A Perfect Ten

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#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.

Looking back – May 2024

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#throwback – May 2024

ROUTE

Amsterdam – Copenhagen – Malmö – Borensberg

  • From Amsterdam to Copenhagen by Flixbus
  • From Copenhagen to Malmö by train
  • From Malmö to Borensberg on foot. This stretch covers a large part of the Swedish pilgrimage route: the St. Birgitta Ways

NUMBER OF KILOMETERS WALKED IN MAY

682 km
Maximum distance walked in a day: 32 km
Minimum distance walked in a day: 14.5 km
Days not walking: 2

  • May 1st: on the bus from Amsterdam to Copenhagen
  • May 10th: stayed in a hotel due to a knee injury

OVERNIGHT STAYS

1 x on a bus
3 x in a hotel
2 x in a shelter
25 x in my tent

EXPENSES

Public transport: €73.01
Hotels: €123.60
Restaurants: €18.89
Groceries: €10.32 per day

Total: €535.42

WEATHER

Fantastic. A total of 9 hours of rain, of which 3.5 hours were heavy showers—luckily, I was dry in a bus shelter. 2.5 hours of rain while walking, the rest fell at night. During the first week, nights were still quite cold, around 4°C. During the day it was fresh but great for walking. Later in the month, temperatures rose, with some days well above 20°C.

MOOD

Only good vibes! The first 10 days I felt euphoric. Proud that I finally hit the road and dared to take this step. In the beginning, I was still very much in my head and occasionally caught up in worries. That lasted for about 20 days—after that, I could let go. I hardly worry anymore and just see what comes my way. I notice I’m like a diesel engine: I start slow, but once I get going, I can walk for hours. I start late in the day and usually walk until sunset (around 10 p.m. or even later). I experience moments of deep joy, sometimes even moving me to tears. I feel alive, grateful, and truly blessed.

LOW POINTS

I honestly don’t experience any. Sure, there are setbacks, but I don’t even want to call them that. I had a minor accident with my knee, and my response was simply: “Oh well, I’ll have to adjust my plans.” It turned out to be a blessing: I had time to dive into Instagram and start writing my journals—mainly for myself, to remember what I’ve been through. As it turns out, many people enjoy traveling along with me. The second setback was a technical issue with my cart, but I was so sure it would be fixed that it didn’t feel like a low point at all.

HIGHLIGHTS

Every single day is a highlight. I’m loving the nature, the peace, and the (inner) journey. Sweden is a country I’d never visited before—but now I’m in love!

Terrible news seeps through

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#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.

My First Interview

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#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.

Disillusionment at the end of the pilgrimage route

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#throwback – May 29, 2024

Soft rain falls during the night — such a lovely sound to fall asleep to. I find four ticks. Ugh. I’m so glad I got vaccinated against the tick-borne virus that circulates here — different from the Lyme disease bacteria we have in the Netherlands, for which there’s unfortunately no vaccine. Still, you have to stay alert, every single day.

In Örberga, I find a beautiful little church and a public toilet, where I take the time to wash myself properly. But I end up leaving my hiking poles behind. Grrr. A few kilometres later I realise it and have to go back. At the next church I stop for lunch — it’s still early, but I’m starving again. I eat three rye crispbreads with mackerel. They taste amazing. While I’m sitting there, I start chatting with a German cyclist, Ulrich, who spontaneously offers me a place to stay if I’m ever near Lingen, just across the Dutch border near Enschede. Such a kind gesture — I just need to call a day in advance.

Then I arrive in Vadstena, where I hope my new frame is waiting at the post office. And yes — there it is! Success! I’m so happy. Big thanks once again to Radical Design for the excellent service. I’m ready to hit the road again!

The monastery in Vadstena is a letdown — and it’s closed too. I had expected more, especially since this is the official end of the pilgrimage route, the St. Birgitta Ways. You imagine something like Santiago de Compostela… but no, nothing like it. A pity. On the other hand, the castle is beautiful, and there’s an exhibition of vintage cars along the moat.

