Author: Marnix van der Lijn

#throwback – June 4, 2024

As strange as the place seemed, surrounded by all that felled wood, it’s wonderful here. The sun filters through the trees, and the strong scent of wood continues to enchant me. I sniff to my heart’s content. Around noon, after some writing and daydreaming, I head toward Söderköping.

The trail follows the Göta Canal, with its many locks. A serious difference in height needs to be bridged here, and it’s fascinating to see the locks lined up like steps in a staircase. As a Dutchman, I’ve seen plenty of locks in my life, of course—but I still find them beautiful. Such an outstanding example of craftsmanship. At one of the locks, I have an extended lunch at a picnic table, thinking about times long past—how the canal was dug, how the locks were built. To be honest, I can’t picture it properly. All I know is that it must have taken a massive amount of manual labor, without the techniques we have today.

Söderköping is a lovely, welcoming little town, with a town square, charming streets, and colorful buildings. The ice cream shop on the square is doing well. People are dressed for summer and full of good cheer. One of the streets is decorated with flower-shaped spheres—truly stunning, and the contrast with the steel-blue sky is phenomenal.

I would have loved to stay much longer in Söderköping, but I still need to walk a bit further to get away from the houses and find a quiet spot for the night. From the 30%-off bin at the supermarket, I pick up burgers and vegetables. I am Dutch, after all—even if I feel like a citizen of the world.

At the end of a dead-end road, I finally find a place to camp. It’s hard to find a patch of ground where I can actually get my tent pegs into the soil, but eventually I manage. No rocks or stones this time—just rock-hard clay.

#throwback – June 3, 2024

I sleep wonderfully in the roadside grass again. In fact, I’ve been struck by how well I sleep on this entire journey. Not that I never wake up during the night, but everything feels so peaceful and natural. Even waking up in the middle of the night feels that way. Every morning, I wake up completely rested, even though I usually rise very early and don’t sleep that many hours. Around eleven I set off, and not even two kilometers later, I feel hungry and eager to sit down again. And I can give in to that! I never could have done that “before.” I’d have thought it was ridiculous—who takes a break so soon again? But now it makes me feel proud. I even take the time to unfold my little chair and properly enjoy the moment. It feels so good to listen to your feelings and your true needs, no matter how odd they might seem. I feast on some bread rolls, my apple, the sunshine and the view. This was the only right decision. Period.

Water management fails me today. I used up the last of it with my morning coffee, and I don’t come across a single water source on the way. I pass a few farms, but there’s no one around to ask, and no outdoor taps in sight. A box of cherry tomatoes saves me—still 95% water, after all. I always thought “cherry tomato” was a silly word, but now it makes perfect sense. They taste like the sweetest candy and quench my thirst. Not having died of dehydration, I’m lucky enough to pass a church with a graveyard, where I can refill my water and cook my hot meal among the violets.

At my camping spot, I can indulge in sniffing to my heart’s content. Some people sniff glue, others cocaine—I sniff wood. My God, it smells amazing. I’ve pitched my tent in a half-cleared forest and I’m fully immersed in the pleasure of fragrant, fallen nature.

#throwback – June 2nd, 2024

In the middle of the night, around 1:30 AM, I wake up with a jolt. I hear people walking past my tent. It’s Saturday, and it turns out to be a group of teenagers who’ve decided to hang out on the viewpoint above. Fortunately, there’s nothing going on — they’re just chatting cheerfully, and by the sound of it, there’s no alcohol involved. Once the adrenaline fades, I fall back asleep after about twenty minutes.

In the morning, I eat my breakfast at the picnic table. I also write for a while, watch the birds, and let my thoughts drift. What a lovely way to wake up, and what a dream of a desk I have once again. I feel deeply happy.

The route that follows is a sharp contrast to the peaceful start of the day. I walk long stretches through industrial zones and alongside a busy road. At the end of the day, I discover that there was an alternative route — the one in the Swedish app Naturkartan was incorrect. Still, I happen to pass an Intersport where I manage to buy a new gas canister. A lucky accident, since I had almost run out.

When I arrive in the centre of Linköping, it’s so warm that I stick to the shady sides of the streets. It feels like Spain. The cathedral is covered in scaffolding, but inside it’s stunning — and pleasantly cool. Pride Month has begun, and rainbow flags are flying inside the church — as they should.

Sitting outside on a bench, eating an apple, I suddenly hear singing. The choir has started its rehearsal. It sounds beautiful, but what makes it even more special is how much fun they’re clearly having. There’s lots of laughter, and it’s a joy to watch the conductor gesture when something’s off and show how she wants it redone.

Much later than planned, I continue walking — not that it matters. It stays light for a long time here, and there’s still plenty of time to find a place to camp. I eventually settle in a grassy roadside spot in the countryside, overlooking some farms and fields.

You won’t hear me complain.

