Where It All Began

From Couchsurfing to World Adventures

Let me take you on a journey—a universal journey for all the dreamers, travelers, and curious souls out there. This is the story of how a simple couchsurfing request sparked a lifelong friendship with my now traveling brother, Muammer, and how my wild student life in Berlin transformed into something much bigger. From those vibrant years of Couchsurfing to the moment when the audacious idea of traveling "80 Days Around the World Without Money" was born, this journey of preparation and discovery led us to the foot of the Eiffel Tower on September 9, 2014. Two young vagabonds, full of dreams and fears, stood ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime.

The Road Less Traveled: How One Encounter Can Change Everything 

Let’s rewind to the beginning. It’s 2008, and I’m standing on the edge of two worlds—my old life as a country boy, where the pace is slow and familiar, and the new world of Berlin, bursting with life, color, and possibility. I was 20 years old, fresh-faced, filled with curiosity, and ready for something bigger. My father and I had just moved my sister and me to the city, both of us setting out on new paths. I’ll never forget that moment—my father driving back home, calling me later in tears, overwhelmed by the emotions of leaving both his children behind in this sprawling metropolis. It’s a symbolic moment, that day when a parent watches their child leave, knowing that life will never be the same again.

For me, Berlin was a kaleidoscope of experiences. I came from a tiny village of 150 people—a world built on simplicity, creativity, and the unique lifestyle of my parents, who were artists and inventors of board games. But now I was in Berlin, a city that felt alive every hour of the day. I’d wake up each morning feeling like the city itself was an adventure, pulling me in with its endless possibilities. I had been accepted to both a circus school and an international business school at the same time. Circus school might have made more sense for someone like me—a juggler, literally and metaphorically—but in a rare moment of practicality, I chose business school, keeping my love for performing arts on the side as my passion.

By 2010, I was living in a sprawling flatshare in Nikolaiviertel, right in the heart of Berlin. My flatmates, Stephan—a graphic design student—and Alexander—a business student from Russia—were as adventurous as I was. We spent our days cycling across the city, climbing, playing beach volleyball, and throwing ourselves into the long, sun-soaked Berlin summers. Sixteen hours of daylight, endless parties, and the intoxicating feeling of freedom that came from knowing the world was at your feet. Berlin has this magic about it—it makes you feel like you’re traveling the world without ever leaving the city. Turkish barbers, Polish markets, African street food, yoga schools with endless varieties of practice—it was a cultural feast.

And then there was Couchsurfing.

Berlin was one of Couchsurfing’s most active hubs at the time. My first Couchsurfing meetup was at a local wine bar, where I was greeted by a mix of languages, laughter, and a deep sense of belonging. It was beautiful—this philosophy that “we’re not strangers, just friends who haven’t met yet.” I was hooked. I turned our 140-square-meter flatshare into a Couchsurfing paradise. Extra rooms, comfortable couches, even guest bikes for travelers to borrow. The world came to us—dreamers, travelers, storytellers from all walks of life. Each one brought their own unique energy, their own stories. And that’s the beauty of it—being in the presence of people who are deeply connected to their journey is invigorating. Their dreams, their fears, their passions—they become a part of you, shaping your own path in ways you can’t even imagine.

We hosted travelers every week, from all over the world. And then, one day, I received a message from a French-Turkish filmmaker named Muammer. His profile was a burst of color—photos from every corner of the world, each one a snapshot of human connection. He described himself as a journalist, a lover of life. I remember smiling as I read his message, noticing the spelling mistakes that mirrored my own. Without a second thought, I accepted his request.

 A few days later, I found myself standing at Alexanderplatz, under the World Clock, waiting for this stranger who would soon become my traveling brother. When Muammer arrived, it felt like the city itself came alive. His energy, his curiosity about life, was infectious. What followed was three days of wild adventures—too much vodka Red Bull, long walks through the city, endless laughter, and deep conversations. By the time he left, we both felt it—a sense that one day, we would do something big together. Something that would challenge us both, push us to the limits of what we thought was possible.

But for now, I had to return to my student life. 

