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Facebook, Twitter and FourSquare — Dani works for a Spanish marketing company that specialises in social media. It's on the cutting edge of marketing in a world where print media and increasingly 'traditional' digital media is no longer able to give advertisers bang for their buck.

Of course, Dani is a social media user himself. On the day we met he was in shock; one of his tweets (a picture of a chunky Haley Joel Osment with the text "News of the day: child of 'The Sixth Sense' has eaten all the dead") had gone ballistic. A local sports commentator had retweeted it, which in turn snowballed into thousands more retweets, making Dani one of the most read Twitterers in Spain — at least for a few hours. Such is the fickle work of social media.

"It's stupid — if I tweet something serious, no one pays attention. I normally tweet about music and bands that I like."

"I've been using Facebook and Twitter since they first started. Compared to some of the older people I manage I'm a 'specialist', but I'm not really — they [social media platforms] just make sense to me. But working with social media isn't something I want to do forever."

His plan: work hard and save up the money to move to Argentina and study. "Here in Spain we are always saying that we don't like Argentinian people – we joke that they talk too much and you can't get a word in! But I like them. They are happy people."

I caught up with Dani again for some bar hopping in Madrid's classy Malasaña district; full of boutique cafes that turn into drinking hotspots at night, it is one of the most desirable areas to live in Madrid. "If I could live anywhere, it would be here" Dani said as we trotted about the cobblestone streets. Sol, Madrid's cultural heart, and it's surrounding areas have been overrun by tourists, and once affordable accommodation has been turned into hotels and 'hostals'. Like many young Spaniards, Dani lives with family in the suburbs and commutes to work each day.
Beer slipped into wine, wine into gin and the conversation slipped into the metaphysical. We starting talking about spirituality, mortality and where we go when we die. Dani opposed my view that there is absolutely nothing after death (something I find hopeful and beautiful in its own way) and he spoke about a hallucination he had a few weeks earlier: "There were dozens of windows, and I chose many of them but I only remember one. There was a tunnel, and I felt a feeling about my mother, her love for me when I was just a baby — it was beautiful. This is the place I know I will go to when I die so I'm not scared of death."

I asked Dani to draw a map of the world, his world. He spoke about America still being one of the most influential countries, but he chose to make the African continent the centre and the biggest. "It's where everyone has come from, but now it's been forgotten. It is the poorest continent and it is the one that we don't think about enough."

Dani is working on a couple of projects to raise money for charities in Africa. The first is part of his marketing job, where he is working with Save the Children (www.savethechildren.org) to build a Facebook app that lets people make micro donations through a 'game' where you match first world daily expenses, like the cost of a coffee, with a donation of the same value. "It's about making the connection between what we might think of as so little, and how it can be so much to poorer people". The second is a personal project to raise €90 million for north African countries in 90 days — www.90n90d.com

It felt strange talking to him about helping poorer countries while Spain teeters (along with a majority of Europe) on the edge of economic armageddon. But I couldn't see any evidence of problems in the streets around me. Instead I saw a vibrant city that genuinely never sleeps, bars so full that patrons stood out in the cold air drinking, and lots of big Spanish smiles. Perhaps it's a case of the Spanish not wearing their problems on their sleeves, or perhaps when you have this much history, culture, such strong connections with your family and such good senses of humour, that abstract ideas like economics can't really put a dent in your love for life.

I met Deák while exploring the old city in Split, Croatia. It was Sunday and she had set up her shop in one of the gates of the old palace, perhaps like traders had done hundreds of years before.

Spread out in front of her were dozens of spiraling and detailed designs on postcards, pictures and books - all done by hand in beautiful pen and colour. Her work was like a cross between the doodles you do while on the phone, and the epic reliefs seen in the old city around us.

We chatted for a while, sharing sultanas and feeling the day warm up. She had been on the road for months traveling Europe, searching out forests to inspire her art. She made enough money selling to support herself, but returned home to Budapest when she needed a break from the road. A true modern day gypsy.

I bought postcards for my nephew and nieces: one showing bacteria dancing along cavity ridden teeth, another showing carrots being nurtured by bugs and worms, and the last a playful aquatic scene. "Choose one for you too, anyone you want, it's free". I chose a hypnotic black and white design that made me think of something from my teenage years. Deák was living a life part of me had always dreamt about: art, travel and a zen like simplicity. I admired and envied her.

I was excited to ask her to draw a map of her world. She absorbed herself in the task and took her time. She was silent as she sketched away, and then said "Where is your home? I will put a flag at your home and a flag at mine so you will always know where I am". For a moment it felt like the map was alive (like that sneaky map from Harry Potter) and I could see a myriad of footprints where Deák had been traveling the globe.

Over the following week I bumped into her a lot, either selling at her shop or in cafes with other travelers. She was always quiet, humble and had a nervous laugh. She listened more than she spoke, and when she did speak her words were considered and kind. While I was staying in hostels, she was couch surfing day by day, never really sure where she would sleep next. She seemed happy to take her chances.

The last time I saw Deák it was my final night in Split. It was late, freezing and the Bora wind was blowing hard. I was walking home through the old city and found Deák huddled with her belongings under a lamppost. "I'm deciding what to do tonight. I have a place to stay, I'm just not sure if I want to". Confident in her travel experience, I gave her a hug and we said our goodbyes.

The next morning I got up early to catch a bus, and on my way to the station I found Deák's pack alone near one of the empty palace buildings. I sat by it for a while hoping she would return, but she hadn't. Everything looked in order (the bags weren't opened or in disarray) so I left her a note and headed off. I hoped she was ok and warm, and that she wouldn't have to spend too many nights outside in the approaching winter.

I can visit you by boat
I can come to you by ship
I can be there by plane
But life can't be navigated
like seas and oceans

Burning brightly
A dull roar
Nothing more

Used the word love
Bora wind
Muted
Pebble beach
Muted
Taste of salt
Muted

Used the word stay
But he left the same day