^ 🎧 Now also available as audio! To listen, play the track above and at the beginning of each chapter.
🙋🏻♀️ Hello everyone and welcome to a new post about my Sweden hike in September 2025!
Today’s post is about day three of my hike — a day that’s slower than yesterday’s adventure, but much lighter on the soul (and the knees). A day of slow mornings, careful steps, (b)rain fog, moments of quiet wonder, and unexpected humor awaits you.
So sit back, relax and wander with me through all those little moments that make a hike unforgettable. And as always — don’t hesitate to laugh at my chaotic moments. Absolutely no hard feelings there! 😁
Would you prefer to read this post in Egyptian Arabic? Then click here.
(Estimated read time: 20 minutes)
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September 21, 2025 – Day 3
(Hike from Gnesta to Väsby)
🍃 Part I – Attempts To Reconcile With My Muscles
03:00 AM.
What’s happening? What am I doing here?
Darkness surrounds me, as I open my eyes in confusion, trying to make sense of where I am. My body answers before my memory does: I feel a heavy, aching exhaustion that reminds me of the adventure I had only just survived a few hours ago. Oh right, that!
But what time is it now?
I grab my phone to check and realize with quite a shock that it’s still 03:00 AM. Oh my… there’s NO way I’m waking up now already. I bury myself deeper into the blankets like a human burrito, trying to calm the anxious thoughts racing through me. It’s vital that my body recharges before the next hike.
It’s okay, just close your eyes. Things are fine.
When I open my eyes what feels like a few minutes later, the room is already much more lit. I stretch an arm towards the phone resting on the wooden cupboard opposite the bed. 07:00 AM. Oh, thank God.
As I sit up, the memory of yesterday’s experience comes back in vibrant flashes: the horror of the most demanding hike of willpower I’d ever embarked on, the desperate limp into the cabin at 10:00 PM, the collapse onto the couch before forcing myself upright fifteen minutes later to eat something, anything. I remember shuffling around like a malfunctioning robot, moving the spoon into my mouth with a level of exhaustion and low mobility I didn’t know I could feel. And then, the surprise I’d just needed: discovering that the bed was on the top bunk, which I had to climb steps to reach. With every step, I genuinely wondered whether I’d ever be able to walk again normally.
So, while driving down memorylane with my head still on the pillow, the big question comes to mind: how am I actually feeling today?
With hesitation, I push myself forward to the edge of the bed, carefully place one foot down the ladder, then another, carefully descending the stairs with baby steps… and I realize, miraculously, that I do feel much better!
Sure, there’s the constant pain in my ankle, the swelling in my hip joints, which refuse to believe it’s time to move again and the incredible tension in my shoulders. Nonetheless, this really is at least 60% improvement compared to yesterday. And that’s enough to give me a little hope that today might be gentler.
My thoughts, however, are still foggy and uncooperative. It takes ages to make coffee and a simple breakfast, and my eyes keep drifting back to my phone in that meaningless way that says “I refuse to start the day, and I’ll do everything useless that I can do to waste my time”.
And when I finally do manage to make coffee, I somehow spill coffee grounds everywhere and need to start again. Attempt two goes a little better, but I can now definitely confirm: It’s going to be one of those days.
I peek outside a small window above the kitchen sink and see the sky is heavy with clouds. It must have just rained, as the wood of the floor outside is glistening wet. Still, I need some fresh air, so I decide to take my coffee outside. My short excursion outside shall also serve as a proper low-key test to the weather, before I start my hike. Let’s do it.
Once outside, I drop into a cushion-less dark rattan chair and just… stare quietly. The air smells of rain — fresh, cold, but alive. No one else is around; the campsite is silent.
My eyes wander to a tree standing calmly next to the cabin, and I spot a pair of blue chickadees, a chaffinch and two wood pigeons hopping around the branches. To my surprise, they seem totally unbothered by distant gunshot noises echoing through the forest.
