Every Journey Tells a Story

One of the projects I have finally managed to complete over the past few evenings has been something I had been thinking about for quite a long time.

I have created a new page on my website that brings together all of my online photo albums in one place. After years of travelling, photographing and writing, it seemed the right moment to organise those memories into a single collection that is easy to browse and, hopefully, enjoyable to explore.

You can find it here:

Photo Albums and Travel Reports https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/7d9a8e4ebb1ee5b2dbdf379b7235313b-141.html

Looking through these albums has been a journey in itself.

Together, they cover many years of my life and thousands of photographs from different corners of the world. Some were taken during humanitarian missions, others during family holidays, road trips with friends, or quiet weekends spent exploring places simply because curiosity led me there.

As I moved from one album to another, I realised that certain parts of the world seem to keep calling me back.

The countries of Central and Eastern Europe have always remained close to my heart. Poland, Slovakia, Czechia, Hungary and Germany are places I return to again and again—not only because they are close to home, but because every visit reveals something new. Whether wandering through historic towns, walking mountain trails or simply sharing dinner with family and friends, they never feel repetitive.

The Baltic region has become another favourite. Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Finland, Denmark and Sweden offered a wonderful combination of medieval cities, quiet forests, endless coastlines and unforgettable ferry journeys across the Baltic Sea. I already know that it will not be my last visit there.

The Mediterranean has also accompanied me throughout the years. From Portugal and Spain to Italy, Greece, and Morocco, I have always been drawn by the light, the sea, the history and the slower rhythm of life that seems to encourage people to sit a little longer over coffee and conversation.

Then there are the countries that have become much more than destinations.

South Sudan, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, North Korea, Venezuela and now Ethiopia are places where travel and work became inseparable. They are countries where I have spent months or years rather than days, where friendships were formed, difficult lessons learned and unforgettable experiences accumulated. Looking through those albums reminds me that humanitarian work has allowed me not only to see the world, but to understand it a little better.

Perhaps that is what these albums really represent.

Not a collection of countries.

Not a list of places visited.

But a collection of encounters.

When I look back, I rarely remember monuments first.

Instead, I remember the people.

The family that welcomed me into their home.

The colleague who became a lifelong friend.

The child laughing in a school courtyard.

The elderly man sharing stories over tea.

The conversations during long drives across empty landscapes.

The unexpected reunion with an old friend thousands of kilometres from where we first met.

Travelling has taught me that the most memorable journeys are never measured by the number of kilometres travelled.

They are measured by the number of perspectives gained.

The world is an astonishingly diverse place, yet the more I travel, the more I realise how much we all have in common. Everywhere I go, people care about their families, worry about the future, celebrate milestones, welcome visitors and hope for a better tomorrow.

Perhaps that is why I have never lost my enthusiasm for discovering somewhere new.

Even after countless flights, border crossings and road trips, I still feel a quiet excitement when unfolding a map, boarding a ferry, setting off before sunrise or seeing a road sign pointing towards a place I have never visited before.

I suspect that feeling will never disappear.

So, if you have a little time and feel like travelling without leaving home, I warmly invite you to browse the albums.

Perhaps you will revisit places you already know.

Perhaps you will discover somewhere new.

And perhaps, like me, you will be reminded that travelling is not really about reaching destinations.

It is about remaining curious.

Plans of September and October, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, September 2026

It is hard to believe that more than three weeks have already passed since I arrived in Ethiopia.

As with every new posting, the first days seemed to move at remarkable speed. There was so much to learn, so many people to meet, and countless practical matters to organise. Now, little by little, the initial whirlwind is beginning to settle into something more familiar. I am finding my rhythm.

Professionally, every day brings new insights.

Much of my time has been spent trying to understand the humanitarian context, meeting with partners, listening to colleagues, reading reports, and gradually building a clearer picture of the challenges and opportunities that lie ahead. Every conversation adds another piece to the puzzle. Ethiopia is a fascinating country, both incredibly diverse and remarkably complex, and I have the feeling that learning about it will remain an ongoing journey throughout my time here.

