Tag: Wheelie

Five sheets of paper and loose sand: my new life begins

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Detoxing from office life

Two weeks have passed since my farewell at work. Strange weeks. First, the overwhelming fatigue, as if my body finally dared to let go. Then the detox from office life, and to be honest, that process is still in full swing. At the same time, the realization is slowly starting to sink in: this is no longer just an idea, no longer a plan for “someday.” Soon, I will truly step into my new life. As a hiker. As a writer. As a nomad.

Sharing highs and lows in a tacky outfit

Remarkably, just two days after my farewell, I was back at my old workplace. Not behind my desk, but in the middle of a party, dressed tackily according to the dress code, for a colleague’s retirement. I had helped with the organization, so letting go completely wasn’t quite possible yet. And that was actually quite nice. It softened the goodbye. I won’t miss the work, but the people… that’s a different story. For more than ten years, we shared our highs and lows. Births, losses, illness, happiness. Life, in all its facets, compressed into one team. You don’t just leave that behind.

Five sheets of ‘to-dos’

At home, my to-do list hangs prominently on the wall. Five full sheets of paper. No app, no neat little checkboxes, just paper, right in my face. From managing subscriptions to finishing my website in three languages, from sorting out gear to clearing out my apartment. Sometimes it feels like I’m dismantling my old life piece by piece to make room for something new.

Like a pack mule through the dunes

Last weekend, I needed some air. I went to Scheveningen to catch up with my oldest friend—nearly 45 years of friendship. Incredible, really. We’re getting older, but some bonds never wear out. I turned it into a little adventure: via Katwijk towards camping Duinhorst in Wassenaar, along the Dutch Coastal Path.

And there I went. Through loose sand. Like a pack mule. Dragging my Wheelie behind me. Every step a small struggle. And somewhere halfway through, doubt kicked in. Am I really going to do this full-time soon?

Of course, that’s nonsense. Fitness will return, but my wintry, comfortable life was making itself felt. Doubt or not: this is what I’ve chosen.

And this is only the beginning.

“Bravo!” on the trail and a “one-night stand” at Sanja’s

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Day 15: The Sultans Trail from Belgrade to Sofia

#throwback September 19, 2025

Breakfast at 10 degrees

After an incredibly wonderful night’s sleep in my tent—I was already asleep before 9:00 PM—I head out at 6:15 AM. It’s going to be another hot day, and this way I can cover quite a distance before the blazing sun starts burning me alive.

At 9:00 AM, I arrive in Bela Palanka, where I eat my breakfast at a picnic table; I hadn’t been hungry before then. I don’t last long, because it’s still freezing cold, not even 10°C, even though the mercury will later rise to 32°C.

At first, the town startles me a bit; it looks dilapidated and bleak, but the further I walk, the nicer it gets, and I actually really like the atmosphere. The market is friendly and people are chatting animatedly with each other on the street.

To warm up a bit, I drink coffee in one of the many ‘kafeterije,’ and even that early in the morning, it’s already bustling and cozy. There is a lot of smoke, though, because you can still smoke indoors here.

32-degree heat, 37 kilometers of asphalt, and unexpected encouragement

Today I want to try to reach Pirot; it’s still quite far, but I’ve seen that I have to cover a lot of asphalt, which goes fast. The sun is burning intensely and there’s hardly any shade, but it seems like I’m starting to get used to it. Drink plenty of water and just keep going.

The route is beautiful and, what’s different from usual, when I walk through a hamlet, people shout “bravo” to me as many as three times, even though I’ve become used to no one ever greeting me or saying anything.

I made it! With 37.6 km on the clock, I go looking for Pension Sanja in Pirot. It’s tucked away somewhere and hard to find, and I’m so glad when I finally arrive at my destination with the help of some kind neighbors.

Sanja: The landlady you fear

But then… Sanja is the kind of landlady you fear. She only speaks Serbian and treats me like I’m mentally disturbed. I have to show my ID card. I give her my passport, but she says that doesn’t count. She calls someone and eventually agrees.

“Your bike isn’t allowed upstairs,” she snaps. She doesn’t care that it’s a hiking trailer. Okay, I’ll leave Wheelie downstairs at the bottom of the stairs and take out the things I need for the night. I don’t want to pick a fight with Sanja. Google Translate then translates her question: “One-night stand?”

