It’s no longer a secret, that my assistant runs this blog on my behalf… Let me clarify that. I am not writing these words. I haven’t written this sentence either.
My – unpaid up until now – internet activities assistant is doing it for me. I simply don’t have time for that as I’m usually busy with scrambling out of trouble that I constantly get myself in.
It would also be difficult for me to concentrate to write something by myself. I have terrible problems with concetrating and not just with that… Besides, I have no internet connection. Because I don’t have it at home. Becouse I don’t have a home and even if I did, my Macbook Pro, that I got as a gift from European Union, isn’t working.
It broke in Norway, when I lived in a tent in Oslo because I couldn’t afford a room. Anyway you know the story if you’ve read my previous posts. I mean not my posts, but my assistat’s: let me remind you, she is writing this article for me. What was I saying? Yeah. The computer isn’t working. I’m really worried. It soaked in the tent and you can’t turn it on.


I’m now on Sicilly, living on a village and helping as a volunteer for food and shelter. There used to be this Liboryo guy here and together we tried to fix this Mac, but with no luck. It’s many strange people passing thru this place. Most of them are strongly addicted to weed. I dont like that. Once we hosted group of musicians- the girl was from Brazil and her Pakistan boyfriend. There was also Italian violinist so I created a simple music video of them to shere this moment with you.
Don’t ask me how I ended up here, it’s really a long story and now that I have to pay my assitant, I can’t afford to tell it. I have already payed for this article from the money I gain in France on picking grapes. It was 3 euro for 4 thousands sings so I need to be concise. Kurde… now I’m thinking that again I’ve spent last money in a stupid way. She is going to write some stupid stuff again and this article is going to suck just as the previous ones which she probably wrote drunk.

I digress too much. Back to the main point. I am on Sicilly, and honstly, despite decent weather and the beauty of surrounding nature, I would prefere to get out of here and change the situation into one in which I could earn money and decide by myself what I want to eat and who I want to hang out with. Sometimes working here for free I feel like a regular slave, especially since I don’t really have anywhere to escape to and I don’t have much money for the move. That’s why everyday I wake up and work here almost completely for free. Well, almost for free, because I do get food and shelter. I do various things. I clean a lot, feed the animals and since the olives picking season is coming, I cut the branches of the olive trees so that you can put the net on them. Sometimes I even bake bread.

But honestly, these are not my dream activites. I would really want to report the weird situation and places which I keep getting myself to. And get money out of that. Preferably, intriguing film reports, but could also do photos or articles. I even believe slightly that I will succeed one day, so I already started this blog, which now looks as it does, but maybe in the future it will take off properly… I mean so far my assistant is running the blog for me, but anyway it’s mainly my thought and reflections even if she adds some bullshit  of her own.

I can’t blame her, as she wrote all the previous articles for free and she won’t make much money on this one either. And it is possible that this will be the last article, because I really can’t afford to pay her. She can be demotivated and not really try to write well. So here I would like to ask: could someone please sponsor her? She takes 2 EURO per hour. If someone would like to help me on that, please email me: Also, You can support my project by buying USLESS CARDS.
I have few new models and they are cheaper then those for Norwegian market.


Optionally you can donate on this crowfounding  campaignan wich I created and all the money will be spent on my assistant’s salary.  Generally it would be good to have her full time, so that she would help via Skype with other stuff, like the escape from Sicily for instance. Shering this post with Youre friends it is also a great help for me.

Countrysites of Sicily, Fraginesi 2015

In Poland an assistant like that costs 2 euro per hour, so in order to pay her for the first experimental month of working 8 hours per day, five days per week I would need to collect 320 euro. Its seems to be a lot what I’m asking Universe this time but also I know that many of You are willing to support me in my ridiculous ideas so I strongly belive that this one is gonna succeed. Then we will see what will  happen next.

Her name is Kasia and she is a third year literature weekend student. She’s very talented and also very pretty.


In brief

i am an adventurer from Poland, who’s dream is to get some money, which i need to free myself from the shackles of modern slavery. Yes, thats true; i am a slave to the system which feeds on the faith of so-called normal people. I am a traveler, filmmaker, a poet, journalist and to put it simply- I am an artist of life. Every day that i get through is an masterpiece. Very often i find myself drowning in shit and fecies of reality. I get in trouble, rarely by my own fault, rather with help of helpful dickheads. A friend told me once i am very naivee. I used to suffer a lot, emotionaly and my nervous system got heavy damage from harsh polish realities. Let’s face it- it is impossible to be left alone, to just be; without serious capital or constant working. Who wants to do stupid jobs for richer people? I am supposed to work my ass off till i drop out and i’ll be calm in a fucking coffin. There is no possibility to thrive doing something you like to do. You got to give something up. Be a maggot. Fuck, eventually every one of my friends ends up working in a stressful and pointless way or living with them parents. I have a couple of ‘weird’ (for general population) friends, the vagabonds, wanderers, artist, musicians. The percentage of people being alive is dramatic though. The system kills the poor bastards who want to live their lives. You can either conform or slowly .
What the shit?!