Away from the office, I have also been busy creating a new home.

My flat is now almost fully arranged. There are still a few details to finish, but the books have found their shelves, the pictures are beginning to appear on the walls, and the kitchen finally feels lived in. It is always surprising how quickly an unfamiliar apartment begins to feel like home through a collection of small, everyday routines.

I live in the Bole Atlas area of Addis Ababa, only a short distance from the office, which makes daily life wonderfully convenient. The neighbourhood has quickly become familiar. Cafés, bakeries, small supermarkets and busy streets filled with people going about their day create an atmosphere that is both lively and welcoming. It is one of those parts of the city where modern Addis Ababa reveals itself—constantly growing, energetic and full of life—while still retaining a distinctly Ethiopian character.

One of the highlights of these first weeks was experiencing Enkutatash, the Ethiopian New Year.

Celebrated on 11 September, it marks the beginning of a new year according to the Ethiopian calendar and coincides with the end of the rainy season, when the countryside begins to turn green and yellow adey abeba flowers bloom across the landscape. Throughout the city, families gathered to celebrate, children dressed in traditional clothes visited homes singing New Year songs, and churches filled with worshippers giving thanks for the year gone by and praying for the one ahead.

It was a wonderful introduction to Ethiopian culture and a reminder that every country marks the passing of time in its own unique way.

The next chapter of my own Ethiopian journey is about to begin.

In the coming days, I will leave Addis Ababa for my first field mission, travelling to Gondar and further north into the Amhara Region to visit several projects supported by one of our humanitarian partners.

Field visits have always been among my favourite parts of humanitarian work.

Reports and meetings are essential, but nothing replaces seeing programmes firsthand, meeting the people involved, speaking with local communities and understanding how humanitarian assistance translates into everyday life. I am particularly looking forward to learning more about the region, its communities and the work being carried out there.

Amhara has experienced difficult years and, like many parts of Ethiopia, continues to face challenges while also demonstrating remarkable resilience. I look forward to listening, learning and gaining a deeper understanding of both the situation and the strength of the communities living there.

There has also been wonderful news from much further away.

In Toronto, Tahir and Amna have welcomed a beautiful baby boy into their family.

His name is Hamza.

Needless to say, we are all absolutely overjoyed. Watching families grow is one of life's greatest pleasures, and I cannot wait to meet the newest member of our extended family. Congratulations once again to the proud parents—and a very warm welcome to the world, Hamza!

Looking a little further ahead, October promises to be another month of travel.

One unexpected consequence of my years in Venezuela is that I still have a considerable amount of annual leave to use. Humanitarian emergencies and demanding periods of work often meant postponing holidays, so I now have the opportunity to make up for some of that lost time.

Immediately after returning from the field, I will spend a week travelling between Tunis and Rome before heading to Poland for another week in Nowy Sącz.

It will be wonderful to spend time with Mum and the rest of the family once again.

Even better, Giovanni will still be there before returning to Venezuela at the end of October, giving us another opportunity to spend time together before our paths temporarily separate once more.

We are also planning a short excursion across the border into northern Hungary, exploring the beautiful Tokaj region with its vineyards, historic towns and rolling countryside. It seems like the perfect way to enjoy the colours of autumn before returning to work in Ethiopia.

Looking back over these first weeks, I realise how fortunate I have been.

Only a short time ago I was saying goodbye to Venezuela, a country that had become home over three unforgettable years.

Today, I find myself beginning another chapter in Ethiopia.

A fruit seller at the Chinese Market, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, August 2026

It is hard to believe that almost two weeks have already passed since I arrived in Addis Ababa.

In some ways, it feels as though I landed only yesterday. In others, the days have been so full that it already feels like I have been here much longer.

Starting a new assignment is always an interesting experience.

There is the professional side of it: understanding a new context, meeting colleagues, learning new procedures, discovering how a new office functions and gradually finding one's place within the team. Every country is different, every humanitarian operation has its own character, and every new posting comes with its own learning curve.