“Yes,” I say, “One-night stand, please!”

Sultans Trail Hungary - Serbia Border

The great magic trick and other bumps on the road to Belgrade

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Day 3: The Sultans Trail from Belgrade to Sofia

#terugblik 7 september 2025

Wheelie mag niet mee in de bus

After a wonderful night’s sleep, I slowly wake up over a few cups of coffee at my hostel’s kitchen table. I feel a lot better.

The metro whisks me away to the bus station, where the bus that will take me to Belgrade soon pulls up. When the grumpy bus driver sees my Wheelie hiking trailer, he mutters crossly, “That trailer isn’t allowed.” I tell him as cheerfully as possible—since annoying him further isn’t a good idea—that I have a magic trick. I skillfully remove the handles and wheels from the trailer, leaving just the body, which is the size of a suitcase. He gives a short nod: “Alright then.” First hurdle cleared!

Seat 20a is mine, which means I’m right at the back of the bus—the spot that used to be for the cool kids during school trips. I’ve finally claimed it for myself. In front of me sits an English tour guide explaining to her followers what they can expect. She has a terribly corny sense of humor, but the ladies find it hilarious; they’re laughing excessively loud. It’s hurting my ears.

Avonturen bij de grens

It takes us over 1.5 hours to cross the border from Hungary to Serbia. First, we wait on the bus for our turn. Then everyone gets off the bus and lines up at the Hungarian customs window. Then everyone back on the bus. We drive the bus 50 meters forward, where we wait for the next barrier. When it’s our turn, everyone off the bus again and now into the queue for the Serbian window. Only one window is open, and with the less-than-diligent customs officer, it takes forever. Then everyone back on the bus and off we go. Hurdle number 2 overcome, and I have the first stamp in my brand-new passport!

Geen telefoondekking in Servië

On the bus, I try to get my SIM card with coverage in Serbia working. All Balkan countries are included in my phone plan, but Serbia isn’t. I can’t get it to work, even though it should be very simple according to the instructions. I decide to stay in a hostel in Belgrade; this needs to be sorted out properly, and I’m not sure if I’ll manage it quickly on a Sunday. I’ll just set off a bit later. Eventually, I get it working with an e-SIM. Another hurdle—or rather, a mountain pass—overcome. A huge relief.

Belgrade is a contrast to Budapest. It’s dirty there and the people are curt. This day will go down in history as a bumpy one…

From wage slave to nomad: my path to ultimate freedom

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Footsteps of Freedom: the path to a writing and hiking life

Resignation and cold feet

It’s been quiet on this blog for a while, but that’s about to change. The time is almost here: I’ve handed in my notice.

March 31 is my last day at work, and I hope to officially start my life as a hiking and writing nomad in May. To be honest, I find it quite exciting and get cold feet every now and then, but there’s no turning back now…

Why the best stories happen on the road

During my sabbatical (from May 2024 to January 2025), I discovered that the best stories don’t happen behind my desk, but somewhere on the road, with all my belongings in my Wheelie hiking trailer and wild camping in my tent or sometimes just under the open starry sky.

My best ideas often come after walking miles and miles, far away from everyone.

On this blog, I’m going to share those stories.

And if you enjoy that, you can always sign up for the newsletter. You’ll automatically get a message whenever a new story is published. No strings attached, of course.

A little preview: The heat of the Sultans Trail

Next week, I’ll start a series about a trek I did in September 2025: a section of the Sultans Trail. This long-distance hike runs from Vienna to Istanbul, about 2,500 kilometers long, through eight countries and eight nature reserves.

I walked a part of it, from Belgrade to Sofia. As a wage slave, I didn’t have any more time. But I’m definitely going to walk the whole route one day. This has left me wanting more.

And what a three weeks they were.

Three weeks of heat.

Three weeks of walking through Serbia and Bulgaria.

Three weeks in a world without trail markers, where the alphabet looks different, where churches are Orthodox, where monasteries sit on hills, and where paths were more than once impassable.

Along the way, I met people who crossed my path, I walked sections where the trail no longer existed, and I reached places where time seems to move just a little slower.

Starting next week, I’m going to tell the whole story. Day by day. Kilometer by kilometer.

And this is only the beginning.

What can you expect here?

