Avila Hills from my Apartment, Caracas, Venezuela, June 2025

So, a bit of a spoiler… this is how the writing project is shaping up. This is just the introduction — more has already been written, but I thought I’d share the first few paragraphs (still likely to change):

Memoir of a Wandering Spirit: The Double Life of Kacper

Introduction: The Man in Caracas

Kacper sat in the faded green armchair by the window, the one that overlooked the cloud-draped hills of Ávila, rising like a green wave at the edge of La Castellana. The apartment, perched high above the pulsing streets of Caracas, offered a mystical contrast — the city below often noisy and restless, the mountains above always still, nearly sacred. From the kitchen came the low hum of the fridge and, outside, the echo of a mototaxi carving through the streets. Kacper wrapped his hands around a chipped mug of black tea and stared into the misty outline of the hills. There was something about this particular dusk that pulled him backward.
 
Back to Nowy Sącz. Back to hospital corridors that smelled of disinfectant and hope. Back to a tiny dishwashing station in London, to sun-scorched villages in Huambo, to icy rides on Icelandic horses, to the high-security NGO compound in Wau, and a rooftop in Sudan where he once spotted a Janjaweed rider with a laptop strapped to his horse.
 
His life, Kacper thought, had never really stopped being a journey — literal and emotional. His story was etched into the rhythm of motion: trains rattling through the Polish countryside; buses wheezing across jungle highlands; ferries swaying in tropical rains; tuk-tuks zigzagging through city chaos; and old sedans breaking down in desert heat. In the air, there were Cessnas skimming mountain ranges, Buffalo planes loaded with goats and coal in South Sudan, and sleek modern jets crossing oceans. Those aircraft carried him to astonishing places — some wild and unpredictable, others that quietly stole his heart. Portugal was one of them. And Óbidos — with its whitewashed walls and slow, sunlit hours — nestled into his memory, becoming a second home alongside Nowy Sącz.
 
This book is not a guide. It is not an instruction manual for surviving the humanitarian industry, or for navigating visas, evacuations, revolutions, or heartaches. This is simply a story. Or perhaps, fragments of a story — a journey somewhere between passed reality and fiction. Even Kacper himself is no longer certain where memory ends and invention begins.
 
He only knows this: once upon a time, there was a boy who wasn’t supposed to walk, let alone fly. But he did. He flew because people made it possible. His mother — relentless, protective, fiercely loving — who thought and fought for him every day. His father — quiet, steady, present. And Betty and Mark, an English couple who brought orthopaedic supplies to a Polish hospital and saved a boy’s life without ever asking for anything in return. They gave him hope. They gave him a path. They gave him movement.
 
And over time, Kacper learned that family is not only made by blood. There were people along the way — friends, students, strangers turned companions — who became his chosen family. Among them was Amir, an Ahmadi from Pakistan, who now lives in Toronto. And there was Lucas, a young Venezuelan who made his way to Madrid. Kacper looked after them, just as they looked after him. They became his brothers, his people — anchors in a world always on the move.
 
Kacper’s life has been full of contradictions: a poor boy who speaks four languages, a disabled child who crossed half the world by land, an optimist who has buried too many friends. In writing this book, he does not wish to teach, but to share. He hopes that, somewhere in these pages, someone will find the courage to write their own odd, imperfect, adventurous map of a life.
 
So, let us begin.

United Nations (UNHCR) bringing aid to refugees and displaced, Kirkos, Ethiopia, July 2013

I usually refrain from commenting on political developments. I do so deliberately, because of my professional position and my belief in the importance of careful, informed judgement. But what is happening in the world over the past few days — particularly in the Middle East — has left me deeply upset and worried, both as a humanitarian and as a human being.

I follow the news about Gaza and Iran with a heavy heart. I see images of destruction, read about lives lost — and I struggle. Not because I want to debate geopolitical strategies or defend one actor over another. But because I see pain, fear, displacement, and grief on all sides. And because I feel we are rapidly losing our ability to respond to this pain with clarity, honesty, and compassion.

What is happening in Gaza is, without question, horrific. The scale of civilian suffering, the targeting of basic infrastructure, the deaths of children — it is intolerable. But I also see the suffering of Israeli families living in fear, the panic in Iranian cities, the pain of Jewish and Muslim communities alike, targeted far from the region in acts of hatred or revenge. In my work, I meet people who are affected by these dynamics in real and painful ways — no matter which country they come from.

This is not about excusing violence. It is about acknowledging that, wherever it comes from and whoever it targets, violence dehumanises. It is about reaffirming the idea that human life must remain sacred — even when politics are complex. It is about remembering that being for one community must never mean being against another.

I write this not as a political expert — I am not one — but as someone who has spent their life working with people displaced by war, persecution, and despair. I have seen what conflict does to families, to children, to dreams. And I have seen how crucial it is to protect the space for empathy, even when it is hardest.

This post is not a political statement, nor does it reflect the views of any institution I work for. It is simply a personal reflection — an attempt to make sense of what feels senseless.

We do not need to agree on all things. But perhaps we can agree that every civilian death is a tragedy. That human dignity must matter. That we must not allow ourselves to become desensitised to suffering. And that the hope of peace — however faint — must not be lost.

World Refugee Day/Día Mundial de los Refugiados/Światowy Dzień Uchodźcy

🌍 World Refugee Day: On Movement, Courage, and the Right to Begin Again

📌 Versión en español a continuación
📌 Wersja polska na dole

Today is World Refugee Day.

Each year, this day prompts statements of solidarity, data points, policy discussions, and rightly so—because to flee your home, to cross borders in search of safety, is never a trivial act. It is a rupture, often a trauma, and for millions, a daily reality. Through my professional life, I have had the honour of working alongside refugees: individuals and families navigating unimaginable loss with strength, clarity, and dignity. I have also worked with those who support them—organisations, institutions, and countless individuals who carry an often unseen burden, whose labour makes the difference between despair and hope.