#throwback – June 1st, 2024

By seven in the morning, it’s already so warm in my tent that I have to unzip it for some fresh air. I truly love silence, but every now and then, I feel like listening to music. Often, it’s to amplify a certain emotion I’m already feeling. The music moves me. It even brings tears. All I feel is gratitude.

I’m travelling alone, but I feel completely surrounded and unconditionally supported by my friends — what an incredible gift that is. I think about them often, and they feel so very present. More than ever, I realize how important they are to me, and that with them, I can truly be myself — with all my quirks and edges.

Meanwhile, little boats are passing by, and unlike most people I meet on the road, they all greet me. A cheerful English captain even calls out from his sailboat, asking if I slept well. I’m still lying in my tent, sipping coffee and looking out over the water. And yes — I slept wonderfully. Exceptionally, even.

This intense feeling of happiness and gratitude stays with me all day. Gratitude for my friends, my children, my family, my ex, my colleagues — and for the life I live now. While some cows and calves look on, I set up my “kitchen” for the day. It’s such an idyllic little spot that it only intensifies my mood.

Suddenly, I get a kind of vision about what this journey of mine is really about. It’s still too early and too tender to put into words — the idea needs to sink in first. But wow, it fills me with joy and excitement.

Not long after, a wave of sleepiness hits me. And yes — there’s a bench waiting for me. I take a midday nap. Just because I can. And to top it all off, I sleep in a nature reserve that night, near a birdwatching point, and am once again gifted a spectacular sunset.

This day? A perfect ten.

#throwback – May 31, 2024

I wake up very early because I need to pee. I’m annoyed, but as soon as I unzip my tent, the frustration vanishes — what a beautiful sunrise. I doze off again, then treat myself to fried eggs with bacon. I was really craving it, and it tastes even better because of that.

I don’t read or watch the news, but still, through Instagram stories from people I follow, I keep seeing the word “Rafah.” I only know Rafa as a Spanish boy’s name and have no idea what it’s about — until I read what’s going on. My stomach turns. The world can be so utterly disgusting. Suddenly I wonder: is it okay to do what I’m doing, ignoring the news and focusing only on myself? The suffering hits me deeply. Am I being selfish? Am I, in some way, contributing to all this horror? Should I be out protesting instead? It lingers in my mind for quite a while. The thought keeps gnawing at me in the background.

After a beautiful walk across a boardwalk path, I eat without cooking — in a cemetery, of all places. Super convenient this time: some delicious bites I bought yesterday at a little Lebanese shop. While I’m there, I text and video chat with my daughter for a good while. I’m so proud of her. It’s not for me to share her plans, but one thing’s clear: she’s going to help make the world a better place. Her plans are concrete and well thought-out. It’s amazing that she’s committing herself to that, driven by her own inner motivation.

After a quick stop at a supermarket in Borensberg, I continue walking along the canal. The air is heavy — I wouldn’t be surprised if a thunderstorm rolled in. Before half past eight, I pitch my tent with a view of the canal. Nice and early, and I still have plenty of time to enjoy the sunset and the surprisingly lovely weather.

#throwback – May 30, 2024

I wake up, quickly eat my Gräddfil with muesli, and hit the trail. Coffee can wait — first I need to get out of these bushes. I brew a cup later on, at a disc golf course, where I discover a new sport I never knew existed. The trail is beautiful, and the sun is doing its best. I feel grateful — for the life I’m living now, for my children, and for all the beautiful friendships. A deep sense of happiness washes over me.

Motala comes into view, and I visit the town’s church. A striking detail: a sailing ship hanging from the ceiling, prominently on display. I stroll through the town and park, when a young woman approaches me and asks if I’m Dutch. I’m a bit surprised — do I look Dutch? “No,” she says, “I heard your app say you need to turn right in 35 meters.” I laugh — my Komoot app is giving me exact walking instructions. She works at a restaurant and tells me she was tired of life in the Netherlands. Since April, she’s been living in Sweden — and loving it.

I continue walking along the Göta Canal — a 190-kilometre waterway that opened in 1832. After a few kilometres I sit down at a picnic table and prepare my meal, watching boats pass by and people taking a dip in the water. Not much further down the path, I find the perfect camping spot. It’s still early, but I don’t want to risk ending up with nothing again. The spot is gorgeous — a jetty, a soft grassy field, and a view to die for. What more could anyone want?

At one point, a hiker passes by. It’s the second time I see him — he passed by earlier in the opposite direction. His name is Peter, and he’s in the process of starting a business that promotes walking. A few years ago, he and his wife took up long-distance hiking and experienced such physical and mental benefits that they now want to encourage others to do the same. He’s fascinated by my story and asks if he can record a short video of me. To my own surprise, I respond enthusiastically: “Yes, of course!” And honestly — I think I did quite well. When you’re talking about your passion, it just flows.

All in all, today more than makes up for yesterday’s camping fiasco. Life is good.