Then there is everything else.

Finding a flat that will become home for the next few years. Unpacking boxes that have travelled halfway around the world. Deciding where the books should go, where to hang photographs, and how to make an unfamiliar apartment slowly begin to feel like home.

I have spent many evenings doing exactly that.

There is something surprisingly satisfying about these small routines. Buying kitchen utensils, choosing a few plants, learning where to buy groceries, discovering a favourite café, figuring out which roads are best avoided during rush hour. They are ordinary things, yet they quietly transform a city from somewhere you happen to be into somewhere you actually live.

And then there is Addis Ababa itself.

Every day reveals something new.

Bustling streets filled with life. The aroma of freshly roasted coffee drifting from cafés. The sound of construction, traffic and conversation blending into the rhythm of a city that seems constantly on the move. Green hills appearing unexpectedly between neighbourhoods. Markets, restaurants, parks and countless corners still waiting to be explored.

I know I have only just begun getting to know Ethiopia.

That is perhaps the most exciting part.

One thing that has already made me smile more than once is how wonderfully small the humanitarian world can be.

Within days of arriving, I found myself unexpectedly meeting people I knew from previous deployments. Friends from years spent in other countries, colleagues I had not seen for a long time, familiar faces appearing in completely unexpected places.

After moving between humanitarian responses for many years, you begin to realise that the world is enormous—and remarkably small at the same time.

Those unexpected reunions have made arriving here feel easier.

Professionally, the days have been busy.

There is an enormous amount to learn, countless meetings, new priorities to understand and many people to meet. At times it feels like drinking from a fire hose—trying to absorb as much information as possible while also beginning to contribute.

But I enjoy this stage.

There is a particular energy that comes with beginnings.

Every conversation teaches me something new.

Every meeting helps me understand the country a little better.

Every walk through the city makes Addis Ababa feel just a little more familiar.

People often ask me whether it becomes easier to move from one country to another after doing it several times.

In some ways, yes.

You learn that home is not created overnight. It grows slowly, through routines, friendships and small everyday moments.

You also learn to embrace the uncertainty that every new beginning brings.

So here I am.

Nearly two weeks into a new chapter.

Still learning.

Still exploring.

Still occasionally getting lost.

But already feeling excited about everything that lies ahead.

I have a feeling Addis Ababa and Ethiopia have many stories waiting to be discovered.

I look forward to sharing them with you.

Tomorrow, another chapter begins.

I will board a plane to Addis Ababa, ready to begin a new humanitarian assignment and discover another fascinating corner of the world. As always before a new deployment, there is a mixture of emotions. Excitement. Curiosity. A little uncertainty. And, above all, gratitude for the journey that has brought me here.

The past few weeks have been exactly what I needed.

After saying goodbye to Venezuela, I allowed myself something that had become increasingly rare over the past years: time. Time to travel without an agenda. Time to be with family and friends. Time to slow down, recharge my batteries and simply enjoy discovering the world.

Most of all, it became a journey to share.

Together with Giovanni, I set off on a road trip across northern Europe that I know I will remember for a very long time.

We drove through Poland, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia before crossing the Baltic Sea on a night ferry to Sweden. Afterwards, another overnight ferry brought us back to Poland, where the journey continued through Gdańsk and eventually home to Nowy Sącz.

Although I had already visited each of those countries before, the journey was full of discoveries. For the first time, I explored Vilnius, Tallinn and Stockholm—three capitals that had somehow remained missing from my personal map despite years of travelling.

Each city had its own character.

Vilnius surprised me with its elegance and peaceful atmosphere. Riga once again reminded me why it remains one of my favourite Baltic cities. Tallinn enchanted us with its beautifully preserved medieval heart. Stockholm impressed me with its unique relationship with the sea, its islands and its relaxed rhythm of life.

One of the highlights of the journey was also reconnecting with a dear friend in Tallinn—someone with whom I had worked many years ago in South Sudan. It is one of those privileges that comes with a life spent moving between countries: friendships become scattered across the world, only to reunite unexpectedly years later.

