I spend most of my time in Trieste going between the main piazza and my fifth-floor hotel, a fifty metre cobbled stretch, that is nonetheless brimming with activity from the cafés, shops and money-laundering operations squeezed into this side-road.
I find myself pacing, the busy waiters bustling around me like gadflies. Tomorrow I will climb onto a cargo ship and remain aboard for almost a week, without any contact with civilisation, no Internet, and certainly no doctor. Just as I disembark at Port Said – providing the route isn't altered without warning, as I'm told it might – classmates will still be back in the UK, getting ready for a flight. My way is not a normal way to travel.
That said, journeys have been made like this for hundreds of years, and there is no proof like historical voyages to show that overland travel is possible anywhere. I've sometimes been asked whether it's possible to reach such-and-such a place overland. Of course, assuming that place is somewhere on the same planet, then inherently it is possible.
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