In March 2018 I moved to Limassol. Back then I explained at length why I moved to Cyprus: the weather, the sea, the clean air, a state that treats entrepreneurs fairly. Two years ago I also took stock of life in Cyprus after six years. I do not want to repeat that. This time I am interested in something else.
Eight years in, I have realised I do not really live in Cyprus. Nor in Romania. I live in between. My base is at home in Limassol, and a large share of my projects are in Bucharest. This in-between life has its own rules, its own pleasures and its own kind of tiredness. That is what this piece is about.
Romanian abroad, a guest at home
The first surprise was identity. In Cyprus I am obviously the foreigner. A welcome one, in an open society, but still a foreigner: I speak English at the bank and with my accountant, and my Greek stops at a few polite phrases. And, oddly, I have never felt more Romanian anywhere else. When you are far away, you notice what you brought with you without knowing it: the humour, the knack for getting by, the stubbornness to make things work.
In Romania, on the other hand, I have become a bit of a guest. I know the city, but I no longer know all the small changes. I find out about a new street or a new rule on the go. Friends ask “how long are you staying?” rather than “how are you?”. At first it bothered me. Now I think it is the honest price of a choice I would make again: to be slightly foreign in both places, at home in neither and in both at the same time.
Children between two cultures
The biggest question was family. My wife, our daughter and our son live here, and the children are growing up between two worlds. At home we speak Romanian; outside, it is English and Greek. Their friends come from all sorts of countries. For them, having classmates of five nationalities is normal, not exotic.
What we try to do is not let them lose Romania. The language, the holidays, the grandparents, the summers there. Not as a duty, but as part of who they are. I do not have a recipe and I doubt one exists. I only know that a child growing up between cultures gains flexibility and curiosity, but needs roots planted on purpose. Roots do not grow by themselves.
Friendships across distance
When I left, I said the only thing I missed about Romania was my friends. That is still true. What I have learned since is that long-distance friendships are not kept alive by messages. They are kept alive by presence, even if it is occasional. One dinner in Bucharest is worth more than a month of WhatsApp.
So my trips to Romania have two agendas: one for business and one for people. The second is as important as the first, and I have learned to plan both with the same seriousness. The good news: in Limassol I have also made new friends, from countries I used to know only from the map.
Flights, calendars and remote teams
The practical side is less romantic. Life between two countries is mostly logistics. Here is what works for me:
- The calendar is king. I group my Bucharest meetings into the same few days, so one trip covers as much as possible. Anything that does not need a physical presence stays online.
- The clock matters. Cyprus and Romania share the same time zone, which makes daily collaboration very easy. A small detail with a big effect.
- Flights are planned early. On an island, every journey means a plane. Direct flights are not always at a convenient time, so flexibility gets built weeks in advance.
- Teams need rhythm, not supervision. I have worked with Romanian teams for years. As I wrote about splitting my time between three countries, trust and clear goals beat any daily report.
AI Expo Europe happens in Bucharest. Joylo, the startups I advise and most of the people I build things with are there. My base is in Cyprus, but a good part of my work is in Romania. And honestly, I think it is a good combination.
What each country taught me about the other
Distance helps you see more clearly. From Cyprus, I started to appreciate things about Romania I used to take for granted: the energy, the speed, the talent. People in Romanian teams solve problems fast, improvise well and do not scare easily. Few places pack so much initiative per square metre.
From Romania, I learned to appreciate the calm of Cyprus. The pace here forced me to slow down, to stop turning everything into an emergency, to leave time for family and for the sea. At first it felt slow. Now I think it is a form of health.
And yes, red tape exists in both. In Romania I lived with the unpredictable kind; in Cyprus, with the slow but predictable kind. Neither is a model. If I could take the best of each, I would pick the digital services and speed of Bucharest and the predictable rules of Nicosia.
Romania seen from the outside, eight years on
Perhaps the biggest change I have seen over these eight years is not in Cyprus but in Romania. Seen from a distance, the country has grown more confident. The tech ecosystem looks different: more founders who think globally from day one, more experience, more exits and more nerve. When we run events in Bucharest, I feel a maturity I saw less often ten years ago.
There is another detail that is far from small for someone living between two countries: since 1 January 2025, Romania has been a full member of the Schengen area (the EU zone without internal border checks). Cyprus is not in Schengen yet, so passport control has not disappeared on my route, but Romania has moved symbolically closer to the centre of Europe. What matters to me is the signal: a country no longer waiting at the door.
I am not idealising it. The familiar problems are still there: instability, taxes that change too often, a state that still lags behind its people. But the gap between the energy of the people and the slowness of the institutions no longer looks like fate. It looks like a problem to be solved.
What home means now
For a long time I thought home was a place. Now I think it is more of a network: the place where my children sleep, the city where my friends are, the people I build things with. Close to 50, as I said when I wrote about being an entrepreneur at 49, I no longer feel the need to choose.
Home is Limassol, with its sea and its calm. Home is also Bucharest, with its energy and my people. I have learned not to make them compete. Each gives me something the other does not.
How do you live with this? If you are also living “in between” two countries, what does home mean to you now?