Kambo vaccination

Before my escape from Poland (there should be a movie with this title, it is very catchy) I’ve decided to vaccinate myself, because I knew my plan could be hard to complete without a great deal of luck. I tried the Kambô (made from a poisonous frog) vaccination. Earlier I thought that my aim is to achieve safety and zone of comfort (after all I like to be comfortable) with the money I would have earned in Norway. In the course of events I finally understood, that the real goal is to find the peace of mind and maybe the idea about getting the loads of NOK money is only an obstacle. The “vaccine” is an application of very strong poison. Suddenly you are starting to feel very bad. Your whole body tries to defend itself, it wants to live- with you or not aboard… The reaction is very fast and soon you are vomiting, sweating and shitting at the same time. I’ve heard that CEO’s of big corporations are heading to South America to make themselves  fearless. After this you should not be afraid of the worst. At length you are coming back to your senses. Stronger, more enduring. Fearless. I’ve got my vaccination in Czech Republic.
I belive that all further hard experiences wich Im passing thru are just another Kambo vaccination for me, to make me stronger and stronger.

Last days in Oslo

After Signe threw me out of her apartment and accused me of theft, i had a hard times down in good ol’ Oslo. Between you and me- maybe it is easy to live up in Hardanger with help from my friends, different situation found me in the capital of Norway. There’s a lot of people living off the richer ones, Gypsies, beggars, street musicians, garbage collectors. I’ve began to ask people in the suits. They are supposed to be rich as hell, seeing all this fucking unnecessary ultra expensive shit they are buying. Nobody would help me. I was asking for something to eat, anything really. They weren’t interested, or just ignored me. Sometimes they’ve said something. “Get your shit together”. “It is your fault you’ve ended up in such a mess…”, “You must be from eastern Europe” etc. Slaves. They aint more alive than a fucking robot. They are the real slaves, addicted to this shit and to this combustion civilisation. The people of the lie. Anyways, got no problem with smoking, since I could easily find something on the ground. I don’t drink so it isn’t a problem. When I saw two guys dressed in expensive suits standing by impressive cars I’ve asked for help. They said they are just regular slaves-   chauffeurs of some shitheaded prince or whatever. They were more humane to me.

I’ve met a famous artist – Pushwagner. It looks like every country should have a person who behaves oddly and can make some money off that. La boheme, blah blah. I just want to eat. I could make thousands of these kind of pictures, I used to paint also. Yes! But I needed the food to survive. The paintings of Pushwagen are mostly about conformity. I think they are wack. Pushwagner is an rockstar here. Of course he didn’t give me anything, he just told me to see his paintings. Whatever.

I’ve also found some famous actor. He told me about his life for thirty minutes, which I politely listened to, while being hungry and tired. Wet and frustrated. I felt pretty sick and sad. After the inspirational story he left.

I tried the homeless shelter. It costs you 15 NOK. You can easily make it with returnable bottles. Every evening there is a lottery. The winner gets an opportunity to sleep under the roof. The losers got to go wherever. I didn’t make it on time for the lottery.

Unless Card 100 NOK
Unless Card 100 NOK (2015)

I tried to sell some Useless Cards on the street  for 100 NOK each after I noticed that Norwegian like to spend money for nothing. With a little chat with potential clients- i’ve sold four of them just in one hour. I really don’t recommend this product but I still got some so You can buy it here if You want to support my °project°.Buy Now Button

I spent that money for a night in a hostel and a pack of cigarette and coke. Couldn’t sleep in a tent anymore. Or the drug addicts- park. A lot of excluded in the capitalist paradise. Junkies. Whores. Street.Ugly, not succesful. This is their fault.

Pushwagen’s art is well connected. Look it up if you want to. I saw the other world- the world of empty suits. For real, these kind of people rule the world right now and believe me- they have an influence on our lives, much much bigger we would think. It is sad, but maybe it will change. Someday I could have my peace within without working for 16hours daily. Like a polite slave.

After the night in the hostel I was broke again. I had some Useless Cards wiich I could easly sell  on the streats of Oslo and maby become milionaire on that business very fast…. But I was not in the mood for to do that. I was in the mood to escape from Norway like I escaped from Poland before.

So I went for the road, again.I was going to hitch-hike to France. I’ve caught the ride with Mike and his girlfriend, Ana. They’ve helped me a lot. Seriously.

Mike is the author of a good fantasy-adventure book. The Guardian – Blood in the Sand (M.J. Kobernus). He is also a dedicated Starcraft 2 player. Top500.
Moreover,  It turned out that I was going in the wrong direction. After hearing my story, they’ve let me sleep at their place, gave pizza and my beloved coca-cola.. They ve bought me a ticket and Mike gave me a lift the aiport at 4am next day. Wow, really- Its hard to express by words how thankfull Im for those amazing people. It is hard even for my clever  unpaid assistance who writes  this blog post insted of me, while Im picking grapes in France.