Then there was Finland.

A spontaneous day trip across the Gulf of Finland allowed us to spend a day wandering around Helsinki before returning to Tallinn in the evening. There was something wonderfully simple about having breakfast in one country, lunch in another and dinner back where the day had begun.

Travelling by road also meant discovering everything in between.

The Hill of Crosses in Lithuania.

The Swedish countryside stretching endlessly beyond the windscreen.

Small cafés along forgotten roads.

Sunrises and sunsets viewed from the decks of ferries crossing the Baltic Sea.

Long conversations in the car that somehow only happen when there is nowhere else to be.

Those moments are often the ones that stay with us longest.

Back in Poland, the journey continued at a gentler pace.

There were family dinners in Gdańsk before returning to Nowy Sącz. There were peaceful days at home, excursions around the beautiful Rożnów Lake, and visits to places I have always loved sharing with visitors.

Together with Mum and Giovanni, we also crossed into Slovakia and the Czech Republic. We admired the High Tatras, spent relaxing days in Velké Karlovice, discovered the beautiful city of Olomouc and enjoyed the luxury of travelling slowly, without rushing from one place to the next.

Looking back now, I realise that what made these holidays so memorable was not simply the number of countries we visited.

It was the people.

Showing Giovanni parts of Europe that were entirely new to him.

Travelling once again with Mum.

Meeting an old friend in Tallinn.

Spending precious time with my family in Poland.

Collecting conversations, laughter and memories that no photograph can fully capture.

If you would like to travel along with us, I warmly invite you to browse the photo galleries from this journey:

Across the Baltic: Roads, Ferries and Old Friends

Three Slavic Countries (Poland, Slovakia and Czechia)

Tomorrow, however, the maps change once again.

The suitcases are packed.

The alarm is set.

A new home awaits.

Ethiopia.

I know that Addis Ababa will bring new challenges, new friendships and many new experiences. Like every move before it, this one begins with a little uncertainty—but also with enormous curiosity.

One of the greatest lessons that travelling has taught me is that every road eventually leads somewhere unexpected.

Tomorrow, another road begins.

I cannot wait to discover where it will take me.

Leaving Venezuela, July 2026

There are moments in life when you realise that a chapter is coming to an end.

This is one of those moments.

In just one week, I will leave Venezuela. Even writing those words feels a little surreal.

Almost three years have passed since I arrived in Caracas. What began as another humanitarian assignment gradually became something much deeper: a place filled with extraordinary people, genuine friendships, unforgettable experiences and countless memories that I know I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

This evening will be particularly special.

One of the things that has touched me most in these final days has been an incredibly generous gesture from the Ambassador of Portugal, who has invited me and some of my closest friends to celebrate my farewell at his residence. I have never before had the privilege of marking the end of a posting in such a beautiful setting, and I feel deeply honoured and genuinely grateful.

It feels like the perfect way to close this remarkable chapter.

Of course, saying goodbye is never easy.

The past few weeks have been especially emotional. The devastating earthquake reminded all of us how quickly life can change. It was heartbreaking to see communities I had come to know so well affected by such tragedy.

Yet those same weeks also revealed something extraordinary.

Everywhere I looked, I saw courage, generosity and solidarity. Neighbours helping neighbours before anyone asked them to. Volunteers stepping forward without hesitation. Emergency services working around the clock. Humanitarian organisations, the United Nations, the Red Cross Movement, local organisations and international partners working side by side with one common purpose: helping people recover and rebuild.

Those are the images I choose to carry with me.

The earthquake also reminded me how fortunate I have been to spend these years surrounded by exceptional people.

Humanitarian work is never the achievement of one individual. It is always the result of remarkable teams working together, supporting one another and believing in the same purpose.

To my wonderful team in Caracas: thank you for your professionalism, your friendship and your commitment, not only during the earthquake response but throughout these three unforgettable years.

To colleagues in Panama, Colombia, Ecuador and Nicaragua: thank you for your constant support, your advice and your partnership, despite the distances between us.

