Reflections on elections on Poland and Portugal

Polska wersja poniżej
Versión en español a continuación

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s hold onto that.

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trzymajmy się tego.

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A eso me aferro.

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

ENGLISH

Dear Friends,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With love,
Roman 🌿

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ESPAÑOL

Queridas y queridos,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Con mucho cariño,
Roman 🌿

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POLSKI

Kochani,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman 🌿

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

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

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

✈️ The Journey Home – Through Airports and Between Worlds

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

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

📸 Journey Through Airports – April 2025

🌿 Home, Mountains and Mum

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

📸 Spring Day Trip to Krynica with Mum

🇲🇹 Malta: Sun, Sea and Shared Time

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

📸 A Long May Weekend in Malta with Mum

🏛️ Between Travels – Reconnecting with Home

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

📸 Reconnecting with Home: Nowy Sącz and Kraków

🌍 Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan – A Dream Come True

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

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

📸 A Dream Journey: Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan with Mum

🚗 Southern Poland by Roads and Borders

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

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

🏘️ Rediscovering Forgotten Corners – Krosno and Miasto Galicyjskie

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

📸 Green Days of May – Miasto Galicyjskie & Krosno

🌄 A Special Guest – Leo in Poland and Slovakia

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

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

🏡 Final Hours – A Grateful Heart

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

📸 Moments Before Departure – Nowy Sącz Reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Muszyna, Poland, May 2024

It’s Easter time, and I’m spending it in Caracas. The city has taken on a slower, quieter rhythm, as most people have left to spend the long holiday with their families. Some have headed to the coast, others to the countryside—five days off is not a small thing here, and Venezuelans certainly know how to make the most of it. For me, staying behind in the city has its own charm. The streets are calmer, the air feels a bit lighter, and there’s a rare kind of peace in the usually buzzing corners of Chacao.

Even though I’m not spending Easter with my family this year, I find myself in a state of anticipation. In just over a week, I’ll be heading to Europe—starting with Lisbon, and then on to Krakow. I’m counting the days. From Krakow, I’ll travel to Nowy Sącz to spend time with my Mum. It’s been too long since we last had an extended stretch of time together, and I’m really looking forward to slowing down with her, enjoying our routines, sharing meals, and catching up in the way that only happens when you’re physically close.

But this trip is also about adventure. After Poland, Mum and I will fly to Malta for a few days. Neither of us knows the island well, so we’ll be discovering it together. Valletta, Mdina, seaside walks, fresh food, the layered history of the place—all of it sounds perfect. And from there, we move on to the part of the journey that I’ve dreamed about for years: Uzbekistan.

Tashkent, Samarkand, Bukhara, and if we can manage it, Khiva. I’ve long been fascinated by the Silk Road, and to finally visit these cities of blue-tiled mosques, ancient madrasas, and sun-drenched squares is a real gift. We also hope to take a day trip from Tashkent to Shymkent in Kazakhstan—a chance to briefly cross into another country and experience something new. It will be quite the journey, but what makes it even more meaningful is that I’ll be doing it with my Mum.

And there’s a chance our little circle may grow. If things align, my Venezuelan friend who now lives in Madrid may be able to join us in Krakow for a few days. It depends on his work schedule, but we’re hopeful. Just the thought of bringing together people I love, across borders and chapters of life, fills me with quiet joy.

Caracas, meanwhile, continues to be its contradictory self. As I mentioned in my recent note to friends, work remains intense. The humanitarian space is under pressure, and the world doesn’t seem to be easing up. But I am trying to stay present and grounded. The jasmine is blooming, the sunsets are golden, and there are still small, beautiful things to hold onto.

This Easter, I’m grateful for what is coming, for what I carry, and for the simple gift of being able to look forward.

Bello Campo of Chacao, Caracas, Venezuela, April 2025

Last night, I took a spontaneous walk through the charming streets of Bello Campo in Chacao, and to my surprise, I found myself completely enchanted. It’s remarkable how close it is to where I live—practically in my backyard—and yet, somehow, I had never properly discovered it until now. That discovery made the experience even more special.

Bello Campo is a residential neighbourhood within the municipality of Chacao in eastern Caracas. While it may not have the same level of renown as Altamira or El Rosal, it has a distinct charm that makes it worth exploring. The neighbourhood is known for its peaceful tree-lined streets, colourful houses, and a strong sense of community. One of the key features of the area is Parque Bello Campo, a green and well-kept public space that is often filled with joggers, families, and dog walkers. It serves as a sort of natural lung for the neighbourhood, offering a refreshing contrast to the busy urban life surrounding it.

Historically, Bello Campo was part of a larger rural zone in the early 20th century, characterised by agricultural activity and scattered estates. With the rapid urban development of Caracas during the mid-20th century, especially in the post-oil boom era, the area evolved into a middle-class residential enclave. Over time, it retained a quieter, more family-oriented character, even as the city around it grew more chaotic and densely built.

One of the hidden gems of the neighbourhood is its proximity to the Centro Cultural Chacao, a modern space for the arts that hosts concerts, exhibitions, and theatre performances. The cultural energy from this venue seems to spill into the streets of Bello Campo, adding a creative pulse to the otherwise calm environment.

My walk through Bello Campo last night was simply wonderful. The past week had been particularly stressful at work, filled with heavy conversations and high-stakes decisions. But as I wandered through the neighbourhood, the pressure seemed to dissolve. I found myself slowing down, breathing more deeply, and simply enjoying the surroundings. The city felt different—lighter, more human.

