Tag: sabbatical 2024

The great letting go has begun!

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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.

Fight at the lake

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May 15, 2024

I wake up early, but I’m snoozing so comfortably in my little castle. The sun is shining on my tent, the temperature is quickly rising, and my laundry is already dry again. When I get up to pee, I see a deer walking by.

I don’t set off until around noon. I wonder why I’m so hung up on my slow starts. Then, suddenly—a shift! I clearly don’t have a 9-to-5 mentality, but rather a 12-to-9 one! Same hours in the end, and who cares anyway? It doesn’t get dark until 11 p.m. I laugh at myself. Silly. Somehow, that shift in thinking helps. So, from now on: a 12-to-9 mindset.

While walking along a country road, I spot a man cycling toward me in the distance. That’s rare enough already, but I also see he has quite large breasts bouncing around. He’s only wearing shorts, sneakers, and socks. He brakes right in front of me and says, “I saw you yesterday too—have you walked all that way?” He’s friendly, clearly older, but still spry and curious. He asks a million questions and shares tips on places I should visit. Then his phone rings: “Oops, my wife—gotta go or I’ll be in trouble!” And off he goes. I chuckle and continue walking.

My thoughts won’t leave me alone. I’m not in the moment; I’m stuck in the future. How will I get new shoes later? The ones I have aren’t great—turns out they’re too small. I’m determined to wear barefoot shoes, but they’re almost impossible to find in stores. It’s not urgent since I have a backup pair, but still… And will I even manage with the hiking cart in Norway, with all those mountains? Should I send my laptop home to save weight and only bring a keyboard? It’s weird—this kind of overthinking hasn’t been typical for me in recent years, but here I am, stuck in my head. On the other hand, I do find it fascinating to observe all this in myself.

At a lake, I spot a massive picnic table—big enough for 12 people—with a fleece and a small box on it. I figure I can just sit for a quick break. Then a hefty, panting man storms over from his fishing spot. His belly hangs over his swim trunks and he looks like he might collapse from those thin legs. He starts yelling in Swedish. I tell him I don’t understand, but he doesn’t speak English and just keeps going. I catch something about “min fru” (my wife), and I gather she must be nearby. Fine, I’ll move. I get tourist-hotel vibes—you know, those folks who put towels on sunbeds at dawn. They can have the table. I don’t stay long anyway, because I’ve just met Sweden’s version of “the loud, trashy crowd.” Moments later, belly-man is joined by two women, one of whom looks exactly like Ma Flodder—minus the cigar. They shout, yell into their phones, and toss wrappers on the ground—something I hadn’t seen yet in Sweden. I quickly make coffee, eat a sandwich, and head back into the peace and quiet.

The incident is quickly redeemed by a visit to a beautiful, very old church—Dörarp Kyrka. For once, the door isn’t locked. The oldest walls date back to the Middle Ages. It’s wonderfully cool inside, and I sit for a while in the wooden pews, soaking in the serene atmosphere. I think about my children—what beautiful people they’ve become and how grounded they are. I feel happy and grateful.

Then I come across a roadside memorial for Clifford Lee Burton. I didn’t know who he was, but I learn he was one of the world’s greatest heavy metal bassists and part of the legendary band Metallica. In 1986, after a concert, their tour bus crashed on this very road en route to Copenhagen. Clifford was thrown from the bus and died. Fans from all over the world still visit this place. It’s a powerful tribute and surreal to find here, on a sleepy country road where nothing seems to happen.

I start looking for a place to sleep. I check the Komoot app and spot a beach not far off route. Sounds promising, though the path to it is a bit tricky—I hope I won’t have to turn back. But no, what a reward, what a spot! I feel like Robinson Crusoe on a deserted island. At first there’s a small boat with a family onboard, but they soon leave. I dip my feet in the water—still too cold to swim. Now I’m all alone again, and oh, the richness of it. A beautiful beach, my tent on a bed of moss, only the sounds of nature around me, and a stunning sunset. No more words needed.

Guilt feeling

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May 14, 2024

I actually manage to get up early and head out in good spirits. I come across a lovely little church with another unique bell tower—these seem to pop up all over the place here. I refill my water – there’s always a tap at cemeteries – and keep walking. Before long, I’m hungry again. Around 12:30, I fry up some eggs and bacon for lunch. Using the beautiful multitool engraved with my name—gifted by my fantastic colleagues when I said goodbye—I fix my hiking pole. Thanks team, this tool is proving incredibly useful!

Once again, I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. I sit for hours, and yet—there it is again—that nagging feeling of guilt. Why? I don’t owe anyone anything! Still, that little voice keeps chattering: you’re not making enough progress, you’re being lazy, blah blah. How persistent these thoughts can be… And that, even though today’s route is beautiful: no more highways, just rolling farmland and forest.

At the Willy:s supermarket, I restrain myself so I don’t end up lugging a heavy cart again. While walking through the town of Ljungby, I’m stopped by a couple and their young son. The Swedish woman is excited: “We saw you walking this weekend too! We’ve never seen a cart like that before!” She introduces herself, asks a ton of questions, and really wants a photo with me. I think it’s pretty funny, so I pose while her husband takes a few pictures.

I walk quite a bit more and find yet another stunning spot with a picnic table and a small dock. I wash my things, cook a good meal, and sleep wonderfully again. It may be starting to sound repetitive—all this happiness—but honestly, I could get used to this.

Pancakes with Bacon

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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.

A late start — but so be it…

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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!

You have to go to Nepal!

