitage halls, postcard canals, bohemian hotels—magnificent and a little contrived. As our rail odyssey ends in the West, we look ahead and place our bets on Asia.

Between a brass-and-mahogany museum car and a sleek bullet train, we side with slow travel: samovars, proper plates, and thick carpets—plus a babushka who decks a shirtless soldier. Speed impresses, but the old rails steal our hearts.