Then comes the real challenge: finding a place to sleep. I’m now in a populated area, and there’s nowhere to go. After walking 32 km, I end up pitching my tent in the bushes beside a highway and a railway line. It’s nearly dark — meaning around 11 p.m. Not ideal, and the place is swarming with mosquitoes, but it’s my only option. That said, I sleep wonderfully.

Panic attack

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#throwback – May 28, 2024

I wake up in the sunshine and, for my standards, I set off early. The frame of my cart has now completely broken — I tape the pieces together and plan a route along paved roads, avoiding the forest trails. At a scenic viewpoint, I spot a van with Spanish plates. It turns out to be the home of Tania and Pablo from @patas_traveling. They’ve embraced vanlife with passion. After working hard for eight months in Galicia, they’re now travelling through Scandinavia until October. Their previous journey was through the Balkans. Their dog has clearly had a long walk and is totally crashed out in the van — doesn’t even look up when I pass. What a lovely encounter. We agree to keep following each other’s journeys.

I see a sign pointing to a viewpoint, 200 metres into the forest. I leave my Wheelie by the roadside and head into the greenery. Then panic strikes: I’ve left my Wheelie unattended! The zippers can be locked, and I have a cable lock to secure it — why didn’t I use them? I tell myself not to overreact. I’ve only seen two people all day, so what are the odds? I walk on. After 200 metres I see nothing. Nor after 400. On my app I realise I’ve gone the wrong way. Panic rises — without my gear, this entire adventure falls apart. I walk/run back. My Wheelie is still there in the sun, untouched. The relief is immense. I lock everything up and head to the viewpoint after all. There’s nothing to see. No view — but a great insight: never again!

The landscape becomes more rural, and I’m walking straight into a strong headwind. Suddenly, a huge animal crosses the road — a wolverine! (the picture is not mine) Wow, that’s rare! I hear thunder and see lightning, but I get lucky: only ten minutes of rain. I find a beautiful camping spot near a lake, where I cook dinner and video call my son for his 23rd birthday. So good to see and talk to him — I’m incredibly grateful for today’s technology!

Pouring rain

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#throwback – May 27, 2024

In my little shelter, I hear the steady tapping on the roof—it’s raining! Luckily, the weather radar says it won’t last too long. I’m hungry, so I make the most of having a dry spot with a roof over my head. I fry some eggs and brew two rounds of coffee.

Then my phone rings—right on time. It’s Radical Design, the manufacturer of my Wheelie cart, calling to let me know when the spare parts will arrive. Yesterday I gave them the address of the post office I hope to reach on Wednesday. The package is being shipped via FedEx, but there’s no FedEx location in that town, only a regular post office that also acts as a DHL pickup point. Turns out, Radical tried calling the post office to confirm someone would accept the package, but nobody there speaks English. So then they reached out to the pilgrim association in Vadstena—no luck there either. Finally, they got hold of someone at the local campground. She promised to call the post office and explain in Swedish that they really needed to accept the delivery. I’m impressed by how much effort Radical Design put in to make sure the new frame gets to the right place. They even added stickers on the box with instructions in Swedish. What a service—so much care and heart for their customers. Chapeau!

By 10 a.m., the rain stops, and less than half an hour later the sky is a perfect blue. Since my cart can’t handle rough terrain anymore, I stick to paved roads, which luckily works out fine. Around 11:30, I arrive in Ödeshög, a village with a square featuring a giant sculpture made of spheres. No idea what it’s supposed to mean, but it’s definitely… noticeable. And ugly!

The weather quickly takes a turn—dark clouds roll in, and I can already see rain and lightning in the distance. There’s no way I’ll stay dry today. A grumpy man smoking on the square tells me I look like a horse with my cart. I laugh—well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Noble creature, right?

