I am a man who has unlearned stillness.

I sailed as a captain, then as a fugitive from my own life. The law books I once clutched like scripture now drown in the wake of ships I boarded on a whim. In Singapore, I jumped onto a freighter bound for the South China Sea, its deck sweating oil and salt, its crew singing Tagalog hymns to the ghosts of typhoons.

I’ve driven the bleeding edges of America’s northern roads, where canyons yawn like gods tired of eternity. Slept in the bellies of Russian trains, rattling toward Siberia, frost clawing at the windows while old women in headscarves peeled boiled eggs and spoke of Stalin like he still sat at their kitchen tables. In Baikal’s winter, I walked on ice older than regret.

Cities? I’ve bargained with Odessa’s sailors in shadowed bars, laughed with strangers over vodka poured from bottles with no labels. In Istanbul’s backstreets at dawn, I listened as the muezzin’s cry tangled with the scent of fish and diesel. In Tbilisi, I drank wine from clay cups in cellars where Stalin’s ghost still lingers, and in Evpatoria’s brittle light, I followed the footsteps of Crimean Tatars, listening to a history the world tries to forget.

Do not call me brave. I have simply traded fear for motion. On a motorbike in Vietnam, I let the monsoon slick my skin as trucks roared past, their horns screaming like widows. In Alanya’s hills, I pedaled through lemon groves, Turkish shopkeepers tossing me apricots and yelling “Yavaş!” as if slowness could save me. Even Luanda’s chaos—its markets selling SIM cards and dried crocodile feet—taught me this: The world is not a place to conquer. It is a place to listen.

If you open your door, I will bring no souvenirs, no tourist lies. Only the smell of Baikal’s ice, the way Vietnamese coffee clings to your ribs on a Ha Giang morning, the exact shade of rust on Soviet-era trains. We’ll share rakı or chacha, or maybe just a cup of tea at 3 a.m., and I’ll tell you how Evpatoria’s stray dogs still follow me in dreams, or how the Grand Canyon’s silence made my bones feel small.

When I leave, I will take nothing but the way your kettle hissed before sunrise, and you’ll keep nothing but the imprint of my boots on your floor—already scuffed, already fading, already gone.

The road is my only compass. I follow it like a man who knows the price of stopping.

Pourquoi je suis sur Couchsurfing

To make new friends, to share good wine and stories :)

Centres d'intérêt

Climbing, trekking, bike, fishing.

• motorcycles

Une aventure extraordinaire que j'ai vécue

In 2016 new year i was in Himalaya, Nepal. I have been Throngla Pas (5400 m)
2022- Gambling in Las Vegas :)
Travel most beautiful Canyons of USA

Ce que j'aimerais partager avec mes hôtes

Wine , beer and a lot of travels story.

Pays que j'ai visités

Angola, France, Georgia, Germany, Kazakhstan, Nepal, Philippines, Russian Federation, Singapore, Turkey, Ukraine, United States, Viet Nam

Pays dans lesquels j'ai vécu

Azerbaijan, United States