I had a lot to learn still. My English was far from perfect, and I had this nagging sense that I needed to push myself further. So, in 2011, I packed a bag and set off on a solo backpacking trip across the United States. No smartphones, no Google Maps—just me, a backpack, and the open road. I landed in New York, only to discover that American Airlines had lost my luggage. But the universe works in funny ways—at the airport, I met two students from Harlem University who invited me into their world. For two months, I crossed the country, from coast to coast, mainly by Greyhound bus, staying with Couchsurfing hosts wherever I went. It was wild, authentic, raw. Each new city, each new host, brought new perspectives, new lessons. And that’s when I realized something profound: “Everyone knows something you don’t.” Every single person you meet on the road has something to teach you. The road itself is the ultimate teacher.

After returning to Berlin, my life fell into a rhythm—studying, working as a bike tour guide, hosting travelers, and traveling myself during every break. Couchsurfing took me everywhere—from the warm hospitality of Turkey to salsa dancing in Cuba, and everywhere in between. Life was an endless stream of experiences, each one more enriching than the last.

In 2012, I was looking for an internship, a requirement for my international business studies. That’s when I called Muammer again. We talked about an opportunity to go to the Canary Islands and make films for luxury hotels. It was tempting, but in the end, I chose a more traditional path—a tech company in Montreal, where I could practice my languages and gain more relevant experience for my studies. Once again, I chose reason over passion.

 Fast forward to 2013.

Muammer was still traveling, making ambitious documentary projects, mainly in Africa. He visited me in Berlin, bringing with him his new girlfriend, Kim, and a group of friends. I remember one evening vividly—Muammer sharing his insights from Africa. “I’ve learned to accept everything,” he said. “The weather, the delays, the setbacks—you can’t control them, so why fight them?” His words stuck with me.

By the end of that year, another life-changing encounter happened, this time thanks to a young Frenchman named Fabrice. We met at a Couchsurfing event, and eventually, we ended up living together in Montreal during one of the coldest winters I’ve ever experienced—minus 25 degrees, in a tiny red apartment in the Mile End. Fabrice had this beautiful tradition of celebrating New Year’s Eve with a small group of friends, taking time for introspection and setting intentions for the year ahead. That year, we hosted the celebration in my grandmother’s house in the south of France, and it was there that I met Guillaume Mouton, aka “Mouts,” an aspiring filmmaker and adventurer. Guillaume and his friend Nans had started a project where they traveled across the world, starting naked, with no money, and relying entirely on the kindness of strangers. Their boldness, their hunger for life, lit a spark in me. Suddenly, I began to see a new path—a journey that didn’t rely on money, but on human connection.

By early 2014, Muammer and I began

to talk more seriously about a big adventure together.  

He had always been inspired by Jules Verne’s *Around the World in 80 Days*, and with his relentless energy and love for fast-paced travel, the idea was born: “80 Days Around the World Without Money.” It was ambitious, audacious even. But we felt ready for it—or at least, almost ready. I was filled with doubts—I wasn’t a filmmaker, I had almost never hitchhiked before, and there were big questions about how we would cross countries like Iran and Pakistan, let alone entire oceans.

 We decided to do a test run, hitchhiking from Strasbourg to Berlin without money. It was exhilarating. For the first time, I found myself in front of the camera, stumbling through my words, trying to explain our mission. But we made it, and when we arrived in Berlin, Muammer edited a short film of the journey that very night. His ability to move fast, to get things done, blew me away. That’s when I realized—we were really doing this.

Over the next few months, everything accelerated.

We built a website, printed business cards, and Muammer worked tirelessly on communication and press outreach. I, on the other hand, let go of my old life. I sold almost everything I owned, gave away my furniture, and whittled my possessions down to a single backpack. I remember carrying everything down from my fifth-floor apartment, no elevator, sweating, but feeling lighter with every step. The process of letting go is fascinating—it’s more than just a physical act; it’s an emotional release, a shedding of old identities.

A week later, at Magic Mountain climbing space, I dropped my phone from 15 meters up, smashing it beyond repair. Instead of replacing it, I embraced the moment—no phone, no distractions. It was my final step toward minimalism, ready to face the road with nothing but the essentials. 

 Finally, on September 9, 2014,

we stood beneath the Eiffel Tower, two vagabonds with nothing but dreams and fears, ready to set off on the journey of a lifetime. And in that moment, as we took our first steps, I could feel it—that sense that everything big starts small. The universe really does conspire to help the bold.This journey, and all the ones before it, taught me that life isn’t about the destinations—it’s about the journey itself. It’s about the people you meet, the risks you take, the dreams you dare to follow. Every couchsurfing guest who stayed in our apartment, every conversation that sparked an idea, every moment of doubt—it all led to this.