Well, if the birds can remain unbothered, so can you, I try to convince myself, as I on the other hand, feel quite annoyed. But watching them is the most beautiful and calming meditation and works wonders after a few minutes. They remind me of that childhood version of myself who once wanted to become a birdwatcher. After “vet” had been the front-runner for years, “birdwatcher” finally made it as my standard answer to what I’d like to be when growing up. And sitting there, with the coffee warming my hands, feeling grounded and calmed by those sweet birds, I wonder why I ever abandoned that passion. Maybe I’ll take it up in the near future again… well, let’s put a mark on that.
Then, my eyes wander to the outdoor shower — yes, there is an outdoor shower! — and I wonder whether I can muster the courage to have one in this weather. I’m very tempted to give it a try. I mean, look at all that green around it!
Honestly, I had completely forgotten this Airbnb had one, before I spotted it outside, and I briefly wondered what on earth my past self had been thinking, booking this for the end of September. Then I remembered: Past me booked this cabin while in Egypt, chilling by the sea, surrounded by 35°C heat. Well, mystery solved! 13°C was just not fathomable to her in that moment…
🍃 Part II – A Steamy Panoramic Forest View
09:00 AM.
Feeling more energized by the coffee and the outdoor freshness, I finally make the decision to try out the outdoor shower. It’s 13°C and the air fills my lungs with the most beautiful scent: wet pine leaves, fresh grass and moist soil. And I just can’t resist the chance to take a shower, while I’m surrounded by those wonderful smells and that panoramic view of the trees being hugged by the sky.
Adding to that, my muscles are desperately craving the feeling of hot water for some release, highly in need for anything that could loosen yesterday’s tension. Obsessively stretching can only do so much.
So, as you can guess, there’s really no way I’m saying no to this shower!
With big excitement, I prepare for this small adventure. The only entirely unexpected obstacle: I can’t find any shower towels… How is that possible?
A quick double-check on Airbnb confirms it — this listing does not include towels. Or bed linens for that matter. Umm… wait, what? No bed linens?
A glance at the bed and pillows confirms: yes, no linens. I should have brought my own. Well, oops…
I consider myself lucky that I was so exhausted the night before that I actually didn’t notice. Otherwise, I probably would have ended up sleeping on the couch. Sorry in advance, host and next guest…
Back to the shower endeavour: what do I do now? It’s too cold to just air dry! So, I look around again… and find that I have no choice but to use two tiny, barely 30 cm large hand towels that are included in the listing. Okay! I can make this work. Surely that’s better than drying my skin with toilet paper, right?
Ten minutes later, I’m standing under the shower, feeling utterly blissful. The hot water relaxes my muscles and my soul incredibly, and I feel held by the sight of the sky and the trees surrounding the cabin. In the chilly air, the hot water creates a dreamy cloud of steam around me. I close my eyes and take my time, letting the warmth massage every tired part of my body — truly, a much needed sensation after yesterday’s hike.
Surprisingly, the water also has quite the interesting smell, one I’ve never encountered before. The closest description I can think of is: freshly ironed linen with a hint of nature. Don’t ask me why. But that strange, yet comforting smell, combined with the occasional gentle breeze, gives this whole experience the feeling of a much needed warm hug. So worth it!
After finishing, I dry myself off with the two tiny towels, somehow still feeling warm despite the low temperature, and I head back inside — half awkwardly, half amusedly covering whatever the two towels can manage to cover… then I realize, there isn’t anyone around who could see me anyway. And even if — who cares?
🍃 Part III – Carefully Prepared, Carefully Resistant
10:20 AM.
Back inside, I continue preparing for the day ahead — way too carefully. I notice how much time I need for even the simplest tasks, with the exhaustion from yesterday still weighing heavily in my body, but I accept it. It was tough, and I want to start today’s adventure feeling as well prepared and rested as possible.
My original plan is to walk 21 kilometers along a section of trail I had been genuinely excited about. But yesterday taught me to be realistic and gentler with myself. So, with quite some resistance, I sit down and adjust the route to 17 kilometers instead. That’s four kilometers less — not much, but that saves an entire hour of walking. And when you’re tired, that difference really matters.
As part of this improved preparation, I decide to give that peculiar invention called kinesiology tape a try for the first time. It’s an elastic cotton strip with acrylic adhesive, designed to support muscles, joints, and soft tissues without restricting movement. Athletes and physiotherapists use it to reduce pain, improve circulation, and assist muscle function. At least, my Perplexity search says that.