To friends and colleagues in Brussels: thank you for your confidence, your guidance and your unwavering belief in the work we do together.

And to the many people I have had the privilege of working alongside across the humanitarian community: colleagues from donor organisations, the United Nations, the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, and national and international NGOs—thank you. Working with all of you has been one of the greatest privileges of my professional life.

As difficult as it is to leave Venezuela, I have decided that this farewell should not be about sadness.

Instead, I want to remember the smiles, the friendships, the breathtaking landscapes, the music, the humour, the generosity and the countless everyday moments that made this country feel like home.

Those memories deserve to be celebrated.

And perhaps that is exactly what tonight is about.

The next chapter is already beginning.

In just a few days, Giovanni and I will leave Caracas together and fly to Bogotá, where we will spend two nights before beginning the long journey home through Panama City and Istanbul to Kraków.

After that comes something I have been looking forward to for many months.

Together with Mum and Giovanni, we will set off on a road trip across northern Europe. Part of the journey will take us back to familiar places—Warsaw, Riga and Gdańsk—cities I always enjoy revisiting. But it will also be a journey of firsts. Despite travelling extensively over the years, I have somehow never had the opportunity to visit Vilnius, Tallinn or Stockholm. I have a feeling these will become some of those journeys we will remember for many years to come.

We will drive across the Baltic States, cross the Baltic Sea on a night ferry to Sweden, spend a few days exploring Stockholm, then continue south before taking another ferry back to Poland and finishing our adventure in Gdańsk.

What I am looking forward to most, however, is not simply the destinations. It is everything that happens in between: long conversations during the drive, unexpected discoveries, evenings in unfamiliar cities, mornings watching the sea from the deck of a ferry, and the simple joy of sharing all of this with Mum and Giovanni.

Once we return to Nowy Sącz, there will still be time to slow down.

I hope to enjoy a few peaceful days at home, make a few shorter trips around Poland and perhaps into Slovakia or Czechia, showing Giovanni some of the places that have always meant so much to me.

Then, towards the end of August, it will be time to pack my bags once again.

This time for Addis Ababa—a new country, a new team, new responsibilities and, I hope, many new friendships waiting to be made.

Over the years, I have learned that every move brings mixed emotions.

Leaving is never easy, especially when a place has become part of who you are.

But I have also learned that every ending quietly opens the door to a new beginning.

So tonight, I choose to celebrate.

To celebrate Venezuela.

To celebrate the people who have made these three years so extraordinary.

To celebrate friendships that distance will never diminish.

And to celebrate the road ahead, wherever it may lead.

Thank you, Venezuela.

Thank you for your warmth, your generosity, your resilience and your friendship.

I arrived here hoping that, in some small way, I could contribute to the lives of others.

I leave feeling that this country has given me far more than I could ever have hoped for.

Until we meet again.

Mickey Mouse arrives to the temporary shelter. La Guaira, Venezuela, July 2026

Three weeks have passed since the earthquake.

Around the world, that is often enough for a disaster to begin disappearing from the headlines. News moves quickly. Another crisis emerges, another story takes its place, and gradually our attention shifts elsewhere.

Recovery, however, follows a very different calendar.

It does not unfold over days.

It is measured in months, and often years.

Over the past weeks, much of my work has revolved around understanding what recovery actually means. Humanitarian organisations often speak about the “transition from emergency response to recovery”, but behind those words are people trying to rebuild lives that changed within seconds.

One of the things that struck me most while visiting the affected areas was that, despite the destruction, life had already begun to return.

Children were playing again.

Small shops had reopened.

People were cleaning streets and removing rubble from their homes.

Fishing boats had returned to the sea.

Markets were beginning to fill with customers.

The first signs of recovery were everywhere.

Not because the disaster was over.

But because life refuses to stand still.

That is perhaps one of the greatest lessons humanitarian work has taught me.

Recovery does not begin when the last collapsed building is removed.

It begins much earlier.

It begins the first morning a family decides to sleep in their own neighbourhood again.

The first teacher opening a classroom.

