here can you spend six days relaxing in a warm room with a selection of books and endless cups of tea, while a third of the entire globe rolls by just outside your window? On the Trans-Mongolian railway, of course.

The route stretches from the industrial suburbs of Moscow, through the Urals into Asia, across the vast Russian steppes and onward through Siberia, before cruising along the southern shores of Lake Baikal, the largest and deepest body of fresh water in the world. Heading south into Mongolia and the Gobi desert, you can watch herds of startled gazelles scamper away from the track as the train approaches, or even spot a wild camel, before marvelling at the surreal experience of having your carriage lifted into the air at the Chinese-Mongolian border to fit new wheels for the narrower Chinese railway track. From there, it's a relatively short ride south to Beijing, passing the Great Wall of China.

Travelling from Moscow to Beijing via the longest railway line in the world is more straightforward than you might think. Although my journey began in the Russian capital, it's just as easy to arrange a trip in the opposite direction. My story began in the middle of a January Moscow blizzard. "It's been the mildest winter for 15 years," said Mikhail, my guide, as I tried to clear the sleet from my face before it melted and dribbled down my neck. A short trip across town with Mikhail led me to my homestay accommodation.

The landlady, Olga, spoke good English, which helped when I made a faux pas by attempting to shake hands with her as I stood outside her front door. Shaking hands over the threshold is considered to bring bad fortune upon the house in superstitious Russia. Profuse apologies were in order.

This trip was all about trains, so fittingly the highlight in Moscow was the metro, where stations are like small museums, with wondrous ornate cornices and historic statues by the platform.

It was with a great sense of anticipation that I finally boarded my carriage on the Trans-Mongolian. I had opted to break my trip up with stops in Irkutsk and Ulaan Baatar before arriving in Beijing. I would be the only English-speaking passenger on board the Moscow to Irkutsk stretch, allowing me to fully immerse myself in Russian culture.

My cabin mates were a Russian doctor in her late 20s and her 4-year-old son, Igor. Although little English was spoken, a phrasebook and pen and paper made for entertaining communication. I enjoyed their company, and when I wasn't eating or chatting with them I was looking out the window. Siberia in winter is an enormous expanse of trees, tundra and isolated log cabins, and its sheer scale, its vast expanses of featureless snowscape, make a winter trip on the Trans-Mongolian a truly unique adventure.

After four days, three books, eight pots of instant noodles and about 30 hours of music from my trusty MP3 player, I arrived in Irkutsk. At -25C, outdoor options in this former fur-trading outpost were limited. A day trip to Lake Baikal, which was frozen solid but offered winter sports opportunities, was well worthwhile, and I made a point of seeing as many of the ice sculptures dotted around the city's parks as I could. I sought refuge in the large indoor market and browsed the many foodstuffs and clothing on offer at this cultural crossroads. Russian, Chinese, Mongolian, Uzbekistani and Kazakhstani artefacts and edibles were among the international flavours on display. After two days, it was time to get back on board for the next leg of my journey, a 36-hour trip to the capital of Mongolia, Ulaan Baatar.

Ulaan Baatar isn't much to look at – and at the time the mercury was topping -35C – but it's filled with some of the warmest, most cheerful people I have ever met. Their smiles kept me going, because even taking a stroll is an adventure here, fraught with all manner of hazards. The ice covered the pavements like thick puddles of melted grey candle wax and a stout pair of boots didn't do much to prevent me from unceremoniously falling on my backside and making a fool of myself numerous times during my four-day stay. I got used to the looks of mild amusement from the Mongolians, however, and grew to admire their nonchalance as they expertly shuffled their way along the streets.

And, as if any more obstacles were necessary, dozens of manhole covers are left wide open for unsuspecting travellers to fall into. The entire city is heated by hot water piped beneath the streets, making the sewers warm enough to allow Ulaan Baatar's homeless to use them to survive the winter.

Many bruises later I embarked upon my final leg of the Trans-Mongolian – the trip to Beijing. Aside from the interesting wildlife and remote yurts I saw dotted around the Mongolian countryside, it was on this leg that I had probably my most rewarding experience: a day with the Buryats.

I am ashamed to admit I had never heard of the Buryat Republic, a member of the Russian Federation with a population of just under 500,000, but by the time I had been wined and dined by my new travelling companions I had become an expert on this small region around the eastern shores of Lake Baikal.

The Buryats are closely related to the Mongols but now speak Russian. Chinngis, the leader of the seven-strong group I encountered, didn't speak much English, but had a good enough grasp to shout "Scottish! Eat breakfast!" and beckon me into their compartment. And there I sat, this curious northern European suddenly made guest-of -honour by a warm and friendly people from a place I knew nothing of.

I was treated to omul (a fish found only in Lake Baikal), fish eggs, an odd potato-like vegetable and a selection of traditional breads. I was touched by their generosity and friendship. It was one of those experiences which makes travelling such a rewarding pastime. And although the Buryats looked very east Asian, the Russian influence was evident in their use of knives and forks, and of course their practice of washing down breakfast with straight vodka. I had made enough cultural missteps on my journey – it would have been rude of me to refuse.

My time on the Trans-Mongolian railway was over. After a week in Beijing, my final train journey was the 12-hour jaunt to Shanghai. It felt pretty tame, to be honest.