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.

My Mother's House, Nowy Sącz, Poland, June 2026

I am writing this from Nowy Sącz.

After several weeks on the road, Mum and I are finally back home. The suitcases have been unpacked, at least temporarily, and for the first time in quite a while there is a sense of stillness around me. Familiar streets, familiar views, familiar routines. It feels good to pause for a moment before the next chapter begins.

And yet, despite being back, part of me is still travelling.

I often find myself returning to the photographs from the past few weeks. Looking through them has become a way of revisiting places that already feel slightly unreal, as good journeys often do once they become memories.

The first part of the journey took us to Canada, where we visited Tahir, Amna, and little Hania. We spent time in Toronto and then travelled together to Prince Edward County, staying near Picton. It was a wonderful week of family, friendship, nature, and long conversations. There was something deeply comforting about the lakes, small towns, vineyards, and quiet roads of Ontario. Perhaps even more special was finally meeting Hania in person and seeing Tahir and Amna in this new and happy stage of their lives.

If you would like to follow that part of the journey, you can find the photo album here:

https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/9daadf793c461f47fcb00edbfed18df1-177.html

From Canada, Mum and I continued south to Morocco.

It was our first visit to the country and one that left a strong impression on both of us. We stayed in Agadir, explored the Atlantic coast, wandered through the streets of Essaouira, and spent a memorable day in Marrakech. The colours, sounds, architecture, food, and atmosphere felt very different from anywhere either of us had visited before. Morocco struck me as a place where Africa, Europe, and the Arab world meet in fascinating ways.

The photo report from Morocco can be found here:

https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/16cdb29023eba99dcd0b9894615d839a-179.html

Before all that, there was also the short but meaningful stop in Warsaw and the beginning of our journey together. Looking back now, it feels like the first page of a much longer story.

That gallery is available here:

https://www.romanmajcher.eu/blog-2/files/c94eb2d0b34fadf1d0b14e0c65dc29e4-176.html

The timing of our return is interesting.

On Friday, I leave for Brussels for a week of meetings and preparations connected to my future responsibilities in Addis Ababa. After that, I will return to Venezuela for what will likely be my final three weeks there.

Three weeks.

Writing those words still feels slightly strange.

For years, Venezuela has been the centre of my professional life. It has given me challenges, lessons, friendships, frustrations, and countless memories. Returning there now, knowing that the end of this chapter is approaching, will undoubtedly feel different.

Then, later in July, I will return to Poland once more, this time accompanied by my Venezuelan friend Giovanni. After that, preparations for Ethiopia will begin in earnest.

Addis Ababa still feels more like a direction than a reality.

I find myself reading about the city, looking at maps, and imagining what daily life might look like there. Experience has taught me that no amount of preparation truly reveals a place. Every country unfolds gradually, through conversations, routines, unexpected encounters, and small discoveries.

For now, however, I am grateful for this pause.

A few quiet days with Mum in Nowy Sącz. Time to drink coffee slowly, sort photographs, and reflect on how quickly one chapter seems to flow into the next.

Life feels particularly full of movement these days.

But perhaps that is precisely why moments of stillness matter.

Soon enough, the road will call again.

And I will answer.

Preparing for the travel, Caracas, Venezuela, May 2026

It suddenly feels very close now.

Only two weeks remain until I leave Caracas for what will become a long sequence of journeys, reunions, transitions, airports, oceans, and roads. The tickets are booked, plans are slowly becoming real, and somewhere between excitement and logistics, I find myself already mentally moving between continents.

The journey will begin, appropriately enough, with one of those long TAP flights that seem to stitch my life together these days. From Caracas to Lisbon, then onward to Warsaw, and finally down to Kraków. I already know that familiar feeling of arriving slightly disoriented into the cool European morning light after crossing the Atlantic overnight.

And then — home.

I will spend two nights with Mum before we continue together toward Canada. From Kraków to Warsaw, and from there to Toronto. I am genuinely happy that we will be making this journey together. There is something deeply comforting in shared travel — small conversations at airports, coffee before boarding, the quiet companionship of moving through unfamiliar places side by side.

From Toronto, the plan is to drive with Tahir, Amna, and little Hania toward Picton, in Ontario. I have been looking at photographs of the area already: lakeside landscapes, small towns, open skies, vineyards, wooden piers stretching into calm water. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere where mornings begin slowly.

We will stay there for around a week, away from big cities, sharing time together, exploring the countryside, and likely making small trips around the region — perhaps toward Ottawa too. What I look forward to most is not any particular attraction, but the atmosphere itself: long breakfasts, evening conversations, nature, roads without hurry, finally meeting Hania in person, and seeing Tahir and Amna in this new chapter of their lives.

