The Old Town, Warsaw, Poland, May 2026

Between Canada and Morocco, there was Warsaw.

Not as a final destination, and not merely as a stopover either, but as one of those in-between pauses that unexpectedly gather their own meaning. After returning from Toronto, before continuing onward toward North Africa, Mum and I spent a day in the Polish capital — walking slowly, resting a little, allowing ourselves to simply be present in the city.

Warsaw greeted us with warmth and movement.

The city always fascinates me because it exists simultaneously in several different centuries. Glass skyscrapers rise where ruins once stood. Carefully reconstructed streets sit beside modern boulevards filled with trams, cafés, offices, and crowds flowing constantly in every direction. Few places in Europe embody reinvention quite like Warsaw.

Glass, steel, and memory

We spent part of the day walking among the skyscrapers of central Warsaw.

The skyline has changed dramatically over the past decades. Towers of glass and steel now dominate parts of the city that, during communism, felt grey, restrained, almost suspended in time. Today, the centre pulses with confidence and ambition. International companies, hotels, restaurants, and apartment towers stretch upward into the spring sky, giving Warsaw an energy that often surprises those visiting for the first time.

And yet even here, history is never absent.

The massive silhouette of the Palace of Culture and Science, controversial and iconic at the same time, still watches over the city. Gifted by Stalin in the 1950s, once hated by many as a symbol of Soviet domination, it has gradually become woven into Warsaw’s identity — not loved by everyone perhaps, but impossible to imagine the city without.

Warsaw often feels like that: complex, layered, unwilling to fit neatly into simple narratives.


The Old Town

Later, we wandered through the Warsaw Old Town.

To walk there is to walk through both history and reconstruction. Almost completely destroyed during the Second World War after the Warsaw Uprising, the Old Town was rebuilt painstakingly, stone by stone, using paintings, photographs, and memory itself as guides. Today it stands not only as a beautiful district, but as a monument to resilience and cultural survival.

The pastel façades glowed softly in the afternoon light.

Tourists moved between cafés and narrow streets. Church bells echoed occasionally through the square. Artists sold paintings beside old walls. There was life everywhere — not theatrical, simply lived.

Walking there with Mum felt especially meaningful. There is something deeply comforting about sharing familiar places quietly, without needing to explain them.


Beside the Vistula

Toward evening, we made our way to the Vistula River.

The river has become one of Warsaw’s great social spaces in recent years. Paths stretch along the embankments, cafés and bars open toward the water, cyclists and runners pass constantly, and people gather simply to sit and watch the light change over the city.

The Vistula itself feels different from many European rivers.

It remains slightly wild, less controlled, less polished. Sandbanks still appear naturally along its course. Birds move across the water. Even in the centre of the capital, there is a sense that nature continues negotiating space with the city rather than fully surrendering to it.

We sat there for a long time.

The evening light softened the skyline. Conversations drifted around us. Boats moved slowly across the river. After so much recent movement — Caracas, Lisbon, Warsaw, Toronto, Prince Edward County — the stillness of that moment felt unexpectedly important.


Time with Mum

More than anything, this album is about time with Mum.

Not dramatic moments. Not grand events. Simply shared space, conversations, meals, walking together through places both familiar and changing.

As life moves faster and journeys become increasingly frequent, these quieter days acquire greater value. They remind me that travel is not always about discovery. Sometimes it is about companionship — about experiencing places through the calm presence of someone who has shared your story from the very beginning.


Before the next horizon

Soon Morocco awaited.

Another airport. Another flight. Another landscape entirely different from the ones we had just left behind.

But Warsaw provided an important pause between those worlds — a day of spring light, river air, old streets, modern towers, and quiet family closeness before the journey continued onward once again.

And perhaps that is what travel increasingly means to me now:

Not escaping life, but moving more attentively through it.

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Picton, Prince Edward County, Ontario, Canada, May 2026

A family journey through Canada

This journey began in Nowy Sącz, with suitcases open once again and that familiar mixture of excitement and gentle travel anxiety that always accompanies long journeys across continents.

This time, however, the trip felt especially joyful, because Mum and I were travelling to Canada to visit Tahir and his family — Amna and little Hania — after many months apart. There is something profoundly comforting about journeys centred not around work or obligation, but around people you care about deeply.