Pawel’s unpaid assistant


Oslo is like a dream of a schizophreniac. Or something extremely oxymoronic like Jekyll&Hyde. Perfectly calm during the day, with ideal families strolling and children playing on the lawns, the inhabitants very polite and kind for each other. It reminds me an 50′ american dream poster with everything under control. Under that – a purulent ulcer of the excluded- people without future and just too much past. They crawl their nests late into the afternoon. They manifest themselves as ragged homeless junkies, raging through the dimmed streets looking for a fix, poor old drunkards, Gypsies with . People of every age, with destroyed livers, damaged brains and no purpose whatsoever. Maybe i am too sensitive. I think not though, it should be normal for general human population to have some compassion. The thing is- i am one of them, the excluded, the people not needed by the system to operate normally. The gap doesn’t interest anybody with a job and money (or indebted, which is more likely – at least the people of the streets don’t have to worry about paying up the debts, shiiit). I mean- it looks a lot like the system is inhumane, or outlandish for the earth, since the gap widens, and the poor are poorer when the rich get richer. Nobody offered me marihuana on the street of Poland. Here drug dealers just swarm me and offer me whatever I like. Come on, Oslo, heroine? I don’t need no stinking heroine. I saw them- the hollow-eyed guys laying by the walls. Zombieland. Signe said I am rude to say bad things about Norway, but this is it. This is how the situation looks for the foreigner, people. Sadly, it is just her and her comfort zone. The “Haves” don’t see any problems if they never were closer to the “Have-nots”. There’s a popular polish saying, which can be translated into “a man full of food can never understand a hungry man.” All this is pretty weird. Maybe they are lazy? Why am i continuing with my dreams, i can end up like them when something in me will break during the hardships. I don’t like drugs did I mention? They can wipe out your brains. I’ve tried some of the recreational drugs, but the natural ones. I don’t drink. Usually. But enough about me. Something about the stasis I got into.

After the Rent&Tent job I’ve needed some rest. I mean – it is all just fun and games till you have dry socks, some warm place to rest your head after the work. I’ve been sleeping in the goddamn tent, while working for Jens. He was humane to me. I want to thank him here (and all the good people who are helping me with my epochal project) and wish him all the best with the business. I still got to prove to him that employing a person back in Poland is affordable in my current situation. So I’ve got back to Oslo to search for new possibilities and sleep in eight-person hostel room (240NOK~ something like 40euro/120PLN). I am running out of money now and I am starting to feel boxed in. There is nothing except work in Norway for polish migrant. Or a refugee? Or whatever. We escape the poorer areas of Europe to get money, finding the improvised conditions of living unhabitable. I’ve heard about a girl who used to sleep on paper cartons and eat only tesco junk food in Great Britain to get the big numbers fast. Money, money, money. Everything revolves around the golden calf. What’s with the prostitution and the sponsors for young girls in need of pointless education tuition cash? What’s with that, central planners?

I think the problem can be so simple. Look at them. The central planners, the politicians regulate almost every aspect of our life with the law. Yup. The law and the money flow. It is so complicated I just think my head will blow up sum day. Cut the education for the people, boost funds for the police! Brilliant!f

I don’t think that the people which opted out the rat race are guilty of something. I see huge systemic failure right here. But I will elaborate further on it some other time.

Because I am in need of a fistfull of NOKoronen, to live through the coming days. Also – i need to pay the hard cash to my sidekick back in Poland, who is writing this very text. Yep. She is working as a volunteer right now, just to help me, but she also has bills to pay. I need some funds to continue my great job from this capitalist paradise, cause it is indeed- a paradise for people with money, and a hell for poor bastards like me. I mean- look at this place- maybe they start taxing people for breathing or whatever.

I’ve met a guy named Marcus. He inspired me to re-think my business model. It isn’t a bussiness model in the first place. Unimportant- the thing is Marcus is the owner of some luxury cigarettes shop and he distributted leaflets about the shop all by himself. He told me that he is a tiger-type hunter- he got only few leaflets because he knows what kinds of people are interested in his offer and this (the leaflets) is the most important job in the business. So be it, the advertisement as the leverage of your trade.

I don’t avoid hard work. For me the work of my life is to stay alive. It would be a perfect achievment from a member of precaryat. Yes, go and google it up, friend. Look what is that sil vous plait. A new class in the place of the good ol’ middle class. We all shoudlve realised our american/european/polish/norwegian dream already, huh?

I therefore plead to Universe to put me on the proper position. My position is not in a tent. I don’t want to feel all the shades of fear, don’t want to be hungry or wet or dead. Also: I could use some prepaid phone top-up and some money.

When I need bananas, Universe gives me bananas. If I need a proverbial fishing rod, I get it also. I am thankful, dear Universe.

One more thing: I am sure this will work, because it makes sense.

It all makes sense, what do you think, dear Universe?

