Reflections from the Black Sea

Good morning from Bulgaria. It’s a quiet morning. Can one get yogurt from Bulgaria? Thoughts have been swirling in my mind, but now that I sit down to recall them, they’ve already slipped away. Such is the way of things.

It’s a strange feeling. This motorcycle journey, in some sense, is supposed to be a journey inward, a chance to discover something about myself. And yet, I don’t feel like I’ve reached any great realization. I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness at the beginning of the trip, as if I had been waiting for this my entire life. But that feeling has faded, and now I find myself asking: What exactly am I doing here? What is the point of all this?

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I had to come all the way here just to ask myself that question. And yet, there is nothing else I would rather be doing. I don’t want to go back to Finland. In fact, I don’t feel the urge to be anywhere in particular. So I stay here. No need to go anywhere today.

I haven’t stayed in one place for multiple days in quite some time. The last extended stop was at Solina, Poland, where I had settled in a tourist area near a reservoir. That was nearly two weeks ago. Since then, I’ve been on the move every single day. Constant travel wears on you. I don’t know what determines when and where I want to stop, but staying in one place for too long makes me feel like I’m wasting time. It’s an odd contradiction.

I’ve been thinking about Moldova. I’d still like to see it. But for now, I need to slow down, take longer breaks, and find a more sustainable rhythm. The challenge is figuring out what’s worth stopping for. If I take longer breaks, I have to be more selective about what I see. Otherwise, I’ll end up having to make exhausting marathon rides to stay on schedule.

But I also don’t want to be like that “no maps” guy I read about, a traveler who relied only on a compass, ignoring maps and planning. He ended up suffering through miserable conditions simply because he hadn’t planned properly. There’s a certain charm to a free-spirited approach, but not if it means constantly backtracking or riding through relentless rain because you didn’t check the seasons beforehand.

The roads lately have been uninspiring: long, straight stretches that feel disconnected from the essence of motorcycle travel. I want to see places, not just cover ground for the sake of it. But then there’s that ever-present worry about what happens in the fall? The uncertainty taps me on the shoulder, whispering that I should be anxious. My counter-reaction is to push back, to insist on enjoying the moment. But neither extreme is good. True relaxation shouldn’t be a forced rebellion against worry. It should simply be.

Before the trip, I had all these ideas: morning breathing exercises, nightly meditation, a disciplined routine. I imagined myself keeping up with a structured practice, like Pavlin and his daily push-ups. Have I done any of it? No.

This trip, too, has offered endless opportunities for restlessness. Where am I going next? When am I leaving? What’s the next step? The questions are constant, and so is the underlying anxiety that I should already know the answers.

At this point, I need to be flexible with my return date. If I truly want to experience the road and not just race through it, I need to take those pauses without guilt. Romania keeps calling me back, and I know I’ll return there before the trip is over. If nothing else, I want to ride at least one of the famous Transalpina routes and explore some of the abandoned sites I’ve been intrigued by.

The paradox is that there’s so much to see that it becomes impossible to decide where to stop. When you encounter ruins and forgotten places around every corner, you stop taking pictures, thinking, I’ll see more later. And eventually, you don’t capture any of it.

Maybe I thought the road would guide me to the right places, that chance encounters and random navigation would take me exactly where I needed to go. But I see now that this approach has limits. Every experienced motorcycle traveler says the same thing: you need a plan. And they’re right.

Still, planning doesn’t come naturally to me. I struggle with booking accommodations in advance. Often, I just start looking in the late afternoon, when I’m already exhausted, which leads to rushed, suboptimal choices. Maybe this trip is meant to teach me how to travel properly.

I’ve learned a lot, thanks to the people I’ve followed online, but some lessons you can only absorb by experiencing them firsthand. The logistical aspect of motorcycle travel, how to plan and what works for me, can’t be learned from watching others. I guess it has to be learned the hard way.

Looking back, this trip was never just about adventure. It was about proving something to myself. Three years ago, I randomly discovered Itchy Boots on YouTube while mindlessly browsing. That was the first spark, the first moment when I thought, “This could be me”. Back then, I wasn’t even thinking about traveling. I was still caught up in vague ideas about writing and blogging. But the seed was planted.

Then came Pavlin, Pedro Mota, Lost with Purpose and all the others. The dream grew, little by little, until it became real.

Now, here I am. 7,000 kilometers into this journey, standing on the shores of the Black Sea, a place I only imagined visiting years ago. It hasn’t all been perfect. It hasn’t always been thrilling. But I know, deep down, that I was meant to be here. Even if I don’t always know why.

Maybe this trip will teach me what I truly want. Maybe it won’t. But I know one thing for certain: I made this happen.

It didn’t come easily. It took years of small steps, hard work, and persistence. It wasn’t about manifesting or willing it into existence. It was about taking real action, bit by bit, until suddenly, here I am.

I did it.

And that realization, that I turned a distant dream into reality, is something no one can take away from me.