peoplestory-fireboy

FIREBOY

There was a moment in Luang Prabang when Albert picked up a fire staff. The flame was lit. The air around him shifted. He smiled, that kind of smile you can't fake, the one that just comes naturally when you are doing exactly what you're meant to be doing. Fire isn't even his biggest passion. Yet in that precise moment, something lit up inside him too. Something that felt remarkably like who he really was. Like fire, travel can't be understood from afar; you have to step closer, risk getting burned, to discover what it can truly give you.

Albert grew up in Barcelona. As a boy, he often traveled with his family, safaris in Africa were a highlight; he loved watching the elephants and lions, but being so young, he always felt a slight hint of boredom. All he wanted was the hotel Wi-Fi, a plate of pasta alla carbonara, and his phone screen. Maybe he just wasn't ready for true discovery yet.

A few years later, after graduating from a culinary school, he took on several wonderful work experiences. For a while, he landed a job in one of Barcelona's top Michelin-starred restaurants. It had been his dream ever since he started studying cooking. He had made it. Eager to gain experience abroad and learn new cuisines, he eventually left Spain, working in France and finally ending up in Iceland. It was right there, after some time, that something inside him went out. Every day was the same. Monotonous. Burnout set in, and with it, the desire for change.

Leaving that job wasn't easy; he cried when he did. He told his chef, "I'm probably the person who loves this job the most, and I'll be the one who misses it the most." Having closed that chapter, he began to think about his future.

He returned to Barcelona, and in his family garage, he saw his father's old bicycle. Albert had known it his whole life; as a child, he used to look at it and think it was huge, completely out of reach. The first time he managed to ride it, he was 14. He felt so grown up. Perhaps partly inspired by that sweet, nostalgic feeling, he realized he wanted to embark on a long journey in the saddle, starting from Asia. So, he bought a one-way ticket to Indonesia. It wasn't the right bike, any professional cyclist would have called him crazy, given the wrong tires and an awkward geometry for long distances. But it was that bike. And he wanted it that way. After all, determination is what matters most.

The bike was named Vicenta, after his dear great-grandmother. It was covered in trinkets collected along the way: small pieces of coral from his favorite beach in Koh Tao, Thailand, where two years earlier he had spent a month with his best friend, a trip he holds fond memories of; a yellow chick named Yellow, given to him by a hostel owner who had kept it for fifteen years (on the very first day, Albert almost broke it, as he used to do with almost everything gifted to him, but Yellow held on); a funny rubber chicken named Robert, which doubled as a horn when needed; and a faded photo of himself on his grandmother's sofa, worn by the sun of the road.

On October 4th, he left Bali. On the first day, he covered only 50 kilometers and thought, "If I go this slow, it's going to take forever." But every day brought something new waiting for him, a new road, new places, new people. And that was enough, every single day, to get back on the pedals.

In Indonesia, he stayed with a local family who gave him room and board for several days. In that house, he met Saka, a sweet five-year-old boy who was constantly walking around with Albert's camera in hand. He would take random photos, play with the light, and laugh. He is one of the people Albert misses most from his travels. All that kindness he received along the way sparked a reflection: he wasn't sure if someone had come to his home in Barcelona, whether he would have known how to do the same.

Riding long daily distances, stray dogs were the only thing that truly terrified him, especially in Thailand, where they were often aggressive, fast, and unpredictable. Albert came up with his own method to outsmart them: he would wait for the dogs to reach an obstacle, a river, a wall, or simply for them to give up, then turn around and yell, “Tonto, tonto!”. He still laughs thinking about it. On days without dogs, he actually started to miss them. They had become part of the game.

Because that's just who Albert is: he handles everything with irony and a sense of humor. The exhaustion, the unexpected setbacks, the chasing dogs, and likely any future hardships too. It's not a calculated strategy; it's simply his way of looking at and interacting with the world. And perhaps, it was the most underrated secret before this journey began.

A few years before setting off, during one of his previous trips to Thailand, fire literally entered his life. One evening, he saw a girl spinning a staff through the air, slow, fluid, precise. He watched her, completely mesmerized. He asked her to teach him, and that's where he started practicing. Later, he met a professional mentor who taught him a few tricks and told him, "Keep going, you've got something."

From then on, the fire staff became part of the journey, not the main star, just a beautiful addition. In Thailand, he did a few street performances with other artists; people would stop, watch happily, and cheer. He often says clearly that despite enjoying it, it isn't his main passion.

Yet there's a paradox in all of this. When Albert holds the staff, lights the fire, and turns on his speaker, something shifts. In his eyes even before his hands, you can sense total lightheartedness, absolute presence, and an involuntary smile. A burning fire is unpredictable, it can ignite and go out in a second; it fascinates and scares at the same time; it can hurt, but with the right lightness, it can become something else entirely. Albert, without knowing it, is made of the very same element: unpredictable, curious, capable of lighting up and fading out in a heartbeat. Fire might not be his biggest hobby, but it is a natural, honest mirror he sees himself in.

Long journeys bring deep introspective thoughts, and during a month-long break in Luang Prabang, one thing became clear: Albert feels changed. He notices it most through his photographs. He is more confident, more aware of what he is capable of. He never expected to get this far on a bike, and whatever comes from this exact point onward will have already exceeded his initial expectations.

When it comes to freedom, his ideas are clear yet complex. Traveling and doing whatever you want is the closest thing to freedom he knows. But he believes that one day, returning to a routine will be necessary. To him, true freedom comes from within. If you are free on the inside, you are free. The real limits are mental and spiritual, not physical. He isn't afraid of going back. What he wants is to feel comfortable wherever he is. He even admits, with a laugh, that he misses a weekly routine a little bit.

Now, Albert is pedaling north. Luang Prabang is already behind him. China awaits, then Nepal, where a special person, his mother, will join him. The journey will then continue through India, the Middle East, and Greece, though it all depends on how much energy he has left down the road. No rigid plans. He builds everything along the way, day by day, visa by visa.

He has already envisioned the final leg many times: a 7-kilometer road in his hometown heading toward the main square, the very same route he used to ride as a kid with his father, which felt like a massive challenge back then. His two grandmothers will be waiting for him there. Maybe some friends. Maybe a barbecue.

His advice to anyone who wants to take a similar trip but is afraid is simple: do it for yourself, not for others. You don't need to have everything meticulously planned out. Every problem has a solution; what matters most is your determination in what you want to do.

If you ask him to describe the journey in a single word, Albert thinks about it for a long moment. He smiles and first says "Spicy." Then he discards it. Finally, he finds the right one: authenticity.

Not because the trip has been perfect so far. Not because there haven't been tough moments, heavy days, or endless stretches under the scorching sun. But because everything on the road becomes more real, more tangible, more genuine. Saka with the camera, Yellow who survived fifteen years, Robert the horn-chicken, the fire staff, the dogs in Thailand. And who knows how many more emotions lie ahead.

Like fire, travel can burn you. But just as Albert learned, the secret isn't avoiding getting burned, the secret is smiling while it happens. It is always worth the try.

PHOTO GALLERY