But this year, I do not want to write a conventional tribute. I want to go further—and closer.

Because I believe that, in one way or another, we are all refugees.

Not necessarily in the strict legal sense. Not always across national borders. But in the quiet, universal human impulse to move away from what is broken, painful, or limiting—toward something better. We leave villages, jobs, relationships, patterns that no longer serve us. We seek safety, purpose, wellbeing. And that instinct—to walk towards change—is not a weakness. It is our shared engine. It is how humanity advances.

Yet, for some, that movement is criminalised. Stigmatised. Blocked. Some are told their dreams are too big, their presence too much, their needs too inconvenient. Some are made to feel they are nothing more than the crisis they escaped.

And still—they move.

So today, I pay tribute to those who walk despite the weight. To those who flee, recognised or not. To those whose transitions are public and visible, and to those whose escapes are quiet and unseen. To the people in tents, in transit centres, in immigration queues, but also to the people in buses leaving their villages, in waiting rooms, in empty flats starting over. You carry the courage of the world.

I also pay tribute to the people and communities who welcome. Who soften landings. Who offer something beyond paperwork: recognition, patience, space. Whether they host the displaced of war or the displaced of life—they are the stewards of our shared humanity.

And let me be clear: I have always believed in supporting refugees and migrants. Not because it is fashionable, or easy, or institutionally mandated. But because it is right. And in a world that grows increasingly hostile to difference, increasingly fearful of movement, it is a brave and radical thing to seek safety and insist on life.

But I also believe that those who seek change—especially those who arrive in new places—carry responsibilities too. To contribute. To adapt. To bring their voices forward without silencing others. To demand acceptance, yes—but also to be open to influence. Because every transition is a negotiation, and every new beginning requires both humility and pride.

So today, on World Refugee Day, I honour the truth that we are all in motion. Some more visibly. Some more painfully. But all of us trying, somehow, to cross into something better.

And that crossing, when it’s made with dignity, with care, with courage—that’s where the future begins.

⸻

🌍 Día Mundial de las Personas Refugiadas: Sobre el movimiento, el coraje y el derecho a empezar de nuevo

Cada año, este día genera declaraciones de solidaridad, cifras y debates sobre políticas, y con razón: huir de tu hogar, cruzar fronteras en busca de seguridad, nunca es un acto trivial. Es una ruptura, a menudo un trauma, y para millones, una realidad cotidiana. A lo largo de mi vida profesional, he tenido el honor de trabajar junto a personas refugiadas: individuos y familias que navegan pérdidas inimaginables con fuerza, claridad y dignidad. También he trabajado con quienes las apoyan—organizaciones, instituciones e innumerables personas cuyo trabajo, muchas veces invisible, marca la diferencia entre la desesperación y la esperanza.

Pero este año, no quiero escribir un homenaje convencional. Quiero ir más allá—y más cerca.

Porque creo que, de una u otra forma, todos somos refugiados.

No necesariamente en el sentido jurídico. No siempre a través de fronteras nacionales. Pero sí en ese impulso humano, silencioso y universal, de alejarse de lo que está roto, duele o limita—para acercarse a algo mejor. Dejamos pueblos, trabajos, relaciones, patrones que ya no nos sirven. Buscamos seguridad, propósito, bienestar. Y ese instinto—caminar hacia el cambio—no es debilidad. Es nuestro motor común. Es como la humanidad avanza.

Y sin embargo, para algunos, ese movimiento es criminalizado. Estigmatizado. Bloqueado. A algunos se les dice que sueñan demasiado, que su presencia molesta, que sus necesidades son excesivas. Se les hace sentir que no son más que la crisis de la que huyeron.

Y aún así—siguen caminando.

Hoy, rindo homenaje a quienes caminan pese al peso. A quienes huyen, reconocidos o no. A quienes transitan visiblemente y a quienes escapan en silencio. A las personas en carpas, centros de tránsito, filas migratorias, pero también a quienes van en autobuses, en salas de espera, en pisos vacíos empezando de nuevo. Llevan el coraje del mundo.

También rindo homenaje a quienes acogen. Quienes suavizan aterrizajes. Quienes ofrecen algo más que trámites: reconocimiento, paciencia, espacio. Ya sea que reciban a desplazados por guerras o por la vida—son guardianes de nuestra humanidad compartida.

Y quiero dejarlo claro: siempre he creído en apoyar a personas refugiadas y migrantes. No porque esté de moda, o sea fácil, o institucionalmente requerido. Sino porque es lo correcto. Y en un mundo cada vez más hostil a la diferencia, más temeroso del movimiento, buscar seguridad y afirmar la vida es un acto valiente y radical.

Pero también creo que quienes buscan el cambio—especialmente quienes llegan a nuevos lugares—tienen responsabilidades. Contribuir. Adaptarse. Elevar su voz sin acallar a los demás. Exigir ser aceptados, sí—pero también estar abiertos a ser transformados. Porque toda transición es una negociación, y todo nuevo comienzo requiere tanto humildad como orgullo.

Hoy, en el Día Mundial de las Personas Refugiadas, honro la verdad de que todos estamos en movimiento. Algunos de manera más visible. Algunos con más dolor. Pero todos intentando, de algún modo, cruzar hacia algo mejor.

Y ese cruce, cuando se hace con dignidad, con cuidado, con coraje—es donde empieza el futuro.

⸻

🌍 Światowy Dzień Uchodźcy: O ruchu, odwadze i prawie do nowego początku

Każdego roku ten dzień skłania do gestów solidarności, analiz statystycznych, rozmów o polityce. I słusznie—ucieczka z domu, przekraczanie granic w poszukiwaniu bezpieczeństwa nigdy nie jest sprawą błahą. To pęknięcie, często trauma, a dla milionów—codzienność. Przez całe moje zawodowe życie miałem zaszczyt pracować z uchodźcami: z osobami i rodzinami, które mierzą się z niewyobrażalną stratą z godnością, odwagą i jasnością umysłu. Pracowałem także z tymi, którzy im pomagają—organizacjami, instytucjami, osobami prywatnymi—ludźmi, których wysiłek często pozostaje niewidzialny, a bez których nie byłoby nadziei.

