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Somewhere in the vast Kazakh steppe a Toyota Hilux dangles precariously over a watery abyss, and a bald Russian truck driver may be about to kidnap me. From his vantage point on the bonnet of the Hilux Chuck sees me get into the truck. "They're coming this way. No, the truck is turning around. The truck is driving away. She's in the truck and they are driving away." The boys are using their weight to prevent the car falling further into it's grave. Do they risk losing the Hilux or me? The Hilux wins. The bald Russian sees the angle at which our car balances and decides we need something more powerful. He tells me this in Russian. Luckily, the Russian word for tractor is `traktor', and I understand why we are now driving away from my friends. A kilometre down the road he drops me at a driveway. Armed with my three words of Russian and a Masters in charades, I set off towards a white yurt and a tractor at work in a field. Two Kazakh farmers shovelling dirt look puzzled as I approach. I tell them, in a flurry of English and gestures, my story. It may be my charades, or the realisation I'm some kind of alien, or perhaps my current predicament, but their stern faces quickly turn to laughter and grins. They explain my disaster to another farmer. He is overjoyed that he and his tractor-Lucia is her name-are to be my rescue party and motions for me to get in. Lucia takes off across the paddock at tortoise-like speed towards the glinting speck of the Hilux. As we make our steady approach the farmer laughs and chats to me in Kazakh. With a somewhat toothless grin, he shakes the hands of my relieved friends, chains the Hilux to Lucia, and within minutes we're saved. Also a graduate in charades, the farmer explains that this hole is his well. How did we come to park our Hilux in it? We're looking for a place to camp. Ignoring the fact that we've trespassed on his land and contaminated his well, the farmer insists we stay with him. For the next three days we are immersed in Kazakh farm life. We share stories and mystery meats, washed down with enough vodka to disable language barriers. A sheep is dressed for a party, and locals come from all around to meet the foolish foreigners who fell in a well. When it's time to say goodbye, it's apparent how much our company has touched the lives of our new friends, and how overcome we are by their selfless generosity. Tears are shed, and with sad hearts and a bag of sheep, we set off in search of our next misadventure.