The Town Hall of Nowy Sącz, Poland, May 2026

I am in Nowy Sącz again.

And somehow, no matter how many times I return, there is always a moment — usually just after arriving — when everything inside me slows down slightly. The familiar outline of the hills surrounding the city. The gentler rhythm of the streets. The softer light of southern Poland in spring. It feels less like arriving somewhere and more like stepping quietly back into a part of myself that never fully leaves.

This journey began far away, in Caracas.

Leaving Venezuela behind, even temporarily, no longer feels like a simple act of travel. After years there, departures carry weight. Faces remain in the mind. Conversations linger unfinished. Streets, cafés, routines, mountains, tropical evenings — they continue travelling with me long after the aircraft doors close.

The route itself felt like one of those long transitional corridors between worlds.

Lisbon — suspended between continents

The first pause came at Lisbon Airport.

There is something strangely beautiful about airports in the early morning. The half-silence of travellers suspended between exhaustion and anticipation. Departure boards glowing softly against dark windows. The smell of coffee stronger than usual. Snatches of languages mixing together in passing.

Outside, dawn slowly began to colour the Atlantic sky.

Then came the flight to Warsaw — one of those departures where you watch Europe gradually reassemble itself beneath the aircraft window. Portugal fading behind clouds. Central Europe emerging below in softer greens and greys.

And despite the tiredness, I felt something simple and profound:

I was happy to be going home.

Warsaw beneath grey skies

Landing in Warsaw always affects me emotionally.

Perhaps because Warsaw embodies so much of Poland’s own story — destruction and rebuilding, memory and reinvention. Few European capitals carry their history so visibly beneath modern life. Entire districts rebuilt from ashes. Glass towers rising beside reconstructed facades that themselves are acts of remembrance.

This time, however, Warsaw was only a temporary harbour.

I stayed overnight near the airport. Outside, May had arrived hesitantly — grey skies, soft rain, fresh air carrying that unmistakable scent of Polish spring after winter has finally loosened its grip.

I remember looking out of the hotel window and feeling strangely peaceful.

Not excited.
Not dramatic.
Simply content to be back in my own country.

Southward

The journey to Nowy Sącz always feels deeply personal.

As the roads and railways move south, the landscapes begin to change almost imperceptibly. Flatness gives way to hills. Villages appear more frequently. Church towers emerge above trees. Rivers begin accompanying the roads.

The closer I get to Nowy Sącz, the more memory itself seems to enter the landscape.

There are places in life that become internal geography.
For me, this is one of them.

The Rynek

The old town looked beautiful.

Walking through the Rynek, I found myself admiring once again the beautifully restored Ratusz — the Town Hall standing proudly at the centre of the square. Built originally in the late nineteenth century, it survived wars, occupations, political transitions, and the often chaotic transformations of post-communist Poland. Today, restored carefully and illuminated softly in the evenings, it feels both elegant and grounded.

Around it, life unfolded calmly.

People drinking coffee outside cafés. Elderly couples walking slowly across the square. Children running near the fountain. The ordinary choreography of a Polish spring afternoon.

There is something deeply comforting in places that continue living without needing to reinvent themselves constantly.

Nowy Sącz has changed enormously during my lifetime — economically, culturally, architecturally — and yet beneath it all, its emotional rhythm remains recognisable to me.

A day by the Poprad

Today brought one of those unexpectedly perfect spring days.

Warm sunlight. Deep blue sky. Fresh greenery almost glowing after recent rain.

We drove to Rytro, in the valley of the Poprad River, where the river cuts through the Beskid Sądecki mountains in long silver curves before continuing northward toward the Dunajec.

The Poprad valley has always carried a particular beauty — gentler than the dramatic Tatras, but deeply peaceful. Forested hills descending toward riverside villages. Wooden houses. Small churches. Trains occasionally appearing beside the river and disappearing again into trees.

We had lunch at Willa Poprad, beside the flowing water.

The whole scene felt almost impossibly calm.

The sound of the river accompanied everything. Sunlight flickered across leaves. Families sat outside enjoying the warmth. Somewhere nearby, children laughed. The mountains stood quietly in the distance, not imposing themselves, simply present — as they have always been.

Moments like this feel small while they happen.

And yet later they become the ones we remember most clearly.

Packing again

Now I am back home.

Suitcases are open once more across the room. Clothes folded into temporary order. Documents checked. Chargers untangled. The strange ritual of preparing once again to leave.

Tomorrow or the next day, we continue onward — this time with Mum — travelling through Kraków and Warsaw toward Canada, where Tahir, Amna, and little Hania are waiting for us.

We are both genuinely excited.

There is something profoundly joyful about journeys built around people rather than obligation. No missions. No reports. No coordination meetings. Just family, conversation, shared meals, long drives, and time together.

There will be separate albums from Canada.
And later, from Morocco too.

But this album belongs to something quieter.

To airports at dawn.
To grey skies over Warsaw.
To spring sunlight beside the Poprad River.
To the tenderness of returning home briefly before setting out once again.

Life sometimes feels like an endless sequence of arrivals and departures.

But perhaps happiness lies not in choosing between them — only in learning how to carry both gently.

Click here to access the album.