Just after admiring some Bronze Age rock carvings, the sky suddenly opens up—it’s like someone dumped a whole bucket of water over me. It happens so fast I don’t even have time to put on my rain gear. But then, not even a hundred meters ahead—I spot a big, spacious bus shelter. And that’s where I end up staying for the next three and a half hours. The rain pours down endlessly, but I’m dry, I’ve changed into warm clothes, and I’m perfectly fine. I read a little, snack a bit, text some friends—honestly, I’m having a good time. Nothing and no one could ruin my mood.

Once it clears up, I follow a gorgeous trail along the lake. The landscape here feels completely different again. Such a treat, and the sun is starting to peek through. In Omberg, I find another shelter—this one with a view and a staircase leading down to the water. I try to go for a swim, but the water is freezing—ice cold! There’s a little waterfall flowing in right there, straight from the mountains, completely unheated. I go for a sponge bath instead. That feels brave enough with water like that!

At the stairs I meet Anders Jonsson. We have a fun and pretty long chat—until the mosquitoes get too annoying. We mostly talk about hiking. He’s been wanting to do it for ages but hasn’t quite taken the plunge. He thanks me for the tips and the inspiration. We exchange Instagram handles and will probably stay in touch. Turns out, he’s a Swedish singer—quite a successful one, apparently. The start of a fun new connection.

The shelter comes in handy—I can dry my stuff there and have a backup in case the weather turns bad again. I do sleep in my tent though, because the hut reeks of smoke. But the night stays dry, and I sleep like a log after such a beautiful day.

Walking, eating, writing, sleeping

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#throwback – May 26, 2024

It’s Sunday and I set off early. It doesn’t feel quite right to be sleeping so close to the village, and there’s a steady trickle of joggers and dog walkers passing by. Luckily, even on Sundays, the supermarkets open at 7 a.m., so I can already pick up some breakfast. I eat it on a bench outside: gräddfil—a Swedish dairy product a bit like quark, with a tang reminiscent of buttermilk—topped with muesli and a banana. It’s become my go-to morning meal.

Gränna is a charming little village. There’s not much going on yet at half past eight on a Sunday morning, but still, the place has a lively feel. It’s known for its traditional red-and-white striped candy canes—polkagris—which look like miniature walking sticks. The town is full of cozy shops and inviting restaurants.

Nine kilometers in, I’m already hungry again. I brew another coffee and enjoy it with a fresh Swedish treat I picked up from the store. Sunday feels like a perfect excuse for a sweet indulgence.

What a great day for walking—my legs feel strong and light, and I can really tell how much fitter I’ve become. I should add that the trail is beautifully flat today, with hardly any climbs or descents, which definitely helps.

By half past one I’m hungry again and find the perfect lunch spot: a picnic table nestled among wildflowers with a stunning view of Lake Vättern. The flame in my pan flares up briefly but dies down just in time, and the meal turns out delicious—if I may say so myself. As I eat, I drift into thoughts of a life like this one: walking, writing, eating, sleeping—and little else. By writing, I don’t mean journal entries like this, but real creative writing. Making something beautiful with words. That’s the dream. What if it actually came true?

Tonight I sleep in a shelter in the Krakeryd Nature Reserve. My tent stays tucked away in the cart. I write until the cold creeps in, then slip into sleep—dreaming of the best life I can imagine.

A barking deer and a deep conversation

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#throwback – May 25, 2024

At half past one at night, I wake up in shock. Terrible, harsh sounds tear through the darkness. My God, what is that? Is someone being attacked? A wild animal? I quickly turn on my Garmin, ready to press the SOS button if needed. Sitting upright in my tent, I listen intently. What on earth is this?

Suddenly I remember: deer can be really loud. I search online and yes — it turns out to be a barking roe deer. Look it up on YouTube: “barking roe deer.” Unbelievable that such a harmless-looking creature can make such a terrifying sound. It surely won’t be the last time I hear it.

