When I left my home country, the Czech Republic, fifteen years ago, I wanted to achieve something—though I had no idea what that might be. But there was more than one reason why I left back then.

I started in England, in Birmingham, at McDonald’s as a “crew member”, or, in other words, flipping burgers over a greasy, foul-smelling grill. It didn’t take even a month before I hated it just as much as working in a factory. Somehow, though, I managed to last almost two years.

Then I tried working as a waiter in Cyprus. Within a few months, I went through several restaurants. There was only one that didn’t fire me, so just to be safe, I left on my own. I was the worst waiter in the world. Unlike in England, though, the weather in Cyprus was nice.

The following year, I found myself in Malta. Once again, I was fired from a restaurant, which marked the definitive end of my career in hospitality. Finally, I gathered the courage to focus on my trade—I’m a trained carpenter. I enjoyed the work, and in a way, a dream came true.

But after two years, the island began to feel too small. More than once, I quite literally escaped it on shorter or longer trips across Europe. Still, I was starting to get bored, and when I later visited Morocco, I knew that Europe was over for me.

Russia followed, then the Philippines. I returned to Russia afterward and almost stayed there. But the desire to see more pulled me further, into Southeast Asia and Australia.

In the countries where I stayed longer, I mostly worked as a volunteer, either as a carpenter or occasionally as an English teacher. Around that time, I had also started writing. But the idea that I might one day want to write books, I kept hidden even from myself.

When I returned “home” from India completely broke and half-dead, I tried to make a living as an English teacher. After half a year, I’d had enough. As soon as it was possible, in the difficult early days of 2021, I set out on the journey of my life, which began in Mexico.

Life in the jungle was good and full of adventure—not to mention the people. But once again, I was running out of money. I went to the United States to save myself. The first time, it worked. The second time, though, they put me back on a plane in LA and sent me to Costa Rica, which led to a two-year stay—a kind of exile in Nicaragua, where I eventually fulfilled another dream: I built a treehouse.

But living as a volunteer couldn’t last forever. Out of sheer desperation, I ventured into El Salvador with the promise of earning a hundred dollars a week. I almost died there. Thank God that, after a long wait, my work visa for Canada was approved. I survived.

Life in Toronto was good at first. But with each passing day, it became more and more boring. I went to work and then back home, nothing more. And when, after two years, I realized I wouldn’t become Superman capable of meeting the demands of the Canadian immigration system, I decided to fulfill another dream.

It had started many years before. In a video, I saw a concert—Natiruts, Acústico no Rio de Janeiro. What language was that? I had never heard anything more beautiful. All I felt was passion. And the music, the place, the scenery of the city in the background—I felt something.

When people in my country say “Brazil,” many immediately think of Rio de Janeiro, Christ the Redeemer, carnival—and with it, smiles, music, dance, a kind of ever-present warmth that awakens the desire to live.

It often happens that what we love the most is what we fear the most. Even though I had known for years that I wanted to visit Brazil one day, life kept pulling me in other directions. Fortunately, almost as soon as I arrived in Toronto, I suddenly began learning Brazilian Portuguese. Half a year later, I was crying at the feet of Christ the Redeemer.

As I knew things wouldn’t work out in Canada—my life there wasn’t worth much anyway—there was no doubt where my next steps would lead. And besides, I could fulfill yet another dream.

Finally, in February 2025, I returned to Brazil. In March, in Rio de Janeiro, I bought my first motorcycle—a Royal Enfield Hunter 350. A new journey began, the hardest of all—the journey toward freedom. But the longer I stayed on that path, the harder it became to imagine returning to “normal life.” And Brazil keeps giving me a reason not to return. Brazil is the first place in the world where I can walk down the street without feeling alone. Maybe I’ve finally found my home.

After riding twenty thousand kilometers, I decided to settle in the city of Maceió, where I continue writing my second book and creating more content for this site. Here, dear reader, you will find texts about people and places—whether entirely fictional or true. I also write book reviews and share other reflections from my mind.

If you have any comments, objections, or wishes, you can contact me via the email below.

I’m Daniel Harnol.

Thank you for reading.