From Nowy Sącz we travelled first to Kraków, and then onward to Warsaw, where we spent several relaxed hours waiting for our flight to Canada. Airports are often places people rush through without memory, but sometimes they become part of the story themselves. We had a surprisingly wonderful lunch there, accompanied by wine and long conversations, watching aircraft move slowly beyond the windows while quietly realising that another adventure was beginning.

Then came the long flight westward across the Atlantic.


Toronto — the first breath of Canada

Arriving in Toronto always carries a particular feeling for me. Canada was one of the countries that profoundly shaped my understanding of the world when I first travelled there many years ago as a student. Returning now, older and carrying many more stories, felt both nostalgic and strangely calming.

We stayed one night in Toronto before continuing eastward with Tahir and his family toward Prince Edward County.

The drive itself became part of the pleasure.

Ontario unfolded gradually through wide roads, forests, lakes, small towns, barns, vineyards, and endless skies. Canadian space always affects me emotionally. Coming from Europe — and more recently from Venezuela — the sheer openness of the landscape feels almost meditative.


Picton and Prince Edward County

For several days, we stayed in Picton, the heart of Prince Edward County.

The County has transformed itself over recent decades into one of Ontario’s most beloved regions — known for wineries, lakeside villages, beaches, art galleries, and local food, while still retaining something wonderfully gentle and unpretentious.

Life there felt beautifully simple.

Morning coffees. Walks through peaceful streets. Time with Tahir, Amna, and Hania. Watching Hania discover the world with the seriousness and joy only small children possess. Shared meals stretching long into the evening.

One of the greatest pleasures of the stay was reuniting with my Canadian friends, Paula and Ruth, whom I have known for many years through humanitarian work. Seeing old friendships continue naturally across continents and decades always feels deeply moving to me. Their children brought even more warmth and life to the gatherings, reminding me how friendships themselves evolve and grow through time.


The Long Sault Parkway

One day, we set off for the Long Sault Parkway, one of the most unexpectedly peaceful landscapes of the journey.

The scenic route stretches across a chain of eleven islands along the St. Lawrence River, connecting parks, waterways, forests, picnic areas, and small beaches. The road itself feels almost suspended between land and water.

Driving there was wonderfully calming.

Blue sky reflected across the river. Boats moving slowly in the distance. Families cycling or fishing quietly along the shoreline. The islands themselves emerged from one of Canada’s largest engineering projects — the creation of the St. Lawrence Seaway in the 1950s, which dramatically reshaped the landscape and submerged entire villages beneath the river.

Knowing this history added another layer to the beauty. Beneath the calm surface of the water lie memories of communities that disappeared to make way for modernity.

Canada often carries history quietly like that.


An extra day in Toronto

Originally, we had hoped to make a journey onward to Montreal to reconnect with distant relatives from my father’s family who emigrated from Poland many decades ago. In the end, however, plans changed — as they sometimes do during travel — and instead we stayed one additional day in Toronto before returning to Europe.

And perhaps that was exactly what we needed.

The extra day unfolded gently and without pressure. We wandered through parts of the city, enjoyed long meals, and simply absorbed the atmosphere of early summer in Toronto. The city felt vibrant but relaxed — full of people from every corner of the world, languages mixing effortlessly in the streets, terraces alive with conversation.

Toronto has always fascinated me for that reason.

It is not a city defined by one identity, but by coexistence itself. Entire worlds existing beside one another — Caribbean, South Asian, Chinese, Middle Eastern, European, Latin American — all woven into the fabric of daily life.

Spending that final day there felt like a soft landing before the long journey back.


Returning east

Eventually, it was time to leave.

We returned to the airport carrying gifts, photographs, memories, and that quiet tiredness that follows good journeys. The flight back to Warsaw felt calmer somehow, as if the trip itself had settled something internally.

Back in Poland, this Canadian chapter of the holiday came to an end.

But not the adventure itself.

Ahead still waited another journey: Morocco.


What remains

This trip to Canada was not built around dramatic landmarks or grand ambitions.

It was built around people.

Family. Friendship. Shared meals. Long drives. Lakes and rivers. Quiet conversations. The comfort of being welcomed into homes and lives across continents.

And perhaps that is why it feels so meaningful now.

Canada, once again, reminded me that some of the most important journeys are not about movement at all, but about connection — about the rare and beautiful experience of feeling at home, even very far from where you began.

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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.