Ale w tym roku nie chcę pisać klasycznego hołdu. Chcę pójść dalej—i bliżej.

Bo wierzę, że w pewnym sensie wszyscy jesteśmy uchodźcami.

Niekoniecznie w prawnym znaczeniu. Nie zawsze przekraczając granice państw. Ale w tym cichym, uniwersalnym ludzkim impulsie, by oddalić się od tego, co boli, co nie działa, co ogranicza—i zbliżyć się do czegoś lepszego. Opuszczamy wioski, miejsca pracy, relacje, schematy, które już nam nie służą. Szukamy bezpieczeństwa, sensu, dobrostanu. Ten impuls—by ruszyć ku zmianie—nie jest słabością. Jest naszym wspólnym motorem. To dzięki niemu ludzkość się rozwija.

A jednak dla niektórych ten ruch jest przestępstwem. Piętą hańby. Blokadą. Mówi się im, że marzą za bardzo, że ich obecność jest problemem, że ich potrzeby są niewygodne. Czują się sprowadzeni do roli kryzysu, z którego uciekli.

A mimo to—idą dalej.

Dlatego dziś składam hołd tym, którzy idą, mimo ciężaru. Tym, którzy uciekają—uznani lub nie. Tym, których droga jest widoczna, i tym, którzy odchodzą po cichu. Ludziom w namiotach, w ośrodkach przejściowych, w kolejkach do urzędów migracyjnych, ale też tym w autobusach opuszczających rodzinne strony, w poczekalniach, w pustych mieszkaniach zaczynających od nowa. To oni niosą odwagę świata.

Składam też hołd tym, którzy przyjmują. Którzy łagodzą lądowanie. Którzy oferują coś więcej niż dokumenty: uznanie, cierpliwość, przestrzeń. Niezależnie, czy przyjmują uchodźców wojennych, czy tych życiowych—są strażnikami naszej wspólnej ludzkości.

I mówię wprost: zawsze wierzyłem w wspieranie uchodźców i migrantów. Nie dlatego, że to modne, łatwe czy wymagane przez instytucje. Ale dlatego, że to słuszne. W świecie coraz bardziej wrogim wobec inności, coraz bardziej przestraszonym ruchem, poszukiwanie bezpieczeństwa i obrona życia to akt odwagi i godności.

Ale wierzę też, że ci, którzy szukają zmiany—szczególnie ci, którzy trafiają do nowych miejsc—mają obowiązki. Wnosić coś od siebie. Dostosowywać się. Zabierać głos, nie zagłuszając innych. Domagać się akceptacji, ale też być gotowym na wpływ otoczenia. Każda zmiana to proces, a każdy nowy początek wymaga i pokory, i dumy.

Dziś, w Światowy Dzień Uchodźcy, oddaję hołd prawdzie, że wszyscy jesteśmy w ruchu. Jedni bardziej widocznie. Inni boleśniej. Ale wszyscy próbujemy, na swój sposób, przejść ku czemuś lepszemu.

A ten krok, gdy robimy go z godnością, troską i odwagą—to tam zaczyna się przyszłość.

Writing

There are moments—often late in the evening, or in transit between field visits—when I find myself needing to stop and write. Not because someone expects a report or briefing, but because it’s the only way I can hold on to what’s happening. The only way to make sense of it. Writing, for me, has never just been about documenting facts; it’s about preserving memory, honouring people, and, perhaps, staying human amidst everything.

Over the years, I’ve filled journals and digital folders with reflections, fragments of dialogue, stories of people and places that changed me. From South Sudan to Myanmar, from Angola to Venezuela, I’ve tried to capture not just the “what” and the “how,” but the “why”—why it mattered, why it hurt, why it inspired.

Often, what I witness in the field makes me feel helpless—something I resist, but cannot always escape. There are days when the weight of it all settles in my chest: the injustice, the indifference, the cruelty of systems that fail the most vulnerable. Writing becomes my way of holding the sorrow without letting it crush me. It is, in truth, an act of survival. It may not change much for those in need, but it offers me a thread of sanity. Putting things down on paper doesn’t fix the world—but it protects me from being swallowed by it.

I write because I have seen things that shouldn’t be forgotten. I write because some stories will never make it into official reports. I write because, despite all the noise, storytelling still connects us—across borders, languages, politics. It builds empathy. And in the humanitarian world, empathy is not a luxury; it’s a lifeline.

Now, as I slowly begin the process of shaping these fragments into a memoir, I’m rediscovering parts of myself. Revisiting field notes from Angola in the late 90s. Scrolling through photos of makeshift clinics and dusty border crossings. Rereading the story of a woman in Colombia who once said to me, “We don’t want your pity, just your honesty.” Her voice still echoes.

The book won’t be a chronicle of my work. It will be a record of becoming—through encounters, mistakes, and lessons. It’s deeply personal, but I hope it also resonates with others who’ve worked in the field, or simply care about the world beyond their own.

Writing is a way of staying close to people I’ve met, to the places I’ve left behind. But it’s also a way of reaching forward—of building bridges between where I’ve been and where I’m going. Between those whose lives I’ve entered briefly, and those who might one day read their stories and see the world a little differently.

So I keep writing. Because it keeps me grounded. Because, I hope, it keeps me honest. Because it reminds me that no matter how fragmented the world feels, we still have the power to connect, to remember, and to care.

Reflections on elections on Poland and Portugal

Polska wersja poniżej
Versión en español a continuación

🇬🇧 Reflections After the Ballot Boxes: From Europe to Caracas 🇬🇧

I’m writing this post back in Caracas, after what was, on paper, a wonderful holiday. Just days ago, I was in Europe—walking familiar streets, visiting dear places, travelling with Mum, and spending time with family and friends. I came back with a full heart and beautiful memories. But somehow, the glow of that journey feels dimmer now. Since returning, the joy of the trip has given way to a heavy sense of reflection—prompted by the outcomes of the recent elections in both Portugal and Poland.