Then back again — Toronto to Warsaw — only briefly stopping before another journey begins.

This time southward.

Our first trip to Morocco.

We will fly to Agadir as part of an organised tour, which feels slightly unusual for me after so many independently improvised journeys across the years. But perhaps this is part of the charm too: letting someone else take care of the structure for once.

I already imagine the Atlantic coast, warm evening air, the colours of markets, the movement of people in the streets. We hope not only to stay in Agadir, but also to discover more of the country — the coast toward Essaouira, perhaps Marrakech, maybe smaller places along the way where life unfolds more quietly. Morocco has lived in my imagination for years as a meeting point of continents, colours, histories, and rhythms.

I think Mum is excited too.

After Morocco, we return to Poland again, and I will spend some quieter time in Nowy Sącz before another movement begins — Brussels for a week of meetings and preparation related to Addis Ababa. The next chapter slowly becoming real.

And then, eventually, back to Caracas once more. Back through Lisbon. Back to the familiar mountains surrounding the city. Back for the final stretch before Ethiopia.

I would be lying if I said I was entirely calm about all the flights. The ongoing aviation fuel situation and reports of possible disruptions across Europe have created a certain background anxiety around travel plans. Airlines and authorities insist that, for now, operations remain stable, although the wider situation continues to be monitored closely.

And yet, somehow, I remain hopeful that things will work out.

Travel always carries uncertainty. Flights get delayed. Plans shift. Connections are missed. One adapts. Perhaps years of humanitarian work have taught me that movement rarely unfolds exactly as imagined — and that flexibility matters more than control.

What stays constant is the anticipation.

The thought of seeing family and friends. Of discovering new places with Mum. Of coastlines and long roads and unfamiliar cafés. Of conversations unfolding somewhere between Toronto, Picton, Agadir, Marrakech, Warsaw, Lisbon, Brussels, and Caracas.

Life feels very much in motion these days.

And despite the uncertainties, I find myself grateful for that.

A Flower Stand, Caracas, Venezuela, January 2026

Spring, movement, and a few thoughts from Caracas 🌿

Dear friends,

Spring seems to be arriving quietly again, almost without asking for attention. A shift in the light, in the air, in the way one begins to think a little further ahead. It feels like one of those moments in the year when things do not change suddenly, but gently begin to move.

I am writing this from Caracas, having just returned from a week in Apure. It was one of those trips that leaves you both tired and strangely grounded. Long days in the field, conversations that stay with you, and the reminder of how complex and fragile the reality here continues to be. And then, coming back — to a desk, to emails, to a different rhythm — with a sense that both worlds somehow coexist, even if uneasily.

There is also a quiet awareness that my time in Venezuela is slowly coming to an end. It does not feel dramatic, but rather like the closing of a chapter that has been intense, demanding, and, in many ways, deeply formative. What will stay with me most are the people. Over time, this place stopped being just a duty station and became something more human, more personal. I have been incredibly lucky to find here not just colleagues, but a kind of family — Mayling, Giovanni, and Samantha, who have been a constant source of warmth and kindness in these years.

There have also been moments of relief and gratitude recently. We have just learned that Leo’s work permit in Spain has been extended for another year. It is difficult to put into words what this means, but it brings a sense of stability and hope that was very much needed. I feel deeply grateful to all of you who, in one way or another, were part of the support around him.

Looking ahead, a new chapter is slowly taking shape. As of August, I will be moving to Addis Ababa with ECHO. It still feels a little abstract — more a direction than a reality — but I am looking forward to discovering what this next step will bring.

Before that, the coming months will be filled with movement. In May and June, I will be spending time in Europe, including Poland, and I am especially happy that I will be travelling together with my Mum. From there, we will go to Canada to visit Tahir, Amna, and their daughter Hania — whom I have not yet met in person. I find myself looking forward to that moment with a kind of simple joy.

There will be other stops along the way — a bit of travel, a bit of transition — but perhaps what I am most aware of is the passage itself. Moving between places, between roles, between phases of life, and somehow trying to remain connected to the people who matter, even as geography keeps shifting.

I often think of how our lives have spread across continents, and how, despite that, certain connections remain steady and quietly present. This message is, in a way, also just that — a small bridge across distance.

I hope that wherever you are, this season brings you some space to breathe, to rest, and to look ahead with a sense of calm.

Sending you my warmest thoughts,
Roman