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.

Visa dates two days off, no food or cups for vodka, and surrounded by smugglers far better organized than us — the border crossing between Mongolia and Russia makes us feel like true idiots abroad.

In a former KGB officers’ block off Lenina Prospekt, our “safe house” offers blast doors, cold showers, and live surveillance. Ekaterinburg—where Europe meets Asia, Romanovs fell, and Yeltsin rose—turns our tourist cover into a spy caper and early escape.

Visa dates two days off, no food or cups for vodka, and surrounded by smugglers far better organized than us — the border crossing between Mongolia and Russia makes us feel like true idiots abroad.