The results of the Portuguese parliamentary elections came in while I was still in Europe. At first, I tried to brush off the unsettling wave of disappointment I felt. Portugal has long held a special place in my life. It’s been a second home. A place that welcomed me and so many others. But in these elections, the strong showing of anti-migrant and ultra-conservative voices was unmistakable. It was hard not to feel that something vital had shifted.

Then, just days later, came the second round of the Polish presidential elections. I had already cast my first-round vote in Nowy Sącz—a special and grounding experience. But for the run-off, I found myself back in Caracas, voting at the Polish consulate. Once again, the result was a blow. And the emotional contrast between that feeling and the joy I had experienced only days earlier, wandering through springtime Kraków, was jarring.

I want to be clear: this post is not a political rant. It’s an expression of sadness and concern. Both Poland and Portugal are countries with deep histories of migration. For generations, our families left in search of safety, dignity, and the chance to rebuild their lives. I know mine did. And for the most part, they were met with kindness. It is hard to reconcile that past with the present climate—where isolationist rhetoric finds a receptive audience, and where people fleeing persecution and poverty are viewed with suspicion rather than compassion.

Of course, my perspective is shaped by my work. I’ve spent years supporting migrants and refugees—people who have survived trauma and hardship most of us can’t imagine. I think of the many individuals I’ve met whose lives were marked by courage and quiet strength, who ask for nothing more than a chance. And I ask myself: why would anyone think they are not worthy of support? Why would anyone deny them the same humanity we ourselves once relied on?

I know people are afraid. I know they feel uncertain, especially in a world that feels increasingly unpredictable. But fear cannot be our compass. It cannot be the measure of who we choose to help or welcome. And when entire political campaigns are built on amplifying that fear, it is not only damaging—it is dangerous.

I still believe in kindness. In hospitality. In the deep and generous values that so many people in both Portugal and Poland still hold, even if they don’t always find political expression. I believe those values matter more than ever now.

So here I am—back in Caracas, grateful for the travels that offered beauty and connection, but now carrying a quiet sorrow too. The world feels a little heavier. But I haven’t given up hope. There are still so many of us who believe in building bridges, not walls. Who believe that to share what we have is not a loss, but a mark of our humanity.

Let’s hold onto that.

⸻

🇵🇱 Refleksje po wyborach: z Europy do Caracas 🇵🇱

Piszę ten wpis już z Caracas, po podróży, która – przynajmniej na papierze – była wspaniałym urlopem. Jeszcze kilka dni temu byłem w Europie: spacerowałem znajomymi ulicami, odwiedzałem ukochane miejsca, podróżowałem z Mamą i spędzałem czas z rodziną i przyjaciółmi. Wróciłem z sercem pełnym wdzięczności i głową pełną pięknych wspomnień. A jednak, teraz, z perspektywy kilku dni, ten blask jakby przygasł. Radość z podróży ustąpiła miejsca ciężkiej refleksji – wywołanej wynikami ostatnich wyborów w Portugalii i Polsce.

Wyniki portugalskich wyborów parlamentarnych dotarły do mnie jeszcze podczas pobytu w Europie. Na początku próbowałem zignorować to uczucie rozczarowania, które się we mnie pojawiło. Portugalia zawsze zajmowała szczególne miejsce w moim życiu. To mój drugi dom. Kraj, który przyjął mnie – i tak wielu innych – z otwartością. Tym bardziej bolało, gdy zobaczyłem, jaką siłę zdobyły ugrupowania antyimigranckie i skrajnie konserwatywne. Coś ważnego, jakby się przesunęło.

Kilka dni później przyszła druga tura wyborów prezydenckich w Polsce. Głos w pierwszej turze oddałem jeszcze w Nowym Sączu – było to doświadczenie głębokie i zakorzeniające. Ale drugą turę głosowałem już w konsulacie w Caracas. I znów – rezultat był ciosem. Kontrast między tą emocją a radością zaledwie kilka dni wcześniej, gdy spacerowałem wiosennym Krakowem, był bardzo mocny.

Nie piszę tego, by kogokolwiek oskarżać. Piszę to z miejsca smutku i niepokoju. Polska i Portugalia to kraje o długiej historii migracji. Przez pokolenia nasi bliscy opuszczali domy w poszukiwaniu bezpieczeństwa, godności, szansy na odbudowę życia. I zwykle spotykali się z życzliwością. Trudno pogodzić tę historię z dzisiejszą rzeczywistością, w której narracja izolacjonistyczna zyskuje aplauz, a osoby uciekające przed wojną, prześladowaniem i biedą postrzegane są jako zagrożenie.

Wiem, że moja perspektywa wynika z mojej pracy. Spędziłem lata, wspierając uchodźców i migrantów – ludzi, którzy przeszli przez traumę i trudności, których większość z nas nawet sobie nie wyobraża. Myślę o tych wszystkich osobach, które poznałem – odważnych, pełnych cichej siły, proszących jedynie o szansę. I pytam sam siebie: dlaczego ktoś miałby uznać, że nie zasługują na pomoc? Dlaczego mielibyśmy odmówić im tego, co nam samym kiedyś ofiarowano?

Rozumiem, że ludzie się boją. Że świat staje się coraz mniej przewidywalny. Ale strach nie może być naszym kompasem. Nie może decydować o tym, komu okażemy solidarność. A gdy całe kampanie polityczne budowane są na podsycaniu tego lęku – to nie tylko smutne, to niebezpieczne.

Wciąż wierzę w dobroć. W gościnność. W wartości, które wciąż są obecne w wielu sercach – nawet jeśli nie zawsze przebijają się w debacie publicznej. I wierzę, że dziś są ważniejsze niż kiedykolwiek.