As I said, I’ve since quit my job. April 1 (no joke) marks the start of my new life (emptying the apartment, final preparations) and I hope to leave for good in May. Where to exactly?

I’ll find out along the way.

What I do know: I’m going to walk, write, and share the stories here. The life of a hiking and writing nomad.

If you don’t want to miss anything, you can sign up for the newsletter. You’ll get an automatic notification when a new story appears. But feel free to choose: you can always unsubscribe.

If you do stay, you’ll be walking along with me step by step.

You are more than welcome.

Note: Just as my path on the road has yet to take shape, this website will also grow with me in the coming period. Soon you’ll be able to read my stories not only in Dutch, but also in English and Spanish. Please be patient; it’s being worked on, along with other improvements. I’m not satisfied yet!

Sun and Deluge

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#throwback – 10 June 2024

Bad weather is forecast, and of course today’s route is long. I’ve almost run out of food, so a visit to the supermarket is a must. Just as I’m about to leave, it starts pouring with rain, so I postpone my departure for a while.

Suddenly, a man walks into the hut. “Oh, I didn’t expect anyone here,” he says—neither did I. He’s here to hang an information board about the nature reserve. He tells me he used to be a commercial photographer, but he got completely fed up with the industry. At 40, he changed course and now builds shelters and other structures in the wild. He says he notices that especially men around forty tend to be jealous. The idea of spending your days outdoors and escaping the rat race seems like heaven to many of them. It pays less, but it brings a huge increase in well-being. I can only agree.

When the weather clears, I head out. The trails are varied—some easy, others so difficult I really should have carried the cart on my back. But hey, you learn as you go. Less than a kilometre from the store… the deluge hits. Once again, I’m lucky: I spot a bus shelter. I don’t stay completely dry—the driving rain blows in—but it’s still a big help. I’m incredibly relieved when I finally see the Willy:s megastore appear in front of me. Inside, I warm up on a bench with a fresh roll that tastes like a pastry. The misery is quickly forgotten.

Nothing changes faster than the weather—suddenly the sun bursts through in full glory. I seize the moment and cook a hot meal next to a volleyball court. A touring cyclist stops by, clearly craving a chat. He sits with me for a while and shares all kinds of route tips, which come in very handy.

On the map I see that a shelter is only four kilometres away, but I end up walking double that distance because I run into two closed paths and have to make long detours. So frustrating—by then, I’m completely exhausted. At a scouting hut I finally roll out my mat and sleeping bag, and sleep wonderfully dry.

Marble kitchen

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#throwback – June 7, 2024

As so often, I want to set off early—but once again, that turns out to be a lost cause. Eventually, though, this diesel engine starts rolling. The route is more difficult than ever and at the same time absolutely stunning. All kinds of vegetation line the steeply ascending and descending rocky path.

For the first time, I have to carry my hiking trailer on my back. Not a problem, since it has shoulder straps too—you can wear the Wheelie like a backpack. It’s heavy, because you’re lifting the weight of the cart itself as well, but it goes surprisingly well. Slowly, step by step. Luckily, I’m almost due for a supermarket run, so the cart isn’t top-heavy.

I feel like a hero when I reach the top and reward myself with coffee and a sandwich. The view is, once again, breathtaking—and there’s even a comfortable picnic table. Going downhill is easier, but far from fast. No worries, I don’t have to be back home for another ten months and three weeks. So: no rush. It goes how it goes.

Knowing the terrain will stay challenging, I hold back at the supermarket in Krokek. Today’s dinner: kebab skewers with a mix of vegetables and potatoes—labeled “Andalusian style.” I lived in Andalusia for years and never had anything like it, but hey, it tastes good. Vegetables are fairly expensive in Sweden, so I often buy frozen ones—much more affordable, and you usually get a nice mix for variety. A solid solution.

Today’s kitchen is set among marble. I’m in Marmorbruket, a region famous for its marble since 1673. The steps of the Royal Palace in Stockholm are made from it, as well as parts of the Paris Opera House and Harrods in London. I feel honoured to be part of that list.

And it doesn’t stop there. A bit off the trail, I find a breathtaking campsite by a lake. When the birds go to sleep, it becomes so quiet I briefly wonder if I’ve gone deaf. The water is perfectly still, not a breeze in the air, and the silence is deafening. Gulp. It truly doesn’t get more beautiful than this.

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.

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.