There’s something unusual about the ability to stand in the same place again and realize that what has changed most isn’t the space itself, but the way you inhabit it. Bukowina Tatrzańska offered me exactly that experience – not as a return, but as a continuity that has finally become visible. 

Last year, I arrived there with the kind of attentiveness that comes from unfamiliarity. It was my first Erasmus+ project, my first encounter with a process that demands complete presence and a willingness to let go of control. The house where we stayed and the host organization at the time were merely a framework for something still taking shape. Today, those same walls and the same rhythm of daily life carry a different weight, a quiet proof that some beginnings continue even when we are unaware of it. 

This year, returning did not require grand emotions. Instead of uncertainty, it brought clarity. To find yourself once more in the same place, with the same people with whom you shared only a single week a year ago, and yet feel a closeness that has not weakened but deepened, is a rare confirmation that time is not the only measure of connection. These meetings were not an attempt to relive the past, but a natural continuation of something that was never interrupted. In those moments, it was clear how much these people, with whom I once lived briefly, have shaped who I am today. 

This year, the project brought together participants from Macedonia, Romania, Georgia, Poland, and Spain. Differences did not impose themselves, but flowed naturally into the shared experience without resistance. The expectations with which we arrived slowly dissolved, leaving space for genuine contact and mutual support. It became strikingly clear how often our skepticism toward the unknown prevents us from truly being present. 

“Art and Outdoor” did not function as a concept, but as a state of being. Long, high-altitude hikes through snow and natural challenges demanded perseverance, patience, and trust in ourselves and in others. Nature there offers no shortcuts, but it offers enjoyment. The views from the heights were not an illusion, but a quiet confirmation that effort has meaning, even when it seeks no recognition. Days began with walking, a movement that leaves space for inner dialogue. Those morning steps were meant for personal reflection, for the feelings we carry, for the goals that matter to us, for the expectations we are slowly learning to leave behind. In that silence, the day was not planned, but accepted. 

From there, the artistic process unfolded naturally. Working with glass painting, clay, and jewelry-making was not directed toward the outcome, but toward the inner movement accompanying creation. The materials became extensions of states that required no explanation. In those moments, art was not just a form of expression, but a way of being present. 

The entire process was supported by the people with whom I shared this experience. Last year’s team Stefan, Ewelina, Selina, and Nikita was my first point of security in the unknown. This year, with Stefan, Ewelina, Mila, and Enes, that security manifested differently: as trust that does not need to be proven, but simply exists. A team dynamic that is felt. 

Bukowina Tatrzańska once again showed me that expectations rarely capture the full picture. That the unknown challenges us not because it is dangerous, but because it moves us. And that sometimes the most important thing we can do is allow the experience to shape us, without resistance. 

This is not a story about returning.
This is a testimony to continuity.
About how the same place can become proof that something within you has continued to grow. 

Finally, if one thing should remain after reading this text, let it be this greeting. To all participants from Poland and to the host organization, Europa Iuvenis, to Magda, Margarett, Julia, Anna, Marian, and all the others not mentioned here but who will always remain in my heart. Тhank you for once again turning the space into a place, and the place into a lasting memory. 

Until next time,
Anastasija Gjorgjievska