Więc oto jestem – znów w Caracas, z bagażem pięknych wspomnień, ale też z ciężarem smutku. Świat wydaje się odrobinę ciemniejszy. Ale nadzieja wciąż we mnie jest. Bo wiem, że jest nas wielu – tych, którzy wierzą, że warto budować mosty, a nie mury. Którzy wierzą, że dzielenie się tym, co mamy, nie jest stratą – a wyrazem naszego człowieczeństwa.

Trzymajmy się tego.

⸻

🇪🇸 Reflexiones después de las urnas: de Europa a Caracas 🇪🇸

Escribo estas líneas ya desde Caracas, después de lo que, en teoría, fue un viaje maravilloso. Hace solo unos días estaba en Europa: caminando por calles conocidas, visitando lugares queridos, viajando con mi madre y compartiendo tiempo con familia y amigos. Volví con el corazón lleno y muchos recuerdos hermosos. Pero, desde entonces, ese brillo ha perdido fuerza. La alegría de esas semanas ha sido reemplazada por una reflexión profunda, provocada por los resultados de las recientes elecciones en Portugal y en Polonia.

Los resultados de las elecciones parlamentarias en Portugal me alcanzaron mientras todavía estaba de viaje. Al principio intenté no dejarme llevar por la decepción, pero no pude evitar sentirme inquieto. Portugal siempre ha tenido un lugar especial en mi vida. Ha sido mi segundo hogar. Un país que me acogió a mí y a muchos otros con generosidad. Por eso fue tan doloroso ver el avance de discursos antimigratorios y posturas ultra conservadoras. Sentí que algo se había roto.

Pocos días después llegó la segunda vuelta de las elecciones presidenciales en Polonia. Había votado en la primera vuelta desde Nowy Sącz, una experiencia muy significativa para mí. Pero la segunda vuelta me encontró de regreso en Caracas, votando en el consulado. Y una vez más, el resultado me dejó con una sensación de vacío. El contraste con la felicidad que había sentido días antes, paseando por la primavera de Cracovia, fue muy fuerte.

Este texto no pretende acusar a nadie. Es una expresión de tristeza y preocupación. Polonia y Portugal son países marcados por la migración. Durante generaciones, nuestras familias emigraron buscando refugio, trabajo, dignidad. Y muchas veces fueron recibidas con brazos abiertos. Cuesta entender cómo, hoy, esa misma empatía parece desvanecerse, cómo se construyen muros en lugar de puentes.

Soy consciente de que mi visión está moldeada por mi trabajo. He pasado años acompañando a migrantes y refugiados: personas que han sobrevivido al dolor y al desarraigo, que solo piden una oportunidad. Y me pregunto: ¿por qué alguien podría negarles eso? ¿Por qué pensar que no merecen apoyo ni una acogida digna?

Entiendo que hay miedo, inseguridad, que el mundo se siente incierto. Pero no podemos dejar que el miedo guíe nuestras decisiones. No puede ser el criterio para definir a quién ayudamos o a quién dejamos fuera. Y cuando las campañas políticas se construyen sobre ese miedo, el daño puede ser profundo.

Sigo creyendo en la bondad. En la hospitalidad. En los valores sencillos y humanos que aún viven en muchas personas, aunque no siempre encuentren espacio en la política. Creo que hoy, más que nunca, debemos defenderlos.

Así estoy: de nuevo en Caracas, agradecido por los días vividos, pero también con un nudo en el pecho. El mundo se siente un poco más duro. Pero no he perdido la esperanza. Todavía somos muchos quienes creemos que compartir lo que tenemos no es perder, sino afirmar lo que somos.

A eso me aferro.

Mum, Leo and I at the restaurant in Gołkowice, Poland, May 2025

ENGLISH

Dear Friends,

With spring's full bloom behind us and the soft whisper of summer approaching, I thought I would take a moment to reconnect and share a little update from this part of the world — and my life.

After a long stretch of work, I was lucky to take a month off and spend some time in Europe. Most of that precious time I shared with my mum, who continues to be a source of light, wisdom, and quiet strength. It truly was a blessing to slow down and just be together. We talked for hours, watched the trees change colours, cooked, laughed, and enjoyed the small joys that tend to get lost in the speed of daily life.

We also travelled a bit: first to Malta, with its golden cliffs and sunlit alleys, and then to Central Asia — Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. We explored Tashkent and the majestic Samarkand, marveling at the intricately tiled mosques and medressas. One day, we even crossed the land border by car to visit Shymkent in Kazakhstan — a short adventure that gave us a taste of another culture and landscape. The vastness and beauty of the journey itself — through land and sky — was an adventure in its own right.

Later in the month, we welcomed Leo, a dear Venezuelan friend who now lives in Madrid — many of you kindly helped him when he relocated to Spain to start his new life ✨. He joined us in Poland for a few days, and it was so heartwarming to see him discovering new places: from the charm of Krakow, to the wooden churches in the Polish countryside, from Bardejov in Slovakia to the dramatic beauty of the Tatras on both the Slovak and Polish sides. Watching Leo getting hooked on travel and embracing the joy of discovering was one of the highlights of this spring.

I also managed to make a little nostalgic stop in Cieszyn and its twin city across the Olza river, Český Těšín. Walking the familiar streets where Poland meets Czechia reminded me once again how much beauty lies in quiet corners of the world.

Now, I'm back in Caracas. As much as I cherish the time away, it also feels good to return to familiar routines and reunite with colleagues and friends here. I realise once again how much I enjoy my work, even with all the challenges it brings. The world is in a strange and uneasy place right now — full of uncertainties, divisions, even fear. I too feel the weight of it sometimes. But the work I do, the people I meet, the belief that we can make a small difference — that gives me energy, purpose, and, quite frankly, keeps me sane.