The first shopkeeper lifting the shutters.

The first child laughing after days of fear.

The first neighbour helping another rebuild a wall.

These moments rarely appear on television.

Yet they are the true beginning of recovery.

During the past weeks I have also witnessed something that has filled me with enormous admiration.

The response did not begin with international organisations.

It began with Venezuelans.

Neighbours rescued neighbours.

Families welcomed those who had lost their homes.

Volunteers appeared everywhere.

One of them was my friend Giovanni, who immediately volunteered to serve on an ambulance, helping transport injured people during the emergency. He is only one example among thousands. Across the country, ordinary people simply asked themselves one question:

“What can I do to help?”

Perhaps that is the greatest strength of Venezuela.

Not the absence of hardship.

But the extraordinary ability of its people to stand together when hardship arrives.

International solidarity has been equally inspiring. Rescue teams travelled from across Latin America and Europe to work alongside Venezuelan emergency services and humanitarian organisations. Just a few days ago, I read the remarkable news that a Spanish Urban Search and Rescue Team had rescued a child alive from beneath the rubble more than seventy-two hours after the earthquake. In moments like these, hope becomes something tangible again.

As a humanitarian, I naturally think about funding, coordination, logistics and operational challenges.

But standing in La Guaira, looking at buildings I remembered from previous visits—some damaged beyond recognition, others simply gone—I found myself thinking less about infrastructure and more about people.

The buildings can be rebuilt.

The harder task is rebuilding lives.

Helping children feel safe enough to return to school.

Helping families recover their livelihoods.

Helping communities regain confidence that tomorrow can be better than today.

That work has only just begun.

In only a few weeks, I will conclude my time in Venezuela.

I wish the final chapter of my assignment had not included such a devastating earthquake.

Yet perhaps there is one final lesson this extraordinary country has given me.

Disasters reveal destruction.

But recovery reveals character.

Three weeks after the earthquake, what I remember most is not the collapsed buildings.

It is the determination of the people walking past them every morning, picking up another stone, reopening another shop, returning another child to school, and quietly rebuilding their future.

That is the Venezuela I will carry with me.

Los Palos Grandes, Caracas, Venezuela, June 2026

There are moments that remind us how fragile our routines really are.

Only a few days ago, Venezuela experienced one of the strongest earthquakes in its recent history. In a matter of seconds, homes collapsed, entire communities were shaken, and thousands of families suddenly found themselves facing uncertainty. Lives were lost. Many others changed forever.

Working in the humanitarian sector means that events like these are never simply headlines.

Very quickly, days became filled with coordination meetings, situation reports, assessments, phone calls, and countless conversations with humanitarian partners. Information evolved by the hour. New needs emerged. Priorities shifted constantly. Decisions had to be taken quickly, often with incomplete information. It has been an intense, demanding, and emotionally draining period.

Yet, looking back over these days, I realise that what will remain with me are not the statistics.

I will remember the people.

The families who, despite unimaginable loss, welcomed those coming to help with remarkable dignity.

The neighbours who became first responders long before organised assistance arrived.

The volunteers who simply stepped forward because someone needed them.

The firefighters, Civil Protection teams, doctors, nurses, engineers, police officers, military personnel, municipal workers, and countless others who have worked day and night under extremely difficult conditions. Many have barely stopped since the earth first began to shake. Their professionalism, determination, and courage deserve the greatest respect.

What has perhaps moved me most has been seeing how many ordinary Venezuelans simply took responsibility into their own hands.

One example is my dear friend Giovanni. As the emergency unfolded, he volunteered to serve on an ambulance, spending long hours transporting injured people and supporting emergency medical teams. Nobody asked him to do it. He simply felt that, at a moment like this, he could help.

There are undoubtedly thousands of similar stories across the country. People donating blood. Preparing meals for rescue workers. Opening their homes to neighbours. Clearing debris. Comforting complete strangers. Quiet acts of kindness that rarely appear in newspapers or television reports.

And yet, they are perhaps among the most extraordinary parts of this response.