Pawel’s unpaid assistant




If you spent some time reading my previous notes, you will know that i left Poland in pursuit of a dream. I’ve decided to became a filmmaker – this was my aim and I don’t see any reasons i couldnt fulfil this purpose. That’s why i’ve made this wacky decision – to travel without money, support and most of all- any strict plans. I’ve endured the consequences amid all this shitty situtations that happened to me on every step, like i was some sort of shit-magnet. Without any assurance what will find me on my trip, I’ve crawled slowly in the same direction: unknown, but – apparently- set by myself . I didn’t give a fuck about the warnings of different helpful advisors: like how unreal it is to realize my dream without proper connections. I’ve chosen to shit on it all, including my own limitations, lack of motivation and – mostly- fear. I knew that back in Poland i would need a lot of money (only to buy a professional equipment) that I could never made on polish wages. I didn’t even mention cigarettes. That’s how the whole idea was born. What I didn’t perceive is that the world has changed and miracle spectacular careers are a thing of the past. Sort of.

I was stuck in a moment which i ought to left behind me. I’ve pissed on Arek already, his accusations that I am a thief (yeah surely) and leaving me without my phone, money and food storage. The whole new perspective opened right before my eyes. My norwegian pal – Thord- after hearing my pitty story, set me with his friend in Oslo. I was employed to paint her house. I knew it is a great opportunity to make some bigger money and carry out a valuable recon of the city. So, I’ve part my ways with georgeous Ewa Zielonka and rushed to Oslo for my win-win. Earlier in some kind of pagan ritual, I’ve burned down my shitty chinese tent. I were hoping that along with it, the time of homelessness, wet underwear and uncertainty will disappear once and for all. Hello Oslo, hello CASH and finally – hello to an ironclad roof over my head.
New chapter began even better that i thought. At the Oslo main station i was greeted by a lovely Norwegian girl. Signe was her name. She recognised me almost instantly. It turned out she knows my little blog and she was very fascinated with my story. Or entertained. Whatever. Apart from work with painting her house she offered me a place to sleep. With a separate bathroom. For somebody who used to dream about a pair of dry socks this was like hitting the jackpot. Couldn’t be much better than that. But it was. She was also a director working for National Geographic. While she effused a paradise-ish visions of helping with my carrer I was completely dazed in new possibilities and deep in my soulf i was thankfully kissing the feet of lady Luck for such a straightforward mercy. This way seemed the right way. After all these hardships, finally i got some hope for a bit of tranquility in my life. Unfortunately, this very way turned out to lead me on the street, where i was standing pathetically with all my belongins and desperately thinking how the heck i will survive the next night.
At the beginning though it all looked pretty neat. I’ve got some work to do, place to rest my polish head and views to make some connections in “the business”. Moreover, I got a chance for additional and certain income. I had an appointment in a Rent-a Tent company . This was about setting up a tent- thing you should know already – which is my favorite spare time activity. I’ve achieved my own style in this discipline, and in this style- master level. Sarcasmo! It was certain by now, that the fire didn’t spare me the chinese curse. I ought to be A Man of the Tent. Ok, now im just pathethic. It is the work I was in desperate need of. I’ve killed the qualifications and were invited to test day the day after. That whole day was emerging into a great, happy completeness. Strolling through the Oslo down the streets that looked like a golden beach, like some polish poet wrote once upon a time. I didn’t recognise if that was the true experience or just the harmonic convergence of suddenly friendly reality. I was soaking up with the buzz like a sponge and falling in love in passing women. Yeah. It all looked pretty superb at that moment.