The next few months will likely be busy with work in Venezuela and, with some luck, a bit of travel across the region too. If you're curious about some glimpses from our travels, you can find photos here: https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/7d9a8e4ebb1ee5b2dbdf379b7235313b-141.html 🌄📷

Wishing you all a peaceful summer ahead — with moments of joy, meaning, and connection. Hope to hear from you soon.

With love,
Roman 🌿

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ESPAÑOL

Queridas y queridos,

Con la primavera ya quedándose atrás y el suave viento del verano acercándose, quería tomar un momento para reconectar y compartir con ustedes una pequeña actualización de mi mundo.

Tras una larga etapa de trabajo, tuve la suerte de tomarme un mes de vacaciones y pasarlo, sobre todo, con mi mamá. Ese tiempo compartido fue una verdadera bendición. Conversamos mucho, cocinamos juntos, caminamos, reímos y simplemente disfrutamos de esos pequeños placeres cotidianos que a menudo se nos escapan.

También tuvimos la oportunidad de viajar un poco: primero a Malta, con sus acantilados dorados y callejuelas soleadas, y luego a Asia Central — Uzbekistán y Kazajistán. Visitamos Taskent y la mítica Samarcanda. Un día incluso cruzamos la frontera terrestre en coche para llegar a Shymkent, en Kazajistán. Los paisajes, los caminos recorridos, las personas encontradas... el viaje fue tan especial como los destinos mismos.

Hacia el final del viaje, nos visitó Leo, un querido amigo venezolano que ahora vive en Madrid (gracias a muchos de ustedes que lo ayudaron a comenzar su nueva vida en España ✨). Compartimos algunos días maravillosos recorriendo Cracovia, los pueblos del sur de Polonia con sus iglesias de madera, Bardejov en Eslovaquia, y finalmente los Tatras polacos y eslovacos. Fue hermoso ver a Leo descubrir, disfrutar, engancharse con el viajar...

También hicimos una pequeña parada nostálgica en Cieszyn y su gemela checa, Český Těšín. Caminar por esas calles, donde Polonia y Chequia se abrazan, fue un recordatorio de la belleza que se esconde en los rincones tranquilos del mundo.

Ya de vuelta en Caracas, me alegra retomar mi rutina y reencontrarme con colegas y amistades. Me doy cuenta, una vez más, de cuánto me gusta mi trabajo. A pesar de los retos, me da energía y sentido. El mundo está en un momento complicado, incierto y a veces aterrador. Y yo también me asusto. Pero trabajar en algo que importa, junto a personas valientes y comprometidas, me mantiene en pie.

Los próximos meses estaré ocupado con el trabajo en Venezuela y, con suerte, también podré viajar un poco por la región. Si quieren echar un vistazo a las fotos del viaje, las pueden encontrar aquí: https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/7d9a8e4ebb1ee5b2dbdf379b7235313b-141.html 🌄📷

Les deseo un verano lleno de calma, sentido y alegría. Espero saber de ustedes pronto.

Con mucho cariño,
Roman 🌿

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POLSKI

Kochani,

Wraz z odejściem wiosny i powolnym nadejściem lata, chcę się z Wami podzielić kilkoma refleksjami i wieściami z mojego świata.

Po długim okresie pracy udało mi się wziąć miesiąc urlopu, który w dużej mierze spędziłem z Mamą. To był naprawdę wspaniały czas — spokojny, wspólny, przepełniony rozmowami, uśmiechem, gotowaniem i spacerami. Proste rzeczy, ale jakże cenne.

Podróżowaliśmy razem: najpierw na Maltę, a potem do Azji Centralnej. Odwiedziliśmy Taszkent i bajeczną Samarkandę, a na jeden dzień samochodem przekroczyliśmy granicę z Kazachstanem, by odwiedzić Szymkent. Sama podróż przez bezkresne krajobrazy Azji była przygodą samą w sobie.

Pod koniec urlopu do Polski przyleciał Leo, mój wenezuelski przyjaciel, który obecnie mieszka w Madrycie (wielu z Was pomogło mu się tam odnaleźć i zacznąć nowe życie ✨). Razem odwiedziliśmy Kraków, drewniane cerkwie i kościoły w Małopolsce, Bardejov na Słowacji, a także Tatry po obu stronach granicy. Cudownie było patrzeć, jak Leo odkrywa nowe miejsca i zakochuje się w podróżowaniu.

Zajrzałem również do Cieszyna i Czeskiego Cieszyna — spacer po tych znanych uliczkach, gdzie spotykają się Polacy i Czesi, był dla mnie pięknym momentem zadumy i radości.

Dziś jestem już z powrotem w Caracas. Choć miło było odpocząć, dobrze też wrócić do rytmu pracy i znajomych twarzy. Przypominam sobie, jak bardzo lubię to, co robię. Mimo trudów, niepewności i niepokoju, które ogarniają nasz świat, moja praca daje mi siłę, sens i... zdrowy rozsądek.

Najbliższe miesiące będę intensywnie pracował w Wenezueli, ale z odrobiną szczęścia uda się też coś zobaczyć w regionie. A jeśli macie ochotę na kilka zdjęć z naszych podróży, zapraszam tutaj: https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/7d9a8e4ebb1ee5b2dbdf379b7235313b-141.html 🌄📷

Serdecznie Was pozdrawiam, życząc dobrego, spokojnego i słonecznego lata!

Roman 🌿

Returning to Caracas after 1 month of holidays, Lisbon, Portugal, May 2025

I’ve just arrived back in Caracas—back in my flat, back in the tropical air, and back to the rhythms of my Venezuelan life and work. It’s always strange how the body lands faster than the mind. As I sit by the window, hearing the hum of the city returning to life around me, I find myself still drifting somewhere between Nowy Sącz, Kraków, Samarkand, and the Tatra peaks.

The last month has been nothing short of extraordinary. A journey that was meant to be a break turned into a soul-filling, unforgettable exploration of places, people, and emotions. I travelled across continents, revisited beloved towns, discovered hidden treasures, and reconnected not only with family and friends, but with my own sense of wonder.