I also want to pay tribute to the humanitarian community. Venezuelan organisations, local volunteers, the Red Cross Movement, United Nations agencies, international NGOs, faith-based organisations, and many others mobilised rapidly, each contributing in different ways but united by a common purpose: helping people survive, recover, and begin rebuilding their lives.

International solidarity has been equally inspiring.

Specialised rescue teams travelled from neighbouring countries and from much further away, bringing expertise, equipment, and experience. Among them were European teams working side by side with Venezuelan responders, demonstrating once again that humanitarian solidarity knows no borders.

Just before sitting down to write these reflections, I read the news that a child had been rescued alive from beneath the rubble by a Spanish urban search and rescue team more than seventy-two hours after the earthquake.

Seventy-two hours.

For anyone involved in emergency response, those numbers carry enormous significance. They remind us why rescue teams continue searching long after many have begun to lose hope. Every hour matters. Every voice heard beneath collapsed concrete matters. Every life saved is extraordinary.

Reading that news filled me with immense admiration—for the rescuers who refused to give up, and for the extraordinary resilience of a child who kept fighting to survive.

Throughout my humanitarian career, I have often thought that disasters reveal two realities at exactly the same time.

They reveal how vulnerable we are.

But they also reveal how extraordinary people can be.

This earthquake has arrived during my final weeks in Venezuela. Soon, I will leave for my next assignment, carrying with me memories of this beautiful and complex country. I could never have imagined that one of my final experiences here would be witnessing such a tragic event, while at the same time seeing such an extraordinary demonstration of solidarity.

Venezuela has taught me many lessons over the years.

Resilience is certainly one of them.

To my Venezuelan friends, colleagues, neighbours, and above all to the families directly affected by this tragedy: you remain very much in my thoughts.

The road to recovery will be long.

Buildings will be rebuilt. Roads repaired. Schools reopened. Services restored.

The invisible wounds will take longer to heal.

But if these past days have shown anything, it is that compassion spreads just as quickly as despair. That solidarity is stronger than fear. And that, even in humanity’s darkest moments, there are always people willing to dedicate their strength, their knowledge, and sometimes even risk their own lives for someone they have never met.

For me, that is what this earthquake will always represent.

Not only the power of nature.

But the even greater power of humanity.

Approaching the Airport of Maiquetia, Caracas, Venezuela, February 2026

I am writing this once again from Caracas.

After several weeks spent between Europe, Canada, Morocco, and back again across the Atlantic, I have returned to Venezuela. The familiar mountains are still there, embracing the city as they always have. The tropical air feels different after the cooler days of Europe and Canada, yet there is also something reassuring about being back.

This return, however, feels different from previous ones.

I am here for only three more weeks.

Three weeks to complete pending work, finalise ongoing processes, prepare the handover to my successor, and slowly begin saying goodbye to a country that has been an important part of my life for several years.

It is a strange feeling.

Part of me is already looking toward Ethiopia and the next chapter in Addis Ababa. Another part remains firmly rooted here, in the people, places, and routines that have become familiar over time. Venezuela has challenged me, surprised me, frustrated me, inspired me, and above all introduced me to extraordinary people. Leaving will not be easy.

Looking back, the past several weeks seem almost unreal in their intensity and variety.

The journey began with a return to Poland after many months in Venezuela. After landing from Caracas, with a brief stop in Lisbon along the way, there were a few precious days to slow down, spend time with family, and prepare for the next stage of the adventure. It was a period of transition — neither fully arrived nor yet departed — marked by familiar places, family conversations, and the anticipation of what lay ahead.

Those first days are captured in:

Between Departures
https://photos.app.goo.gl/4kXSnG97V8BC9XYx8

From Poland, Mum and I travelled to Canada to visit Tahir, Amna, and little Hania. Together we explored Toronto, Prince Edward County, Picton, and parts of Ontario beyond the usual tourist routes. It was a journey filled with family, friendship, nature, and the simple pleasure of spending unhurried time together.

