FOOTSTEPS OF FREEDOM

May 18, 2024

I enjoy the morning sun and get up feeling relaxed and calm. I decide to take a sort of rest day today to write—suddenly I feel the need. I also really need to do some laundry, so I go looking for a nice spot where I can do both. But I don’t have much luck—no lovely places by a lake or stream this time. Either there are houses nearby, or the lake is inaccessible. That happens a lot too: you can’t get to the water easily because of mud, reeds, or dense vegetation.

Walking is tough today; it feels like I have lead in my legs. I don’t cover many kilometers (just 17) and take lots of breaks. But I do complete the Nydalaleden (a pilgrim route that’s part of the Saint Birgitta Ways) and arrive at the beautiful monastery of Nydala. Just as I get there, the bells begin to ring—so beautiful, such a warm welcome!

And then suddenly there’s a shift in my mind. Why get up early? Why push to walk lots of kilometers? Why feel like I have to do anything? All at once I’m able to see this first month as a vacation, a transition into the next phase of my journey—whatever that may be. I know, it might sound silly, but this is just how my brain works. I’m on vacation!

And so I move on, feeling a lot lighter, and end up finding a perfect sleeping spot in a beautiful meadow, slightly tucked away behind some trees. I feel very at peace.

May 16, 2024

In the morning, I fry some eggs on my beach. I have a big appetite, and it stays with me all day. I eat often. One of my decisions has been to eat when I’m hungry, not at set times. During the first two weeks I ate much less than usual, simply because I didn’t feel like it. I quite like it this way—it seems much more natural. Another interesting experiment. I also believe the body tells you exactly what it needs, as long as you listen closely.

Another remarkable thing: I’ve had a roll of cookies in my bag for a week now, and it’s still not gone. I just don’t crave sugar anymore. That feels like a real victory! Also: I take an afternoon nap. I think the great letting go has truly begun. At a lake, I come across three wonderful beach chairs, and I simply can’t resist. With a slight breeze, the sun isn’t too warm, and this siesta does me good. And yes, I make sure to use sunscreen.

After my nap, I hope to find a campsite quickly, but I’ve now arrived near Värnamo—which, by Swedish standards, is a large city. I had seen a shelter marked on the map, but it turns out to be in a park, and I’m not sure it’s allowed—or even smart—to sleep there. I feel safe in nature, but in a city, not so much. Too many odd people around. I’d hoped to find something before reaching the city, but no luck. Also, I noticed there won’t be another supermarket for a while, so I quickly do some shopping at 8:30 p.m. and then rush off in search of a place to sleep.

Leaving the city, I pass several lakes and beaches, but everywhere I see signs: camping forbidden. That’s often the case near towns or larger villages, probably to discourage partying teenagers from taking over the popular spots—but I didn’t know that yet. It’s getting quite dark, and I start to feel anxious. Finally, I find what I think is a tourist information board, and beneath it, there’s a small grassy patch. It looks like a parking area of sorts in the fading light. I pitch my tent all the way to the side—just in case any cars show up tomorrow, at least I won’t be in the way. Just before 11 p.m., my tent is up, and after all that stress, I thankfully fall asleep quickly.

May 13, 2024

After another freezing night, I wake up with the sun on my tent. For the first time, there’s quite a bit of condensation, but with the sun, my little castle dries in no time. The zipper of my tent gives out—very annoying—but luckily there’s Velcro too, so I can still close it. I sit down at the picnic table to write and start dreaming of this as an office. Wouldn’t it be amazing to work somewhere different every day? Well past eleven, I hit the road again, in good spirits.

Today’s route is pretty boring—long stretches along the E4. There’s not that much traffic, but the trucks that thunder by aren’t exactly pleasant and I forget to refill my water. And wouldn’t you know it, I don’t come across a single source. Luckily, I bought a cucumber earlier, so I munch on that to fight the thirst. It’ll be fine.

My mind is still very busy. A few days ago I even had a kind of mini-outburst thinking about an email I received during my final days at work—about some policy change. I had raised questions, but the reply clearly came from someone who’s never set foot on the actual work floor. So short-sighted. I was furious. And now I find myself getting worked up about it again. Should I ask the deputy principal, who was CC’d, to respond instead? My God, Marnix—let it go. You’ll figure it out next year… Even today I notice my thoughts are still spinning. Rationally, I know it’s pointless, but still. What does help is coffee. When I finally find water, I make a cup and am able—just for a moment—to enjoy the flavor, the landscape, and a quiet mind.