When I’ve came back to the place for the night, i didn’t catch up with Signe and couldn’t reach her on phone. I’ve texted her i got this interview and i will start with her house the day after. I would not fuck up and moreover, didn’t want to disappoint her since she had helped me a lot. But what I did know for sure- that i’ve needed to have some stable income after i will be done with the painting of Signe’s house. That looks simple, huh? Going’ to the Rent-a-Tent I’ve got a call from Thord, that Signe is in total hysteria. She called me the most rude guy she ever met and said that i am basically pure evil. She even cursed me in swears that i don’t know- but i’m certain that it was nothing good. She accused me of escaping my work, smoking in her house, trying to pool a fast one on her (basically cheating) and … fanfares… stealing some shit from her! So again- i am a thief and again I shall bear the burden of “Polaczek”- Polak with diminutive contempt. Thord ordered me to come back instantly and explain myself, threating me to call the police. He said that he thought i am a good person, but instead he thinks i am a bad person. She even told Thord I said so much bad things about Norway! Gosh. After way back I discovered i am already packed up. My employer-to-be readied me to get the fuck out SEARCHING THROUGH MY THINGS. Poor girl. Of course, she haven’t found her stuff in my bags… It was found later, but what do I care- it didn’t alter the situation a bit. Though I was completely innocent – I was sacked again. I didn’t steal nor cheat, just delayed the work for one day, texting my employer in advande that i would start later. If she was worried with my absence- why the heck wouldn’t she call me instead calling Thord to call names on me. Wouldn’t it be easier to talk, than to fund everybody such amounts of negativity?
And that was all for the luck. Again on the street and with the tent of course. Nothing new under the sun. This one was slightly better than the chinese toy which I’ve burned down so enthusiastically. The sorrounding reality stopped to look so friendly at the moment. I’ve missed the fjords and staying at Ewa Zielonka’s. Maybe- I even shed a tear or two about that. Maybe it was a good moment to retreat, give up? Finally acknowledge that Hans was right, saying that i am a complete loser? After all, all that shit that flew onto my methaphorical face was like an evidence i am to weak. Maybe i didn’t have the proper start-up settings. No support. No funny-money. No connections. No language. Fuck that! Maybe i am connected in some way with leaky tents and the reputation of polish thief, but i am no loser since I won’t surrender! I won’t surrender, Universe! I used to contemplate the polish sense of guiltiness. It accompanies many people in Poland, but not only. I find it characteristic for every religious vertical relation setup meddling in the past in the minds of the nations. Alright it is of minor importance, maybe some day i will publish the book with my thoughts, since it isn’t sellable nowadays. Just a book about cooking up your own shit with weeds. Pardon moi. Let the following situation be the point of the chapter. It happened just after I was threw out by Signe. Homeless again I went to public WC to do some ritualistic socks change. To my surprise, whole venue was covered in human feces. I mean there was shit all over the goddamn place. I was almost comfortable with the fact until someone knocked the door. The i’ve panicked that i will be perceived as an author of this painting by the future generations. In a heat-wave of aforementioned polish sense of guiltiness I was ready to clean up the shit of an unknown nationality with my bare hands. Then I’ve remembered what Ole told me. I am in a kind of bond with him, since we both survived heart break and are still in stasis of every-day fight for financial survival. Ole- the owner of Hardanger Hotel, who pays up his debt with dedication sweeping the butts in front of his venue, had a similar situation back in the days. Some fuckwit shitted all over one of the hotel rooms, cause it made him horny. I hope that in need of the money to pay his hotel back- Ole wasn’t cleaning it all by himself. And then I got this single thought that from every shit you can still form a rose. Or whatever.
If I would have to clean the walls of Hardanger Hotel I could do that for one hundren NOK for per hour and do it as slow as it possible to have more working hours..If shit will happen again, Ole -you’ve got my number(0047 46939228).


Alright, i’ve got this shitty tent (it was clearly a chinese revenge on wealthy europeans to whom all theses plastic shits were being shipped day by day for crappy paper-money). Did i mention i got it from the mall after Thord helped me when I was in distress mode: Come on, Universe, please help me! Let me know I am not alone! He gave me a lift to a nearest shop, at the same time laughing at me. He was like “what the heck, you’re 27 you and don’t have any money, no girlfriend, no job?”. Later he introduced me to his employees, some of whom were Poles too. For them it was obvious I was a fruitcake. I am not. Nevermind. It seems now as if it was so long ago.
When you are on your own you really can feel the fullness of life. The time slows down, it bends your mind and your german-geist spine. I mean, look around, all this thought system was build more or less in protestant Germany. Slavic people are much more moment-oriented, kind of improvisers. We are, along with Russians, the jazz musicians of the nations. Anyways, i woke up in this shelter (which is already soaking wet and did I mention it gives no protection from wind whatsoever?) and got no cigs. Not even one cancerogenic little heaven!  Shit, you got to put yourself in my shoes- when i got no cigarettes I can’t think properly. Also: i am addicted to sugar-rich, H3PO4 mixture known worldwide as cola. Just the red one, no stinking pepsi crap. Although I am a heavy addict (just these two substances), it is nothing compared to what i saw in Odda. But first things first.
So I woke up in this plastic rag, already filled with the stench of my feet. No cigs. No food. With the reputation of a thief I was the poor lad that ‘ve got robbed by a psychopath. He took my food rations. As long as I can recall he counted every couple of earned NOK joking ruthless about Poles getting pocket change for the work back in Poland. I think he stole the money from himself and forgot about it. Whatever, man, whatever.

