Over the years, we've been in a lot of unfortunate, ill-fated, and plainly dangerous situations. We already posted about being attacked by monkeys and will soon write out how we visited Egypt in the middle of the Arab Spring, lost our luggage in Barcelona, and ignored all anti-mugging advice on the dark streets of Brazil.  But the last place I expected to fight for my life was in the picturesque Czech countryside. In retrospect, I realize there was a combination of factors that nearly brought my downfall.

1.  The year was 2009, before smartphones were commonplace, and I was in a foreign country without GPS and a way of communicating with the outside world.
2. I was young and thought that a glass of beer was an appropriate lunch.
3. I changed my plans on a whim and decided to take a detour that I didn’t adequately plan or research.
4. I was on my own, and if Julia were there, she would've been smart enough to avoid this entire situation. (She made me write this.)

So here comes the whole sorted story.  After spending three days in Prague, I decided to take a few day trips to visit small Czech towns, castles, and the countryside. My first trip was to Karlštejn to see its beautiful medieval castle. When I approached the castle, it was absolutely breathtaking from the outside. I was there on a sunny morning, and the walls and towers of this 14th-century Gothic castle looked majestic, basking in the warm summer light.

Elated, I walked inside to be instantly disappointed. The tour of the castle lasted no more than 30 minutes and was completely skippable. The interior was almost completely bare and unremarkable. As I later discovered in my travels, old castles—with few exceptions—rarely have interesting interiors. Although the exterior can be renovated and restored to its former glory, most castles have been abandoned or looted at least once, and it's nearly impossible to recreate the original interior.

Because I allocated a full day to visit the castle, I was suddenly left with six hours until I had to be back in Prague to attend a soccer game. I drowned my sorrow in a glass of dark beer in the local pub and reworked my afternoon’s plans: I was going to hike to nearby canyons, Velká Amerika (Big America), and Mala Amerika (Small America).  According to the guidebook, they looked enough like the Grand Canyon in the U.S., and European filmmakers often used them as a location to shoot Westerns without traveling outside of the Czech Republic.

So here I was, full of disappointment and beer, with a guidebook map showing that Velka Canyon was only 4 km away and Mala Amerika was only 1 km from it. Now, I am all for flexibility and improvisation in travel, but a 5km hike through wilderness does require a bit of planning. I know that now. I apparently didn't know it then. I should've realized that walking 5km to see canyons also means that I would have to walk 5km back. I should've eaten lunch before leaving for the trail.  I should've brought a bottle of water with me.  I should've asked for directions instead of relying on very infrequent trail signs. And so on.

Although initially I enjoyed my walk through the Czech countryside, I soon realized that somewhere along the route, I had taken a wrong turn. I was lost and had no idea how to get to the canyons. And then I did the dumbest thing.

Trying to get back to the correct route, I took a shortcut by crossing a field of tall wheat. I was completely engrossed in the task of pushing my body through the dense growth when a large tractor came barreling down right on top of me. The tractor operator didn’t see me until the last moment, and only miraculously swerved to avoid running me over. He was horrified to see me there and screamed at me in Czech something along the lines: “What the hell are you doing here?”

What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself.  I was lost and desperate.  After walking at least 6 or 7 kilometers and not getting even close to the canyons, I started to feel dizzy. My biggest mistake was not to bring any water with me. I was dehydrating and getting worse by the minute.

Eventually, by a sheer stroke of luck, I made my way to the canyons. Both were beautiful and picturesque, but I couldn't really appreciate their beauty due to dehydration and exhaustion. I took only a quick peek at them. I needed to head back to Karlštejn as soon as possible.  My time was running out.

Walking back, I kept imagining what water or Coca-Cola or juice, or any liquid would feel like on my parched tongue. When I thought I would pass out from dehydration, I made it to a village and walked house to house, asking for water in four different languages, none of which was Czech. Finally, there was a Ukrainian woman, married to a local Czech man, who understood my pleas and offered me a glass of life-saving water and her entire life story.

But my ordeal wasn't over yet. I still needed to get to the train station.  On barely moving legs, I somehow stumbled the last 5-6 km, and by the time I got there, I had blisters on my toes and chafing between my legs. In total, what was supposed to be a quick, improvised 5km hike to the canyons ended up being almost a 20 km round-trip hike, taken at the height of late spring heat, with no water, no proper map, and no clue.

There were many lessons learned that day, all of which made me a better, more responsible traveler. I've learned to respect the natural elements and the toll they can take on the human body. I carry a bottle of water with me any time I step off the main road. Of course, I still make a ton of mistakes, but at least I can proudly say I've never been almost run over by a tractor.  By a tuk-tuk, yes.  A cow in India once.  By cars, every time we go to the U.K.  By every single vehicle in Cambodia. But never again by a tractor. And that’s a win in my book.