As we traveled from country to country, relying on the kindness of strangers, I learned that the world is a far more generous place than we often believe. People opened their homes, shared their meals, and gave us a place to sleep, not because they had to, but because they wanted to be a part of something larger than themselves. It reminded me of the first Couchsurfing meetups in Berlin, of the philosophy that “we’re not strangers, just friends who haven’t met yet.” And time and time again, that proved true.

The lessons I’ve taken from

this journey are simple but profound:

 1. Everything big starts small.

That dream you’ve been holding onto? It doesn’t have to be fully formed.

Start where you are, with what you have, and trust that the path will unfold.

2. The road teaches you everything.

Whether you’re hitchhiking across countries or simply walking through life, the journey itself is the teacher. Be open to it.

3. The universe favors the bold.

When you step out of your comfort zone and take risks, the world responds.

People show up. Opportunities arise. Magic happens.

4. Human connection is the real currency.

In a world obsessed with money and material things,

it’s the connections you make, the kindness you give and receive, that truly matter.

And finally, let go of the things that hold you back. Whether it’s material possessions, old identities, or fear of the unknown, shedding what no longer serves you is the only way to move forward. Trust me, the lightness that comes with letting go is the fuel that will carry you further than you ever imagined.

As I look back on that journey—on the people we met, the places we saw, and the fears we overcame—

I can say with absolute certainty that this wasn’t just about traveling the world without money.

It was about discovering a new way of living. A way that’s rooted in trust, connection,

and the belief that the world is full of possibilities, if only you’re brave enough to take the first step.

So, wherever you are, whatever dream you’re holding onto, I urge you: start small, be bold, and trust in the journey.The road will take you exactly where you need to go.

If you still curious, here is a expert of our book

Day 30 – Wednesday, October 8t h , 2014

Zahedan – Meer Jawe, Iran

…We set off at the break of dawn on this thirtieth day of the adventure, leaving Reza and Amin in a parking

lot at the edge of the city. Given the number of trucks that pass by this point, we hope to be able to find a

driver to get to the border as soon as possible, but this is a hope that slowly ebbs away as the hours go by.

The vehicles are unmoving and their drivers don’t offer a single hint as to when they will depart, so we

decide to try hitchhiking along the edge of the road. The wind is kicking up the dust, and the heat of day is

starting to beat down on us. The truck that we believe is going to deliver us from this frustrating wait turns

out to be the just the beginning of an endless day.

The truck is turned back on, advances a few meters, and then turns around. We drive for several minutes

before we reach a checkpoint. In the beginning, we wonder if the driver wants to announce our presence to

the authorities, but we soon realize that he wants to turn us in at the police station. Once I understand his

intentions, I order him to stop, and luckily we get off next to a taxi station. Milan suggests that we still go

to the police station in order to signal our operation and to be escorted by the police themselves, if possible,

as we were advised to do by the two English professors in Zahedan. Milan is maybe not used to frequent

police checks, whereas I always avoid this kind of action, due to a fear of facing corrupt agents. Milan,

however, wins his case and we do as he suggests, however this first checkpoint is only the first of many.

As much as the procedures seem normal at first, it still takes us 12 hours to travel only 75 kilometers. It

is a question of safety, we are assured by the policemen. The representatives of the Iranian State would

rather escort us; the kidnapping of two Europeans would present a negative image of their country.

Twelve hours. Almost two dozen checks of our IDs and photographic equipment. Unending questions

left and right. Armed escorts. Six vehicles. Fifty mobilized troops. All of this punctuated by

misunderstandings brought about by the language barrier.

The wait, which sees us spending up to our hours in the same place, is hard to deal with. The stress and

the anguish we feel are paired with the inactivity and uncertainty that have colored our day. The presence

of weapons doesn’t help to calm us down, but the calm and sympathetic looks that the often young soldiers

give us are paradoxically reassuring. We feel hungry and thirsty, but we are not alone, as our military escorts

have the same needs as we do. The sun is striking, and the dusty wind is irritating to our throats. We squeeze

alongside the soldiers into the little bit of shade that a wall provides. Sitting on the ground on a thin mat,

we pass around the only bottle of water that we have in our possession. This is a moment of sharing that

soon turns into one of relaxation and of taking a few photos.

The desert landscape adds a dramatic and magnificent touch to this day. The sharp relief of the mountains

cut the sky, and the sand and dust swirl all the way to the horizon….