At the ruins of an old church, I spot a campervan. A woman is flipping pancakes and—yes!—a yellow Dutch license plate. I wish them a good meal and we start chatting. Turns out they’re from Hoorn—fellow West Frisians! Instant bond. I meet the whole family: Marissa, Mark, and their enthusiastic boys Stan and Maik. Marissa asks if I want a pancake with bacon. I’m hesitant to say yes, but it sounds delicious. “Just say yes!” she urges—and I do. It’s lovely. The youngest excitedly tells me about their adventures here in Sweden. One of his highlights? A giant tractor drove past on a dusty road, kicking up so much fine dirt they couldn’t see a thing—and it even got in his ears. What a great kid. And such a sweet family. Their first holiday in a borrowed camper, and wild camping is still a bit of a thrill for them. These are the encounters that make the journey. We exchange Instagram handles and I move on.

But finding a campsite today isn’t easy. There are houses nearby, or the ground is too uneven, or too close to the road. I think I’ve found a good spot—but the “grass” turns out to be a thin layer over solid rock. No way I’m getting my tent pegs in. With my flatland brain, I didn’t think to check. Lesson learned. I quickly pack up and keep going. Luckily, just under a kilometer later, I find a spot. I pitch my tent in the half-dark. Just in time.

May 12, 2024

The weather has turned beautiful. The nights are still quite cold (around 4 degrees C.), but I’m warm in my sleeping bag. Just after sunrise, I step outside—and wow! The lake is perfectly still, a mirror with a touch of mist, and the silence only “broken” by birdsong. Once again, I feel so lucky.

As is becoming the norm, I putter around a bit and don’t actually set off until almost 11. No one cares, of course—but that little voice in my head still tells me I could be moving faster.

Around Spanish lunchtime (hot meal around 2 p.m.), I cook by the edge of a small lake. On the menu: brown beans with some fresh veggies and sausages. Tastes amazing again. I enjoy a long break and mess around with Instagram—I’m starting to get the hang of it, though it still feels a bit tricky.

After passing the charming village of Markaryd (Småland), with its quirky church and freestanding bell tower, I have to walk quite a bit further to find a good place to camp. That’s tough, because honestly, I didn’t feel like walking any more. Still, my body feels good and my knee isn’t bothering me much.

In the end, I find the perfect spot—right by the water, with a table!

May 9,  2024

After a lot of dawdling, I finally get going. Honestly, I’m snoozing with a capital S these days. Still, I end up walking 32 km. I find a lovely rhythm and enjoy every step.

Public toilets are really common here, and they’re beautiful and spotless. I think there’s a law that says there always has to be an accessible toilet too—super convenient. They’re spacious enough for me to roll my cart right in. Sometimes they’re compost toilets, but more often they have sinks and even hot running water. When they do, I take the opportunity to freshen up properly. Swimming still feels like a step too far—I’m not that brave yet when it comes to cold water. So I’m thrilled when I come across a little hut next to a farm that anyone can use. Of course I take full advantage. I leave there feeling fresh and clean, and not long after I stumble upon a little open-air museum. It’s lovely to see how Swedish people used to live and work.

Today I try something different: I cook and eat a hot meal around two in the afternoon. It works out well. After a long break I continue with new energy, and in the evening I don’t need to rush to cook or find a campsite.

In Örkelljunga I hear organ music coming from the church. It’s a beautiful building, with a wooden shingled roof—something I haven’t seen before. I walk inside. The organist is practicing. He comes down to see who entered after hearing the door shut. He lets me stay.
He gives me a private concert. It’s powerful—and it moves me deeply. I don’t know why, but emotions start bubbling up, and suddenly I’m crying. I’m not thinking about anything in particular. I just feel. I’m alive!

After this intense experience, I continue looking for a place to camp. This time it’s tough—there are several areas here where camping isn’t allowed, only for fishermen. But after a few more kilometers, I find a spot. By then it’s started raining, and I pitch my tent in a hurry. Not ideal, but it is what it is.

That night I sleep poorly. Earlier, during a steep climb, I pushed hard on my knee, twisted, and heard something snap. The pain went away quickly, and I thought it was nothing. I even walked another 10 km afterward without issue… But unfortunately, it’s not that simple.