✈️ The Journey Home – Through Airports and Between Worlds

It all started in April 2025, when I left Caracas for a long-anticipated holiday. The journey itself became part of the experience. Airports have always been a strange comfort to me—places of transition, promise, and people-watching. From Caracas to Lisbon, then on to Warsaw, Kraków, and finally Nowy Sącz, I found myself reflecting on movement as a metaphor: not just of geography, but of life.

Each airport had its own rhythm—Lisbon’s friendly charm, Warsaw’s clean precision, and the warm intimacy of Kraków’s terminals welcoming me back to Poland.

📸 Journey Through Airports – April 2025

🌿 Home, Mountains and Mum

Once in Nowy Sącz, it didn’t take long before I found myself on the road again—this time with Mum. We took a delightful day trip to Krynica-Zdrój, one of our favourite spa towns. The spring sunshine, lush greenery, and the sweet rhythm of Polish life made for a perfect getaway. We rode the Góra Parkowa funicular, strolled through Krynica’s elegant centre, and drove back via Muszyna, tracing the border with Slovakia.

📸 Spring Day Trip to Krynica with Mum

🇲🇹 Malta: Sun, Sea and Shared Time

A few days later, Mum and I boarded a flight to Malta—a tiny island nation steeped in history. Though we only stayed for three days, we packed in Valletta, the Blue Grotto, Marsaxlokk, Gozo, and the Blue Lagoon. Malta left a strong impression on both of us: a stunning mix of Mediterranean light, Baroque architecture, and centuries of layered civilisations. Sharing these discoveries with Mum was priceless.

📸 A Long May Weekend in Malta with Mum

🏛️ Between Travels – Reconnecting with Home

Between Malta and our next big trip, we had a peaceful interlude in Kraków. Our visit happened to coincide with the celebration of 3rd May Constitution Day—a moment of pride for every Pole. Flags waved from balconies, and the atmosphere in the city was festive yet thoughtful. We walked through Wawel, admired St. Mary’s Basilica, and lunched at a Czech restaurant. Mum loved it—and so did I.

📸 Reconnecting with Home: Nowy Sącz and Kraków

🌍 Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan – A Dream Come True

Then came one of the most powerful chapters of this holiday: a long-awaited journey to Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. This trip was a dream finally realised. We explored Tashkent, Samarkand, and Shymkent, walking through places rich in culture and history. Samarkand, with its regal Registan Square and its stories of Islamic scholars, truly stole our hearts. In Shymkent, our guide Larisa left a profound impression with her knowledge and humanity.

Crossing borders by foot, navigating languages, and encountering warmth at every turn reminded me that the world, though vast, can also feel deeply familiar. The contributions of Central Asian civilisations to science, art, and philosophy left us inspired and humbled.

📸 A Dream Journey: Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan with Mum

🚗 Southern Poland by Roads and Borders

Back in Poland, I found joy in small excursions—rediscovering places that felt both old and new. I spent time with my brother and his family, shared Venezuelan rum chosen by Giovanni, and went on a road trip with Mum and our neighbours to Cieszyn and Český Těšín, walking across the border that slices the town in two. On the way back, we stopped in Žilina, Slovakia, and took in the landscapes of the Tatras as we drove home at sunset.

📸 Road Trip Across Borders: Cieszyn, Český Těšín & Žilina

🏘️ Rediscovering Forgotten Corners – Krosno and Miasto Galicyjskie

I also revisited Miasto Galicyjskie in Nowy Sącz—a place I always return to with affection—and took a spontaneous drive to Krosno, a town I hadn’t seen in years. I was astonished by how beautifully restored the old town is. The journey there, through patchworks of villages and rolling hills, reminded me of the richness of Lesser Poland, too often overlooked.

📸 Green Days of May – Miasto Galicyjskie & Krosno

🌄 A Special Guest – Leo in Poland and Slovakia

Then came a true highlight—Leo’s visit from Madrid. For four magical days, I had the pleasure of showing him Poland and Slovakia through my eyes. From the Old Town of Kraków to Kazimierz, from the wooden Lemko churches to Bardejov and Krynica, from the Pieniny mountains to the Tatra peaks, we crossed borders and gathered memories. Leo’s wide-eyed wonder, warmth, and excitement were contagious. His joy became mine.

📸 Four Unforgettable Days: Leo’s Visit to Poland and Slovakia

🏡 Final Hours – A Grateful Heart

On the last day before my return to Venezuela, I stayed close to home, soaking in the peace of Nowy Sącz and the company of my loved ones. These quiet hours were just as meaningful as the days of travel. They reminded me of how lucky I am to have roots in a place so rich in memory, tradition, and love.

📸 Moments Before Departure – Nowy Sącz Reflections

Now, as I sit here in Caracas once again, the experiences of the past month feel like a tapestry woven from many threads—each one vibrant, personal, and full of meaning. I return grateful beyond words for the time I had, the people I met and reunited with, and the places that opened themselves up to me. These weeks reminded me of how deeply rewarding travel can be when it’s done with curiosity, openness, and heart.

And yet—I’m equally excited to be back in Venezuela. I look forward to the challenges ahead, the stories waiting to be written here, and the joy of continuing to learn and contribute in this extraordinary country I’ve come to care for so much.

📸 Should you wish to explore some of the pictures from this journey, here are the links to the photo galleries:

1. ✈️ Journey Through Airports – April 2025
2. 🌿 Spring Day Trip to Krynica with Mum
3. 🇲🇹 A Long May Weekend in Malta with Mum
4. 🏛️ Reconnecting with Home: Nowy Sącz and Kraków
5. 🌍 A Dream Journey: Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan with Mum
6. 🚗 Road Trip Across Borders: Cieszyn, Český Těšín & Žilina
7. 🏘️ Green Days of May – Miasto Galicyjskie & Krosno
8. 🌄 Four Unforgettable Days: Leo’s Visit to Poland and Slovakia
9. 🏡 Moments Before Departure – Nowy Sącz Reflections

Thank you, Europe & Central Asia. Thank you, friends and family. And thank you, life—again and again.

