The fastest route is rarely the best one. A train crossing a valley at ninety kilometers per hour gives you something a plane at nine hundred never will: the country in between. Fields, stations, and small towns with names you will not remember — this is the part of the map that airports skip.
Book the window seat on the side of the sun, bring one good book and a thermos, and leave the headphones at home for at least an hour. The rhythm of the track does something to an afternoon that a screen cannot. You will arrive calmer than you left, which is a fair trade for an extra hour.
Plan a stop in a town you have never heard of. Get off, walk to the square, order whatever the local cafés are pouring, and catch the next train. It is the cheapest upgrade in travel, and it never fails.