I had never used it before, but I packed some with me just in case. And today definitely feels like a day worth trying this out!
With a vague memory of a YouTube tutorial I’d watched between the hecticness of packing a day before my trip, I apply strips to my shoulders, thighs, knees, and ankles. Even if they end up doing nothing, it’s worth a try. And at least I feel like a real professional now!
Just kidding…
10:30 AM.
To my surprise, the host of my next Airbnb offers to pick me up earlier with her car as soon as I mention that I’m coming on foot. My immediate reaction is resistance — it feels like admitting defeat. But a quiet, gentle voice manages to get through to me: come on… this is a little gift. You know it would help you greatly. Take it.
So, with quite some hesitation mixed with a bit of shyness, I accept her offer. We agree to meet in Rynäs, which is (just) 13 kilometers away instead of 17 — a good compromise! I still have some distance to walk, but not so much that I’m energetically back to square one by the end of the hike.
I continue to take ages to feel ready, constantly rethinking my plan. Maybe I should stretch again? Maybe another painkiller… What about a second breakfast? Or another coffee…
Also, just when I least need it, I get distracted watching two wasps fly into the cabin and completely fail to figure out how to leave again. I definitely cannot leave while they’re stuck inside and just hoping my host wouldn’t sit down on one of them hiding on the couch by mistake later on.
But then — finally — at 11:15 AM, I feel ready to head out.
Goodbye, little cabin. Thanks for keeping me safe after such a difficult day, I think silently, as I close the door behind me and return the key to the lockbox. I then take a deep breath in and head towards those stairs I climbed up with tears held back yesterday. We meet again…
🍃 Part IV – Gently, Gently Take Your Steps
Surprisingly, I find going down the stairs more painful than going up the stairs yesterday, even though I feel better overall. Sharp pinches of pain can be felt in my feet and knees with every step. But I do feel the tension of the kinesiology tape exert a gentle pressure on my muscles, as I go down every step, and I like it — it’s like a gentle background massage.
Once downstairs, I take a moment to look around. Still no one in sight. This campsite seems abandoned. But I’m not one to complain! I need all my energies focused on the path ahead of me.
The air feels slightly cooler now, and a delicate breeze moves through the trees. I press “Navigate” to officially start recording my hike on Komoot and follow a wide gravel path into the forest. After a couple of minutes of walking, I realize it’s the same path I walked last night in complete darkness and despair! How distant that version of myself feels, as I walk on the same ground, but now bathed in daylight.
Around a hundred meters later, a bridge guides me over a narrow canal, and I stop for a moment to look around. Water lilies spread across one side of the surface, while reeds dominate the other. I also spot some trees with protruding roots spread along the shore. In the distance, a small motorboat moves slowly with two people inside, who seem to be looking at something in the reed.
I continue walking, leaning on my hiking poles for support. Only now do I notice how sore my hands are from yesterday’s heavy usage. Maybe I shouldn’t use them today? After trying a few steps without, I immediately feel the additional pressure onto my knees and realize there’s no chance. I’ll need my knees more than my hands in the coming days.
Cars occasionally pass as I try to maintain a steady pace along the gravel road. I quickly discover that walking on the thin strip of soil at the edge is much easier on my feet than walking on the uneven gravel itself — a good learning. My body is still tired and slow, but I try to stay positive and take everything gently, at a pace that feels sustainable to walk.
11:45 AM.
Before long, I’m walking alongside long, wide fields — a typical countryside scene. But one I absolutely cherish! Open landscapes tend to make me feel less suffocated than I sometimes feel surrounded by thousands of trees, as beautiful as they are. On days with heavy thoughts, they can sometimes feel heavy, rather than relieving to be around. When I then encounter an open space, it feels almost like relief, like I feel more spacious inside, like I can breathe.
With that in mind, I pause for a moment to enjoy the view, looking forward to a day of walking, while mainly surrounded by fields. I let the lush green sweep into my eyes, along with the hay bales spread evenly across the field and cows scattered in the distance. I take in the view with a happy heart, and I do my best to ignore the light drizzle settling over and around me. It’s supposed to rain today — heavily, in fact. But that’s a later problem!