Here’s to new chapters and new horizons, right here in Caracas. 🌍❤️🇻🇪

Travelling is such a privilege! Krakow, Poland, May 2025

As I sit here in Mum’s flat in Nowy Sącz, enjoying a quiet spring afternoon and looking out onto the budding trees, I finally have a moment to reflect on the past two weeks. I left Caracas for Europe a little over a fortnight ago, flying via Lisbon—a city that already brings good energy. It was also the very first time I used my Portuguese passport for international travel, which felt like a personal milestone: symbolic, emotional, and exciting.

From Lisbon, I continued on to Kraków, where Mum and I began our long-anticipated spring holiday. After some rest in Nowy Sącz, our first shared experience was a day trip to Krynica-Zdrój, one of southern Poland’s most charming spa towns. It was everything I had hoped for—sunshine, spring air, green hills, and the soothing rhythm of a place steeped in history. We wandered through the elegant streets, admired the architecture, and took the historic funicular up to Góra Parkowa for spectacular views. That day, captured in smiles and shared silences, was a perfect opening to this holiday.

You can view our photo gallery from Krynica here:
📸 Click here for the album.

We also spent time in Nowy Sącz, soaking up the atmosphere of my hometown and enjoying long walks, home-cooked meals, and simple, meaningful time with family.

From there, we boarded a flight for Malta—and what a surprise that little island was. We had just three days, but we packed them full of exploration and discovery. Valletta immediately captivated us with its golden limestone, narrow streets, and breathtaking views of the sea. We explored St. John’s Co-Cathedral, wandered the Upper Barrakka Gardens, and soaked in the rich history that seems to rise from every stone. Mum was fascinated by how different everything was—from the Mediterranean architecture to the blend of cultures and languages. Malta was new for her, and seeing her eyes light up with curiosity and joy was a gift in itself.

Beyond Valletta, we explored the eastern and southern coasts, visited Marsaxlokk with its brightly painted fishing boats, and sampled fresh seafood at the harbour. Our day trip to Gozo and the Blue Lagoon was unforgettable. Gozo’s peaceful hills and ancient temples, especially the Ġgantija Temples, left us both speechless. To stand among ruins older than the pyramids felt surreal. The Blue Lagoon was crowded but spectacular—clear turquoise waters and white rocks shimmering in the sun. We swam, laughed, and simply enjoyed the moment.

You can browse our Malta photos here:
📸 Click here for the album.

After Malta, we returned to Kraków for a lovely day, which happened to coincide with Poland’s Constitution Day on the 3rd of May. The city was alive with flags, music, and celebration. We explored the Royal Route, paused in the courtyard of the Jagiellonian University, and enjoyed a long, delicious lunch in a Czech restaurant near the main square. The weather was perfect, the city at its most elegant, and the timing made it all the more special.

Some photos from our time in Nowy Sącz and Kraków can be found here:
📸 Click here for the album.

From there, we boarded a flight eastward—to Uzbekistan. A destination I had dreamed about for years, and an entirely new world for Mum. From the moment we landed in Tashkent, we were struck by how clean, green, and calm the city felt. Parks, fountains, tree-lined avenues, and a surprising blend of Soviet legacy and modern design gave Tashkent a unique, tranquil charm.

But it was Samarkand that stole our hearts. We spent two full days exploring the ancient city—Registan Square, Shah-i-Zinda, Bibi-Khanym Mosque. The architecture was beyond anything we expected: blue domes, intricate mosaics, golden calligraphy. Mum kept saying she felt like she had stepped into a storybook. It was hard to comprehend the scale and artistry of it all. For her, as for me, everything was new—every street offered a chance to learn and be amazed. We took our time, absorbing the colours, the textures, the sounds, and the warm hospitality.

While in Tashkent, we took a day trip to Shymkent in Kazakhstan. It was my first time in the country and Mum’s as well. Shymkent may not be a well-known tourist spot, but thanks to our incredible guide, Larisa—a kind, wise Kazakh-Russian woman—the visit became a highlight. Her stories about the region’s history, culture, and daily life resonated deeply. We talked about Soviet legacies, national identities, and the connections between past and present. The experience reminded us both of our own Polish background and the importance of memory and resilience.

You can find photos from that part of our journey here:
📸 Click here for the album.

And now, back in Nowy Sącz, we are catching our breath, enjoying family time, and embracing the gentle rhythm of spring in southern Poland. The holiday is only halfway through, and there is so much still ahead. In just a few days, Leo will be arriving from Madrid for a short visit. Together, we’ll explore Kraków again, hike to Morskie Oko, cross into Slovakia to enjoy the High Tatras, and take the traditional Spływ Dunajcem—rafting through the scenic Dunajec River Gorge.

I also hope to continue exploring small towns across southern Poland and northern Slovakia, visiting historical sites, mountain paths, and quiet cafes. But above all, I’m treasuring this time with Mum and with Paweł and Kasia—moments that, in the busy pace of everyday life, are rare and all the more meaningful.

Next week holds another special occasion: I’ll be voting in Poland’s presidential election. For the first time in years, I’ll cast my vote not in a consulate overseas but right here in Nowy Sącz. It may be a small thing, but it feels deeply grounding—to participate in democracy while physically present in the community that raised me.

Spring in Poland is beautiful—fresh and green, full of birdsong and bright mornings. I feel immense gratitude for this time: for the places we’ve seen, for the family around me, and for the promise of the days still to come.

On my way back to Caracas, I’ll have one final stop—Lisbon. Just for a day, but the thought of being in that radiant city, walking through its hilly streets, perhaps sipping a coffee near the Tagus, makes me smile already.

More stories to come. For now, I’m holding onto the beauty of the present moment, and the joy of being exactly where I need to be.