In 2013 I circumnavigated Scandinavia by sea kayak in a boat I designed and built myself. I documented the whole journey in a blog called 180 Day Trips. It was written in Czech and sat untouched for ten years — until now I've translated it into English so paddlers and adventurers from around the world can follow the journey. Prague. Autumn 2012. The sun is barely up and the city is already doing its thing. Golden light sitting low on the old stone buildings. Cold air, clean a

April 7, 2013 I'm hunched in my tent, wrestling with my back, which feels like it's locked in a permanent cramp. Can't find a single position that doesn't hurt. But hey — I knew what I was signing up for. The first two weeks were never going to be a picnic. If anything, this trip's shaping up to be a beautiful kind of hell. A long, grinding holiday through fire. But let's rewind to the beginning. When I decided to set out on this journey and document it, I made myself a promi

April 8–19, 2013 Three hours. That's how long I waited at the next lock after Klecany. When they finally let me through, I paddled as far as Mělník — just fifteen minutes past closing time at the lock. Naturally. But to be honest, even that short distance wiped me out. I threw up the tarp and crashed next to the kayak like a passed-out hiker at a music festival. The next morning, I got lucky. I was let through the lock at 1 p.m., and bam — I was on the Elbe. Finally. Real cur

April 24–30, 2013 After days of fast water and momentum on the Elbe, I drifted beneath something that didn't seem like it should exist: the Havel Canal bridge. A floating river in the sky, built to carry cargo ships over the valley — and over me. I didn't paddle the canal itself, just passed under it. But even from below, it hit me hard. I'm not usually one for marvelling at infrastructure, but this thing was different. It felt like someone took the ocean, bent it into a pipe