Continuing yesterday’s good practice, I decide to put on some music to stay motivated and keep my thoughts under control. Spotify’s daylist decides oldies with a hint of indie pop shall be the best soundtrack to this moment. Fine by me — getting out of my comfort zone seems to be the theme of this hike anyway. And this is definitely better than the sound of passing cars.
🍃 Part V – Catching My Breath With A Bit of Hay
12:15 PM.
The drizzle has now grown heavier, so I decide to take a super short break at a crossroads and put on my rain jacket. It would absolutely suck to get wet and catch a cold. That I know for sure by now.
At 12:18 PM, I continue.
12:30 PM.
After 3.5 kilometers, I reach a large red barn, next to which lie a few huge hay bales wrapped in white plastic sheeting. I admire the confidence the owners must have to leave the doors open like that, right by the roadside. The doors are huge — maybe four meters high. Inside, hay and all kinds of equipment are neatly arranged. I could just walk in. Take a little break there in a nook… *just kidding, everyone*
In front of the barn, to the left of the sidewalk, there is a small, well-kept garden without a fence, where a few stones lie under a willow tree. It is the perfect place for a short break to rethink my plan. I plop down on a stone and catch my breath for a few moments.
I’d agreed with my host to meet at Rynäs at 03:00 PM, but I still have about nine kilometers to cover, and I know I’m already much slower than expected. With only 2.5 hours left, I doubt I’ll make it. I contemplate accepting her secondary offer: to pick me up at the Vängsö Flygfält — the local airfield — which would save roughly four kilometers. But before taking her up on that offer, I decide to observe my pace a bit longer.
At 12:45 PM, I get up and continue. I am led through more fields and then into a small wooded area overgrown with bushes. I don’t encounter a single person. All I hear is faint car noises in the distance and some strange sounds the trees make every time the wind moves through them. Every time I hear the sound, I think a car is passing, and I brace myself — only to turn around and find nothing. It was just the wind playing with the trees once again.
Not long after walking two more kilometers, I find myself in need of another break. My body’s achy, in need of gentleness and patience. So I pick a quiet spot, next to a path, overlooking a field. A perfect place for catching my breath.
There’s a slight breeze, but it’s not too cold. The rain has stopped, but the air is very humid, and I can tell it’s a matter of time, before I find myself right inside another outdoor shower.
A couple of snacks and selfies later, I try to get up to continue my hike. And I’d really like to emphasize the part about trying to. For — to my pleasant surprise — I notice it’s a bit of a problem to push myself back up. My knees just keep loosening and I fall back down midway. But with some focus, I manage to push myself up the third time.
This hike is not making me feel younger for sure… I realize with the bit of humor I can summon in this situation. But more importantly, I make a mental note to sit in a position I can better get up from next time.
A few steps later, I’m delighted by more countryside scenery — horses peacefully nibbling at the grass, cows curiously following me with their gaze and spaciousness surrounding me everywhere.
2:15 PM.
Soon, I join a wider gravel path that skirts another large field with hay bales and another red barn. I now notice a pattern: all the barns I’ve passed are painted red, and I don’t know why. I make a mental note to look it up later.
Side note – I looked it up! A quick search using Perplexity reveals that Swedish barns are traditionally painted with Falu red, a pigment derived from byproducts of the Falun copper mine. This mine, operating for nearly a thousand years until 1992, produced up to two-thirds of Europe’s copper and became a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The iron-rich Falu red protected wooden buildings from rot and harsh Nordic weather, while resembling prestigious European red brick facades. Originally used on castles and manors, the paint became affordable for ordinary Swedes in the 19th century and eventually become a cornerstone of Swedish cultural identity.
I continue down a very long road, crossing two wide fields. My motivation is very low at this point, and my knees and hip joints ache. Every time Komoot announces, “Follow this way for one more kilometer,” I feel a wave of demotivation, reminded of the distance left and my painfully slow pace.