Hardanger Fjord

Alrighty then, I took the tent got on my feet and went to a roadside bar. Couldn’t get any tobacco for my remaining 100NOK (I was short 7NOK) so i went for food. You get the idea how addicted I am? Like the Maslow’s hierarchy of needs should have been updated for me. But the venue’s owner, Maria, who looked at me (I must’ve looked wasted and so was my spirit) with a sort of condescending concern and compassion, gave me 200NOK. Still in the game, huh?
The game of cigarettes! Maybe you know how cigarettes became so popular among the men of America? The tobacco companies got themselves a lot of government contracts for this kind of cancerogenic love. That’s how Lucky Strike made a shitload of money. Then came Edward Bernays with his propaganda. His task was to sell this toxic crap to woman. That is how femme fatale archetype was born. The slick vamp with a slim cigarette.
Back on the road. I am trying to catch any lift in whatever direction- frankly- i don’t give a shit. Yeah, where to go? There’s nothing except the friggin’ Norway around here. After a while I was in Utne. Spent the money for coke, cigs and a ferry ticket. Kinsarvik. Cool. The owner of a campsite down there lets me pitch my tent for now. I’m gonna go look for a job.
I mean really, look how far I’ve got since morning. Something was pending  and i didn’t know things can get worse in such a simple manner. Or, eventually – better. I’ve found some bananas. Godlike taste if you are hungry. Meh, it is all the matter of perception. I laugh at how soft I were a couple years before when the experiences haven’t carved me yet. There is no turning back. Also: the sensation of time. It is so relative!
So I was walking down the street and knocking to every door with an honest offer – I will work for money. The time was running out slowly as I came nearer to the dusk. Eventually, somebody opened and…
I’ve got work to do. It was Leif. A big guy. He told me to come back tomorrow.
And this is the moment things got worse. Another day I was praising the day before. Why? I WAS ALL FRIGGIN’ WET. My shoes, my pretty new shoes were giving me the impression I was walking on two sponges.  I mean; God, COME ON. But it was nothing. Now i know it was only a dance lesson. Dance bitch, dance to the harmony of the universe. Shit. Obviously, I had no breakfast at all.
Leif really helped me out. He gave me 500NOK in advance before I started painting his house and then he went on a trip. Of course, I ran (!) to the nearest shop. Coke, cigs. My damned shoes were completely wet. Fuck it, right: I am young and strong and the pioneers of this land haven’t even had any cigarettes. Or have they?
After three days in these boots (“Whatever you do, take care of your shoes” like that old band Phish used to teach me back in the days) I’ve got a call from my friend – Ewa Zielonka. She gave me boots stained with paint but DRY. (another great person. Gotta chant “I go by with a little help from my friends”. Seriously, I would be dead already if not them. LOVE YOU MY SWEET LITTLE ANGELS! : ***). Shit I am going insane. Too much pressure without fucking credit powered coma. I will get back to that.
Even the owner of the campsite allowed me to stay there.

Since then, Ewa helped me a lot. She feeds me everyday- I mean, seriously, i am like her cat… Good, but it isn’t the way to get your wallet stuffed with cash. Got to find the job, anyhow.
In the meantime I went back to Thord with a rant about the tent. Maybe I was too harsh (I was like “What was your purpose, you want to kill me with this tent man?”) but I showed him this page and the movie about my camp life in the wild and he offered me that he will help me to get success in Oslo. I hope I will not cock it up.
Also: I’ve met some Christians who were playing improvised melancholic music. I’ve made a movie with GoPro bought for money from donation button on this blog. So, I am no longer a filmmaker without the camera, THANKS TO MY UNBELIEVABLE LUCK TO ENDURE SHIT HAPPENING TO ME. And also thanks to the kindness of good people all over the Europe.

The thing is: Money does not make you happy. Not at all. It took me so long to get the concept, but even if you have a lot of this funny papers and childplay coins different colors, patterns and sizes – You are still in huge trouble of being a stranger in a strange land. Why? People made this beautiful, most astonishing and breathtaking planet a hellhole for themselves. Look around: the happiest woman I’ve met in Norway (I’m not gonna name the names), I mean at first glance the girl looked to me as a fountain of joy. After a while of conversation she told me she hates her life and wants to end it. Also – credit. A lot of enterprises here (often on this planet) are credit-fueled. Even being an owner you still got to do a shitload of work. O fcourse back in the days land and water was for free. Clean air. The basics.
So, they got their money but they don’t have a tranquility. I’ve got my serenity though. I am happy to live, to be here and that I’ve met all this people. My friends. Living in the wildlife I spotted that I am not affected by the harsh conditions and theoretically hostile environment. I got my inner peace.
If it wasn’t for the goddamn cigarettes… It is my last little prison, and i don’t even like to smoke. How it comes to be?



Scandinavian paradise 
There is a clear difference in living standards between Poland, or other post-socialist countries, and western Europe. Worker in Poland, hereinafter referred to as slave, has no chance to earn as much money as an ordinary worker in the West. The road to wealth in my homeland seems so long, and the goal itself completely unattainable. And I wanted to be a millionaire …
It’s realy hard to pierce through in here. I know people, who have completed prestigious faculties, did numerous internships abroad, and work today for the lowest national wage. In a job that does not contribute to their development. Capitalism is not fair. Rat race continues, the winners still lose compared to their friends abroad.
Slaves from post-socialist country, who finally realize how bad their position is, flee to Denmark, Sweden, Norway or the UK. it is not difficult to understand their decision. By doing the simplest jobs like mowing the lawn, or painting walls and fences they earn at least 100 NOK/h, which with the hard work gives monthly earnings equal to 30 000 NOK. In Poland, the profit is much smaller, the employer often pays NOK 10 – 16 NOK / h. Sometimes doesn’t even pay anything. When looking at it, Scandinavia is a coveted paradise for poor.