The streets were alive with people enjoying the evening air, dogs happily trotting beside their owners, and neighbours exchanging greetings as they passed one another. Despite the late hour, the atmosphere felt safe, open, and inviting. What struck me most were the people. I met several locals along the way, and every single one of them was friendly, curious, and welcoming. Conversations flowed easily, and there was genuine joy in sharing stories with someone from outside. It reminded me, once again, of how powerful kindness and human connection can be—even with strangers, and especially in unexpected places.

Bello Campo is now firmly on my map. I’m already looking forward to going back—this time with intention—and seeing what more this lovely little corner of Caracas has to offer.

Can We Save Humanitarianism?

I’ve just finished reading an article that stirred something deep in me:"Capitalism co-opted humanitarianism. But we can save it". It has made me pause, reflect, and weigh the path I have chosen for myself – this work that is not just a job, but the very foundation of who I am.

The author, Paul Currion, does not pull punches. He argues that humanitarianism has become entangled with capitalism to the extent that it has been fundamentally altered. Our sector, once rooted in a radical commitment to dignity and solidarity, now increasingly operates within a system driven by competition, branding, and efficiency metrics. It is a hard truth to swallow, but one that resonates. And it made me think: is this still the work I want to do?

I am proud of the work I do. Deeply proud. It has given my life purpose, anchored me in the world, and connected me to countless individuals who inspire me every single day. But I won’t deny that lately, I have also felt moments of discomfort—of shame, even. The way the world is evolving, the way power and profit seep into the spaces meant to protect and uplift the vulnerable, sometimes makes me wonder if we are losing sight of what matters most.

Currion's article challenges us to consider whether the humanitarian system, in its current form, is even salvageable. Have we become too comfortable with our own contradictions? Are we perpetuating the very systems we claim to resist? These are not easy questions. And while my instinct is to defend what we do—to point to the lives saved, the rights defended, the disasters mitigated—I also know that defensiveness cannot substitute for reflection.

Reading the article felt like holding up a mirror. It reminded me that while the principles of humanitarianism still pulse at the heart of our work, the system surrounding it is increasingly shaped by market logic, performance indicators, branding, and competition. And while some of these elements are unavoidable, even necessary, they risk crowding out the very values we set out to defend: humanity, impartiality, solidarity, and dignity.

So again: is this still the work I want to do? The answer, for now, remains a clear yes. Because despite the frustrations, despite the increasing difficulty of separating what’s good from what’s questionable, I still believe in the core of it. I still believe in the people, in the actions taken quietly in forgotten corners of the world, in the lives changed through compassion, perseverance, and presence.

But staying in this work also means a constant reckoning. It requires effort to focus on what is noble about our mission, and at the same time, to challenge what is wrong within it. To speak up when values are sidelined, to resist the temptation of cynicism, and to keep showing up with heart and integrity.

Currion ends his article with a call to reclaim humanitarianism by embracing its roots—as a political act, as a radical form of solidarity. That struck a chord. If we are to save humanitarianism from itself, we must stop pretending we are neutral technocrats and start acting like principled agents of change.

And so today, I feel both unsettled and determined. Unsettled by how fragile our principles have become in the face of power. But determined to hold onto them anyway. To defend the values that brought me into this work, and to ensure they don’t get drowned out by noise, bureaucracy, or convenience.

Perhaps this is what it means to grow in this field: not to stop believing, but to believe harder. And to keep going, especially when it is hardest to do so.

Struggling to Adapt as an Immigrant

A little over a week ago, I travelled to Spain. The trip had a special purpose: to check in on someone I care about who recently started a new life there. A person who had to leave everything behind in search of safety and dignity. Together with some friends, we had supported him in making the move, knowing how urgent and necessary it was. But even knowing that, I was not fully prepared for what I saw and felt.

Being a migrant is never easy. And if you are naturally shy and fearful of being ridiculed, it becomes even harder. Despite having a circle of support and some stability, he is confronting challenges I had never truly imagined. The popular narrative focuses so much on learning a new language, adapting to a new culture, navigating new streets and systems. That, in fact, can be the easiest part. It is often even exciting. What is far more difficult is managing your vulnerabilities and fears in an environment that, for now, is unfamiliar and unforgiving.

What I witnessed was the emotional weight of having to prove yourself constantly. The pressure from people left behind to succeed at any cost—because failure is not an option when others depend on you to survive. The inner shame of not having completed an education, of watching locals casually reference their prestigious universities and career paths, when all you ever had was the resilience to survive. It is the heavy, quiet pain of being poor in a place that often equates worth with material success. Of feeling judged just for being from “elsewhere.”

It is also about the dependencies that emerge. Feeling obliged to constantly express gratitude for even the smallest of favours, afraid that if you don’t, you will be abandoned, cut off, or seen as ungrateful. It is about a life where dignity sometimes feels conditional. And, above all, it is about the loneliness—profound and lingering—and the ache of missing home, even when home was difficult. That kind of homesickness does not always go away. It just finds quieter corners to live in.

But there is also joy. There is joy in small triumphs: in navigating bureaucracy, in finding work, in being able to pay rent, in understanding a joke in a new language, in taking the metro to a new part of town. There is joy in growing, in building a life little by little, in learning how to trust again. That joy is real. And it must be celebrated.

Still, it is hard. And for those of us who are part of the communities that receive migrants, even when our intentions are good, we often forget the quiet battles they fight every day. We don’t always see the fear, the shame, the pressure, the silent grief. We think they are lucky. But we forget that even freedom comes with a cost when you are vulnerable.

So here is a gentle reminder: let’s not take kindness for granted. Let’s not assume that someone’s quietness is indifference or ingratitude. Let us do all we can to listen more carefully, to understand more deeply, and to be just a little softer with one another. Because we never know the weight someone else is carrying—and sometimes, kindness is the only thing that makes the weight bearable.