At the end of January, Lukáš and I headed on a trip to Riga, Latvia. It probably wasn't the best time to visit — it was freezing cold and rainy — but Riga has its charm even in the worst weather.

Two ten-year-old girls ran up to me. "Got a cigarette?" The cute blue eyes of the blonde girl certainly didn't match any stereotype about socially excluded families. This isn't a world of stereotypes — this is reality. Defaulters don't come in a designated skin colour, hair colour, or eye colour. They're simply defaulters.

Hotel Condor seemed to be the only oasis of civilisation for miles around. Oravita turned out to be a town where nothing exists. (Lesson learned: pointing at a map and saying "we can sleep here because it's halfway to point Y" is not an ideal way to plan a trip.)

I can't stop smiling. We caught this disease the moment we landed. The corners of our mouths shot up and settled there as if it were their natural position. Welcome to St. John's, Newfoundland — a land where happy living isn't just a concept, it's a way of life.

A pepper seller waves at me. "What are you doing?" "The gentleman wants a photo with the peppers." We wander through a fruit and vegetable market in a grimy town called Targu Jiu, which either had its glory days long ago — or never had them at all.

On the road from Pitesti to Targu Jiu, I noticed it for the first time. We were driving through villages that were essentially rows of houses lined up along the main road – no centre, no village square, nothing that visually defines a village. We wondered why there were no side streets – everyone lived on the main road. But we soon understood why.