The owner and the slave
I didn’t want to live like a slave anymore. I’ve had enough. I wanted to finally make more than 3000 NOK monthly. Who has the money, has the power – I kept telling myself, even though I don’t find this sentence completely true. I never managed to find a job in Poland, that would ensure living on a decent level. I wanted to be a filmmaker, documentarian describing the world he explores. But I needed good equipment, and more specifically – a camera.
Typically life gives us the roles we have to play. You’re either born rich or poor. It rarely happens, that someone with already given role was able to get a level higher. Some keep on trying, other don’t even think about it, but let’s be honest – most people fail. The one who’s rich never understands the poor. The one that’s poor dreams to be more than that. Thinking about it, at one moment I decided to risk it all and flee. I didn’t have much to risk though, because I had virtually nothing. Maybe that’s why it was easier for me. I was quietly humming Bob Dylan’s “When you’ve got nothing you’ve got nothing to lose”.
I quickly calculated that by working hard in Norway for six years I could become a millionaire. Then I could go back to Poland, buy myself a small palace, take care of renting, hire Asians, they’re cheaper… and further… further on somehow it would be. I could take care of filmmaking. I have my goal, now I need a plan.

My mission
It was not a first time when I was traveling without the money. I spent a lot of time on variety of voluntary works in countries such as Norway, Sweden, and Italy. But this time it was not about exploring, gaining experience, or meeting new people. I’ve had a mission to accomplish. Get money and buy a camera!
I finished journalism and film studies in Poland, because since childhood I had dreams. I knew I wanted something more out of life than ordinary monotonous eight-hour operating mode. The money was about to make this possible.

Norwegian dream
Looking back, America was once average Polack’s dream, now it’s Norway. A Scandinavian country, in which in few days you can earn enough to live one month in Poland. It is true that most Poles here are emploeyed in worst jobs like picking strawberries, painting etc. for lowest possible wage in Norway, which is 100 NOK / h. By the way, I was once walking about in Denmark, broke, looking for the strawberry field to work on. When I finally found one, the owner pointed at a shed: – you see that shed? I already got 16 Poles in there and I don’t need more.
But back to the beginning of the journey. Before Polack can even flee to Scandinavia, he has to carefully plan everything. Why? To survive out there. It is known that the food in Norway is much more expensive than ours, so everyone from Poland who’s fleeing to Scandinavia is loaded with jars, canned food, cans, pates, sausages and dumplings, to save as much money as possible. Ofcourse, when they finally arrive to Norway, they begin to convert NOK to PLN (Polish Złoty), what they could buy in Poland for it, how much they could send to Poland. That’s life. And then they buy a beer for 80 NOK, or cigarettes, worth daily wage in Poland. Not everyone though, has enough of a self-discipline to eat only what he’s brought.

You’ve got a fast car, I’ve got a ticket to anywhere…
I’ve met Arek on the internet portal. Typical Pole, 22 years old, fan of techno music, disco-polo and songs about fucking. He dreamed of fleeing to Australia. Eventually he put me in a deep shit. But let’s start from the beginning. is one of those portals, that allows you to get to know people from the country, who would want to go abroad. of course for profit. Because every hero needs a companion, I deceided to go with Arek by his Fiat Punto. The two always livelier – I thought. I was wrong, but I couldn’t know then.
Our first stop abroad was Odda. We stayed at Cinderellia, iconic tavern in the suburbs. The owner’s name was Hans, he was the first guy who offered us help.. Not only he gave us a job at his estate (painting), but also food and accommodation, completely for free. I was delighted, thanks to his generosity I have suffered no major costs. The road to wealth, my objective, now seemed much easier than I thought.
After one week of hard work I earned as much as I would in Poland in one month. Cool, isn’t? Although at Hans’ there was no electricity nor hot water supply, but I found that better than nothing. After the first payment, I decided to reward my toil of work so I went on a trip. This short trip changed everything, but whether for good, by the end of this I’m not sure…

Bittersweet return
It was raining. I was standing soaked and frozen on the road, praying for somebody to finally stop, damn it. I felt I was really in a bad position. I didn’t know how to get back to Cinderella, there were no buses going this way, I didn’t even have enough money for the hotel, no place to sleep…
And then somebody stopped. It was a woman. She asked – Need a ride? – Sure, yeah – I said. The young woman’s name was Eli. I was a little surprised by her openness, she didn’t even know me at all…
Eli was really nice. When we’ve been talking for some time, she suddenly asked, what am I doing in here actually. Then it began. I told her everything, about my plans of getting rich, about my dreams of becoming a filmmaker and buying a camera. Eli laughed – you wanna be a filmmaker and you’re painting houses? – I nodded. – You know, Paweł… I could help you, I’m a documentarian.
I thought it was a dream, but several dozens minutes later together with Eli we were on a party organized by the creators of a reality-show about two norwegian cowboys, who work hard and party hard. They were just making that second one. The whole team gathered there. How did I even get there? – Here’s a party – Elli smiled at me.
It’s hard to describe exactly what was happening, it was quite a razzle-dazzle. I met many people who to my suprise treated me normally. In their company I did not feel like a slave, I felt then, how it is to be someone. A creator, a player, someone I always wanted to be. Finally Eli brought the camera and gave it to me: – Here’s your camera Paweł, film us!
I was overwhelmed, and perhaps already tipsy? I was filming them all, having great fun and encesing on my feet. Several people took my number, they had orders for me to paint their houses. This all may seem unusual and even unlikely, but it really happened. But things got more interesting when I discovered at 1 AM that bar is for free.