Meeting Hania for the first time was particularly special. Watching Tahir and Amna in this new chapter of their lives brought a great deal of joy. We spent our days exploring lakeshores, vineyards, small towns, and country roads, enjoying long conversations and the kind of relaxed rhythm that is increasingly rare in everyday life.

The gallery can be found here:

Across Ontario and Beyond
https://photos.app.goo.gl/8AdiTYn5QsMQReDE9

Returning from Canada, we spent a day in Warsaw before setting off on our next adventure. Spring had fully arrived by then, and the city seemed filled with light. The Vistula flowed quietly through the capital, parks were turning green again, and there was a sense of renewal in the air before the next flight south.

Those moments are reflected in:

Spring Light Over the Vistula
https://photos.app.goo.gl/7m7NepFWHSvFPNqm8

Then came Morocco.

For a week, Mum and I explored a country that was entirely new to both of us. Based in Agadir, we discovered the Atlantic coast, wandered through the historic streets of Essaouira, experienced the colours and energy of Marrakech, and enjoyed countless smaller moments that make travel memorable. Morocco impressed us with its contrasts: ocean and desert, tradition and modernity, tranquillity and movement.

More than anything, I enjoyed sharing those discoveries with Mum. Travelling together always creates memories that remain long after the journey itself has ended.

That chapter is documented in:

Beyond the Atlas, Beside the Sea
https://photos.app.goo.gl/hvsSofUJ3bRjXR3KA

After Morocco, there was one final period of movement before returning to Venezuela.

Back in Poland, life slowed down for a little while. There was time to enjoy Nowy Sącz, catch up on small everyday matters, and simply appreciate being home. One particularly pleasant day was spent with Mum across the border in Slovakia. We travelled to Tatranská Lomnica, where the High Tatras rose above us in all their beauty. The weather was magnificent, the mountains even more so, and for a few hours there was nothing to do except walk, admire the scenery, and enjoy being together.

Another memorable moment came closer to home. One evening, Mum and I drove to nearby Krynica-Zdrój for dinner. As we sat together enjoying the atmosphere of the town and a leisurely meal, I was reminded how precious such simple moments can be. Much of my life unfolds across airports, humanitarian missions, and distant countries. Sharing an unhurried evening with Mum in the hills of southern Poland felt like a gift.

Soon afterwards, duty called again and I travelled to Brussels.

Yet even there, the journey still held one more highlight.

Leo, a close Venezuelan friend who has been building a new life in Spain over the past two years, travelled from Madrid to spend an extended weekend with me. Together we explored Brussels, Luxembourg, and Amsterdam — three cities, three countries, and countless kilometres on foot.

What made those days special was not simply the destinations, but the opportunity to experience them through Leo’s eyes. It was his first visit to all three cities. Watching his excitement as we wandered through the Grand Place in Brussels, crossed the canals of Amsterdam, and admired the elegance of Luxembourg was a reminder of how extraordinary travel can feel when everything is new.

Perhaps because I have travelled so much over the years, I occasionally take certain experiences for granted. Seeing Leo’s genuine curiosity and enthusiasm brought back some of that original sense of wonder. We travelled by train through the heart of the Benelux countries, admired landscapes rolling past the windows, discovered new streets together, and shared countless conversations about life, plans, and dreams.

Those few days became one of the highlights of the entire journey. Not because of monuments or famous landmarks, but because travel is ultimately about people. Places become memorable because of those with whom we experience them.

The final gallery of this period can be found here:

Between Home and Duty
https://photos.app.goo.gl/Pt5AQc79VPhwpEVr9

Taken together, these five galleries tell the story of several remarkable weeks spent moving between continents, friendships, family reunions, professional responsibilities, and new discoveries. Looking through them now, they already feel like chapters of a journey that passed far too quickly.

For now, however, my attention returns to Venezuela.

There are still meetings to attend, projects to follow, reports to complete, and goodbyes yet to be said. Three weeks is not a long time, but it is enough to close a chapter properly.

And then, before long, another chapter begins.

Addis Ababa awaits.