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May 11, 2024

After a slow start and a nice breakfast at the hotel, I head out again. My knee is still a bit swollen from fluid, but it feels much better, and I think I can—and may—start walking again. As I step out of my room, a not so tall young man with a striking appearance asks if he can help me. It’s actually very welcome, since maneuvering the Wheelie through all the doors and down the long hallway isn’t easy. “You must be the hiker with the injured knee,” he says. “I heard about you.” He tells me he works part-time at the hotel and is from Nepal. He’s doing his Master’s at the nearby university. “If you love hiking, you must visit Nepal someday!”
I can see the pride in his dark eyes. It’s true—Nepal is a dream country for long-distance hikes, though definitely beyond my current budget. He gives me a tip: “Find a local guide, don’t go through expensive tour companies.” That fits perfectly with my travel style. Another dream destination added to the list…

I’m lucky today—the route is all on asphalt and gravel. It’s a long, monotonous road, but I feel my knee getting stronger with every kilometer. No rough trails or steep climbs. After a slightly awkward start, the walk feels great. It’s wonderful to be outside again. The weather’s better too, and I’ve entered Småland—a place I only knew before as the play area at IKEA.

Around 5 p.m., I cook dinner at a stunning picnic spot with a little swimming dock. Swimming though? Still a no-go—it’s too cold for me. I’m definitely not a cold-water hero.
But I’m enjoying this so much. This is amazing! After the warm meal, I walk a bit farther, and just before sunset, I leave the main path and find a wild camping spot by the water. I sleep like a rock.

Mandatory rest

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May 10, 2024

My knee’s not doing great. It’s swollen and sore. It feels like I’ve lost control over the muscles, like my leg might just give out underneath me. Very wobbly. Hmm… not good. It doesn’t seem serious, but pushing on right now wouldn’t be smart.

I weigh my options. What should I do? It’s a cold day, and sitting still outside just isn’t pleasant. I check my phone to see if there’s any place to sleep nearby—and yes, as if it were meant to be! Less than two kilometers away there’s a hotel with a good deal. A room for €54, breakfast included. I can’t pass that up. A full day of rest it is.

Strangely, I’m not disappointed or worried about this little setback. It just is, and I adjust to the new reality as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I hobble into the hotel around 1 p.m., and I’m allowed into my room right away—an extra bit of luck. After a long (and very welcome) shower, I wash some clothes and reorganize my gear. Even my Wheelie’s wheels get a shower. I clean them and apply some WD40—good maintenance is key to longevity, they had told me back in the workshop in Gasselternijveen, Drenthe, where I visited with my dad.

Then it’s a reading and writing day. Although I originally planned to travel anonymously, I now decide to start sharing my journey on Instagram. I still don’t really understand how it all works, so it’s a good time to figure it out.
And wow, I’m really enjoying this day. Outside it’s unpleasant, but I’m cozy in my own bubble. I don’t leave the room and eat at the desk.

My knee still hurts, but it’s getting better by the hour. I’m hopeful that this rest day will be enough to get me back on track soon. Life is good. It really is!

Tears in the church

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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.

Sleeping in a graveyard

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May 8, 2024

I hit the trail around 11 a.m.—it’s getting later and later, haha. And then, once I’m walking and that wonderful feeling sweeps over me, I always think: why didn’t I start earlier? The weather is stunning. Today it’s more forest, but also wide, open farmland. A beautiful mix, and it keeps getting quieter. Everything is so green—some of the leaves practically glow. Fifty shades of green, truly.

I’m amazed by the mega-supermarket Willy:s. They have everything, and it’s cheap too. Of course, I buy way too much—something I regret later when the cart feels heavy and parts of the trail become tricky. I snap a photo of the two Willies: the Wheelie and Willy:s. In my head I say it with a thick Amsterdam accent: Willie & Willie. It makes me laugh. And hey, it’s always good to laugh at yourself, right?

I spend the night at a fantastic, unusual spot—by another little lake. Technically speaking… I’m sleeping in a graveyard. What a place! The Grave-Field at Vasasjön. Four of the six ancient graves are still visible, arranged in a three-pointed star. They date back to the 5th or 6th century. Woooow—I feel so incredibly lucky to experience this. On tonight’s menu: Swedish meatballs. And honestly? Way better than IKEA’s.

Throwing all the rules overboard

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#terugblik – May 7, 2024

The spot by the lake is so lovely and sunny that I don’t start walking until 10:30. Sleeping in has become the norm by now—it seems that’s just my natural rhythm. I’ve also decided to start eating only when I’m actually hungry, not according to typical Dutch mealtimes. I figure my body will let me know. Today, for instance, I have no appetite in the morning, so I skip breakfast and wait until I can buy some fresh food at the supermarket. I eat it in a little park. So good.

It turns into a lazy day. I walk only 17 kilometers, which is a joke for a long-distance hiker. Still, I hit my first climb today, and it’s rougher than expected. My legs are used to flat land, not hills—but I know from experience they’ll adjust quickly.

I’m super happy with my Wheelie, my hiking cart. With just a backpack, there’s no way I could carry this much fresh food for several days. Eating well and staying healthy really does matter when you’re on the road for a whole year. That said, there are always little challenges along the way. Nothing major—just things that take a bit more time and occasionally lead to funny situations.

I walk through farmland and forest, and by 6 p.m. I stop at a shelter in the woods. This time I decide not to pitch my tent and see how I sleep under an open roof. There are fire pits and some wood, so I build a fire—not a luxury, since it’s actually pretty cold.
I sleep wonderfully again, though it feels a bit like I’m abandoning my trusty little tent… But how sweet to wake up with a squirrel rustling around near my bed in the morning.