How I Fell in Love in Prague (And Lost My Passport in Florence)

It started with a missed train in Berlin. Classic backpacker move, right? I was supposed to be in Prague by 6 PM, but there I was, standing on Platform 3, watching my train pull away without me. My friend Ross—yes, that Ross—was already in Prague, probably nursing a beer and wondering where the hell I was.

By the time I finally made it to Prague, it was past midnight. The hostel had given away my bed—because apparently 'I'll be there soon' doesn't count as a reservation—so I ended up crashing on a couch in the common room. That's where I met Sarah.

She was from Melbourne, traveling solo through Europe, and she'd also lost her reservation. We spent the next three hours talking about everything: her job as a graphic designer, my failed attempt at stand-up comedy, the weirdest hostels we'd stayed in. At 3 AM, we decided to explore Prague together the next day.

The next morning, we walked across the Charles Bridge as the sun rose. I know, I know—super cliché. But there's a reason it's cliché. The light hitting those Gothic spires, the Vltava River below, and this person I'd just met who felt like I'd known forever. We spent the day getting lost in Old Town, eating trdelník (those chimney cakes that are basically sugar and happiness), and talking about life.

Here's where it gets interesting. We decided to travel together for a few days. Prague to Vienna, Vienna to Venice, Venice to Florence. By the time we hit Florence, I was pretty sure I was in love. We'd been sharing hostels, splitting meals, and having conversations that lasted until 4 AM every night.

Then Florence happened. We were at the Uffizi Gallery—because when in Florence, right?—and I reached for my passport to get a student discount. Gone. My passport was gone. I'd had it that morning, I was sure of it. But it wasn't in my pocket, wasn't in my bag, wasn't anywhere.

Sarah didn't panic. She just looked at me and said, 'Well, this is going to be a story.' We spent the next six hours at the U.S. consulate, filling out forms, calling my parents (who were not thrilled), and trying to figure out how to get me a new passport. The whole time, Sarah stayed with me. She didn't have to—we'd only known each other for five days—but she did.

That night, sitting outside a gelato shop at 11 PM, eating our third gelato of the day, I realized something. It wasn't about the passport, or the missed train, or even Prague. It was about finding someone who makes the disasters feel like adventures.

We're still together, three years later. Sarah moved to New York, and I finally got my passport situation sorted out. We go back to Prague every year, stay in the same hostel (we book ahead now), and walk across that bridge at sunrise. The passport story? It's our favorite thing to tell at parties.

Travel teaches you a lot of things. But the best lesson I learned in Prague was that sometimes the best trips aren't about the places you see—they're about the people you meet, and the disasters that turn into the best stories.