At some point, I realize I’m moving at around 2.5 km/h — even slower than last night, with 27 kilometers behind me. In the middle of what feels like an endlessly long path, I stop, feeling small and tired. I can’t help but ask myself: Why is this trip so painful? What am I doing wrong?
I find no immediate answer, but I remind myself that I have to do everything in my power to recharge properly today and make sure the rest of the hike is easier somehow.
2:30 PM.
I take my next break in a little grassy area at the edge of a field, just after passing another red barn. I find a small gap and let myself collapse onto my backpack, staring into the gray sky. A much-needed rest, suspended between surrender and the desire to give up. I close my eyes for a minute, letting my mind float.
With pressure mounting to meet my host, I decide to just message her and accept her offer to pick me up earlier at the airport — roughly 1.5 kilometers away. I know I won’t make it to Rynäs (our originally agreed upon meeting point) by 3:00 PM on foot, and taking this chance to rest feels wise. To my relief, she replies within a minute that she’s totally fine and could even be there in fifteen minutes. And she won’t have signal as soon as she’s in the car. Which I assume she is now. Oh God! Okay, okay. That’s all the motivation I need to get and move now!
🍃 Part VI – Rain Fog To Spice Things Up
With backpack tightly strapped and hiking poles in hand, I pick up a steady rhythm and continue walking. Out of nowhere, I find a group of cyclists passing me, all riding in a neat line. The one at the front flashes a cheerful “hej,” and the last one gives me a peace sign. What is a mere instant of an encounter gives me quite a good boost of energy.
And just a few seconds after, it starts to drizzle… just what I needed. But I’m almost there! At least, that’s what I keep telling myself — mainly as an excuse not to stop and put on my rain jacket, if I’m being honest. But within thirty seconds, the drizzle grow heavier and denser. Fast. And just like that, it turns into a full-on shower. Wonderful, just wonderful!
I quicken my pace towards a tree I spot fifty meters ahead and immediately take shelter underneath it. A little stress creeps in: my host must already be waiting at the meeting point, so I pull the raincoat from around my waist and put it on as quickly as I can. And just like that, another surge of energy hits me, as soon as I take the first step. I find myself walking fast and keeping up a steady rhythm, despite the pain I feel in my legs. The rain lashes down around me like a fog made of water. Everywhere I look, it’s just painted white with rain.
Finally, I spot the little street crossing I’ve been waiting for: a couple of two-laned streets joining, with fields stretching out on every side. I head toward the intersection and, to my relief, spot the yellow houses my host had mentioned as a meeting point. Okay, that’s five minutes away. I quicken my pace, scanning all passing cars, wondering if one of them could be hers. I really can’t be missed in this outfit, but I realize I should’ve asked which car she drives. Too late now.
As I approach the intersection, I see a car pulling out of a parking spot and driving toward me. Could this be her? A right-turn signal flashes, indicating a stop — oh, what relief! She then honks loudly for at least a second, which slightly embarrasses me, but honestly, the relief overshadows everything. I walk toward her with a wide smile, the rain shower drumming all around us.
She steps out of the car, completely unbothered by the rain, and greets me with a hug, while laughing at the downpour. I love how she just stands there, shirt wetting more and more with every passing second, totally at ease. I laugh, she laughs, and I apologize profusely in advance for getting her car wet. She assures me it’s no problem — it’s her friend’s car anyway. I jokingly apologize to her friend, which sets her laughing again.
Success!
🍃 Part VII – Sure, Let’s Call It A Sea View
As soon as we’re on the road, I proceed to thank her what feels like a thousand times for her help, before turning into a total blabber-machine about the chaos of yesterday. She listens amusedly, with a laugh here and there, and then asks me why I’m going on such a hike alone. A question I’m so used to hearing, yet every time I find it difficult to answer. Still, I tell her that I like having space for my thoughts, walking at my own rhythm, and that it’s always an adventure, which helps me grow. She asks if I got scared when it got dark, and I answer honestly, though with some resistance: yes, I got a little scared. But I immediately add that I was comforted, when I called someone for support and that the fear didn’t last too long. I don’t know if she believed me.