Polack drunkard, thief and what else?
The yell has awakened me. I didn’t realize myself where I was and who’s screaming at me…
– Give me back my 400 euro, you thief! – It was Arek.
– What is… what do you want.. – I was still sleepy, still not sure where I was. Then suddenly I recalled last party with the filmmakers, I probably have drunk too much. I couldn’t even recall, how on Earth I came back to Cinderella, has somebody driven me back, or if I have returned on my own.
– You know exactly what I want, thief. Give me back my 400 euro!
Arek was convinced, that I stole his money, even though I didn’t even touch them. Most likely this bonehead either has lost them, or hid them, or perhaps has spent them, not even remembering where and what he’s been doing. He had no proof that I have taken them, he just thought so. If Polack, then must be a thief, isn’t? This sucks. Everyone can accuse you of stealing, without the slightest evidence.
– Arek, I didn’t take your money. Man, I didn’t even see them… – I said gently. It is difficult to speak calmly with the person who enjoys disco-polo songs about fucking. Arek has unequivocally accused me and it was difficult to reason with him.. Because the whole time I insisted that I did not take his damn money, he wanted to beat me up and force me to confess my guilt. What a primitive person.
The worst thing is, that this idiot has told everybody I’m a thief. I was feeling terrible, even though I was completely guiltless. The worst is, he told that Hans, who assumed he was telling the truth. Later, when he saw me, he asked if I have returned Arek his money, instead of asking, if I have even taken them in the first place.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa
Poland’s a country full of people full of complexes, country where most people are raised according to the pattern of the Catholic Church. Everyone feels guilty, for not earning as much as they should, for not having, what they should have, and eventually, for thinking different. They later classify us as drunks, thieves and God knows what else, and we’re afraid to stand up to it, because it’s our fucking very great fault.
The next day Arek was gone. He drove away by his Fiat Puntol. He left me. He took his revenge.
He took with him our whole eatables we collected together, he also took my phone. I had all the contacts there, to family, to my friends, to people I met at the party, to employers whose calls I was waiting for. Arek didn’t even pay me back for the fuel I’ve bought some time ago. Never mind. I was alone. I’ve been called a thief by the person who robbed me.
Are Poles thieves? When I was wondering, what to do now, I recalled my previous stay abroad. When I was once traveling alloy, Poles, who drove me, stole me a bag of clothes. There was nothing of value in there, but for me it was pretty unpleasant experience. I understand that people are different, some people are desperate, they have no money for food, they’re forced to steal, to survive. I’m not gonna judge anyone, but I honestly hate it. And most of all I dislke people, who contribute to the Polack = thief stereotype.
That’s why I didn’t want to tell anyone how Arek treated me. I didn’t tell Hans anything, he probably thought I was a thief. I thought that somehow I can handle it. Maybe.  The most painful for me was however that I didn’t have a telephone…

Cinderella Story
I was still living at Hans’, even though everyone was looking at me with disdain. Unfortunately it was raining most of the time, so I wasn’t getting a lot of orders.
For all this time in Cinderella I was mainly cleaning, once or twice it happened that I painted something. When I was scrubbing the floor at Hans’ I felt like this title Cinderella I was secretly hoping that as in the fairy tale, my fate will change tooI earned very little then, most of the cash I had I spent then. On Cigarettes. On coca-cola. I’m dumb. Money disappear very quickly in here.
Finally Hans told me, that I can no longer stay at his. This isn’t a hotel, and he’s got no more jobs for me. I felt hopelessly. All of a suden I became homeless and completely broke.
My situation may seem hopeless, but there were people, who didn’t reject me and wanted to help me. Ellen for example, 70 years old warm-hearted woman, who I could say – adopted me for few days. She wanted me to teach her how to use facebook, show her how to add pictures, etc.. She also ordered painting her terrace and mowing the lawn. This way I earned some money. However, I couldn’t stay at hers forever…

Ingrid Bergman Rose in the garden of Ellen

The last money
I spent the night in a hotel for the last money I had. Maybe it’s silly, because as a matter of fact, I was completely broke, but I really needed it then.
I needed to break away from all of my problems, to not go completely insane. Artificially extend the time before the upcoming fall.
When taking the shower, I was intesively thinking about what I can do to survive.
Few hours later I was assembling the tent I bought from a Chinese for 150 NOK.
In Poland I could have waterproof and
windproof tent for that price. When I woke up in the morning, all wet, alone in the middle of Norway, without money, food and homeless, for a little while I was yelling to Jehovah, Mohammed and Krishna, because I was not entirely sure which of them was responsible for this.
Fortunately, I quickly calmed down myself and thought to myself that I’ll survive, I rather will, because I always have before. I smiled to myself and wondered how to get a fishing rod here?