When I was 19, I studied abroad for a few weeks in the Czech Republic. I was attending a summer jazz intensive. We spent a week in Prague and the rest of our time in a little village called Frydlant. We stayed up till 4am every night, drinking in the streets and jamming out. There were people there from all over the world; Germany, France, America, the UK. It was incredible. One day, the two guys I had traveled with and some of our new German and Czech friends were all looking at a map and realized how close we were to Poland. So we skipped our music classes and decided we were going to walk to Poland. It took us all day, but we walked alongside these beautiful, lonely country roads for hours. There were farms with sheep and big, gorgeous trees. There was also roadkill and the scent of the farmland. Eventually, without much fanfare, we came upon a sign that said "Polska" and we crossed the border. We all felt a little foolish for hoping we could get our passports stamped, but we quickly realized there were no official crossings in the massive field where we found ourselves. This is one of my absolute favorite travel memories. I've always loved the stories of long distance walkers and even though this wasn't even close, I put myself in their shoes for a day and it was exciting.