I also tell her it’s my first time in Sweden, which surprises her tremendously. With wide open eyes, she exclaims, “What?! This is your first time in Sweden! Well… Welcome to Sweden!,” and she adds that this is the Swedish S ummer. I laugh and admit that I came at not such an ideal time, and that I probably deserve this little discomfort.
We drive to the house, and I feel comforted by her light spirit and easy-going nature. She tells me that she works with older people and that she also does foot treatments. “Ah, Podologie!” I find myself exlaiming in German, like my mouth has a brain of its own. I proceed to tell her that I love what she does and admire her work. She smiles and says that she loves doing it very much herself.
She then asks me a couple more questions about my trip: what path I’m taking, where I’ve stayed, and where I’ll be going next. I try to pronounce “Sörmlandsleden” with as much confidence as I can, failing epically, but she gets it on the second attempt. She briefly wonders if she could take me along tomorrow, but then remembers she’s going in the opposite direction for her swim training. I say it’s totally fine — the plan still is to hike after all.
Soon after, we turn onto a small pebbled street leading to a house, then curve left through a path surrounded by dense bushes, all the way to the back. From there, she walks me across a wide grass-filled space to the cabin I’ll spend the night in. Dreamily, I follow her, amazed by the surrounding and wondering what it’s like to live here, trying to keep my “wows” under control. Still, one or two manage to escape.
She unlocks the door, and I set my soil-covered hiking poles aside and slip off my shoes. Immediately, the cabin’s coziness comforts me. I can tell I’ll have a good time here.
She starts showing me around, saying I can sleep upstairs or downstairs, whatever I like. But I know for sure I’m not climbing any more stairs today…
Opening another door, we’re led to a back terrace of the cabin, and she opens her arms to present what she excitedly calls a sea view. I match her enthusiasm, but inwardly, I chuckle — it’s more of a “sea glimpse” than a sea view. A tiny strip of lake peeks over a field, barely visible. But sure, let’s call it a sea view. I absolutely love it — and seeing horses in the field makes me even happier.
As soon as she leaves, I sink onto the couch to rest my legs. It’s only 3:15 PM, so I have plenty of time to enjoy the day in whichever ways I desire.
I know I’ll definitely want to enjoy that view. So first off, I preparte a small treat — some vanilla-flavored porridge with peanut butter and chocolate pieces to set the mood straight. I take the bowl outside, wiping some rain off yet another set of rattan furniture, and sit down. Oh, finally… I can now breathe.
To my surprise, the weather feels a little warmer now, and the sun starts slowly peeking out from behind the clouds. I recall the weather forecast showing that tomorrow shall be sunny — perfect! I look forward to using yet another outdoor shower tomorrow before my next hike. Yes, I’d also forgotten about this one here…
The rest of the day is simple bliss — eating, resting, napping under two blankets, comforted by a couple of hot water bottles. I unexpectedly wake up for the sunset, and — of course — I use the chance to take a photo.
And other than that, I spend a lot of time letting the quietness calm me. I only hear the sounds of birds chattering and trees swaying in the wind. The outside mirror clinking against the wall adds a small, unnoticed rhythm. And funnily, the trees sound a little like waves — so much that later, the sound transforms into an actual sea just outside the cabin in a dream that visits me. But when the deep night hits, there’s only the sound of my breath and my pulse. Other than that, absolute calmness.
And with that, I say goodnight for the day.
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Quick view of hike stats:
🥾 Distance hiked: 9.61 km
⏱️ Time in motion: 2h 9 min
🏃🏻♀️ Average speed: 4.5 km/h
⛰️ Elevation hiked: 110 m
🏅 Distance hiked overall (day 1 & 2): 37.51 km
More detailed stats of today’s trip on Komoot (click on the photo to go to route):
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The next post shall be up in 2-3 weeks – stay tuned!
🖼️ If you liked the photos and would like a print or to use any of them as a wallpaper, please feel free to reach out to me! 🫶
💛 If you enjoyed reading my daydreams and would like to support me or express a small thank you, maybe you’d like to buy me a coffee? ☕ I LOVE coffee, and be assured it’s a guaranteed way to give me a BIG moment of happiness. ☺️ 💁🏻♀️
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Walking with Wolves 