The route today is absolutely stunning, though poorly marked. I take several wrong turns and end up in rough terrain. It’s hard going with the cart, especially uphill, and the left handlebar keeps getting wobblier. I have to lift the right one more often to compensate, which takes extra effort.

Halfway through another climb, I pass a house where a tall man is fiddling with his robotic lawnmower — they’re everywhere here, these lawns are immaculate. He looks up and greets me, and we start a lively conversation. Turns out he’s an engineer at Husqvarna, specialized in robotics. Even he doesn’t know why his robot isn’t connecting to the satellite. “Not a problem your cart has,” he jokes.

Later in the afternoon, I dine in style at a golf club. I find a comfy picnic table and cook myself a healthy, nutritious meal. It tastes absolutely wonderful. Some of the golfers give me odd looks — no golf clubs in my cart — but they’re all friendly. I’ve passed at least four beautiful courses already on this journey.

In the bathroom, I splash water on my face, and to my horror, my iPhone later gives a warning: water detected, can’t charge until it dries. I could kick myself. Such a stupid move, and I don’t have much battery left. It could take hours to dry. A good reminder: keep it charged and keep it dry — luckily, the solar panels are working great in this sunny weather.

As I approach the town of Gränna, I start looking for a place to sleep. I’ve learned that camping near residential areas is rarely possible or allowed. Sure enough, there’s nowhere suitable. I end up near an industrial area — no houses, and it’s Saturday, so I figure I can get away with it.

There I meet Joran, cycling by — a 63-year-old who took early retirement. We have a long, meaningful talk about what matters in life, about chasing dreams, about breaking free from the rat race, about courage, and taking control. His surroundings didn’t agree with his early retirement, but he did it anyway. He wants to live now, just like me. The future can wait — if it even comes.

By now, it’s getting late, and I still need a place to sleep. I take the risk and pitch my tent near a picnic table. The next morning I find out I was only 500 meters from a campsite. I bet passersby were confused. A few people walked or jogged by, but it wasn’t busy. In the end, I had a solid night’s sleep and morning coffee at an actual table.

The most expensive potato salad ever

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#throwback – May 24, 2024

After my night in Huskvarna, I head to the post office to return a pair of shoes. I bought them too small, and they start to hurt after walking more than 4 kilometers. I notice how much stronger I’ve become—and how much weight I’ve already lost. I can now feel the cart perfectly; we’re slowly becoming one.

The trail continues along the massive Lake Vättern. It’s cloudy but dry. Thousands of tiny flies travel with me, oddly entertaining, and they don’t bother me. The further I walk away from the city, the calmer it gets—and the better I feel. It’s clear where I truly belong. Later, the route turns inland toward a smaller lake, where I eat the most expensive potato salad ever (yesterday’s mistake)—though I must say, it’s exquisite.

It’s chilly, but two girls are having the time of their lives in the water. It reminds me of my childhood; I never seemed to get cold either. Swimming with blue lips—but it didn’t matter. Things are different now, and the fact that I’ve even been swimming this year already feels like a personal victory.

After a long break, I continue uphill. My cart feels wobbly, and I can’t figure out why—until I spot a tear in the frame. I make a short video and send it to the manufacturer, Radical Design, asking for advice. It’s Friday evening, so I don’t expect a reply. But within an hour, I get one—what amazing service! “This isn’t good,” they say. “We’ll make sure you get a replacement frame part. We’ll start arranging it Monday morning.”
To be honest, I think it’s not too bad, and I wrap the pipe tightly with sturdy tape. Just bad luck. Even a Rolls Royce can have a glitch. What matters is being able to rely on your supplier—and having someone who acts quickly. I’m incredibly glad I bought my cart from a trustworthy Dutch company. I don’t even want to imagine dealing with a broken-down cart from some cheap factory in China.

After more than 25 km, I find a beautiful spot to camp in a field full of buttercups.