^ 🎧 Now also available as audio! For the audio version, play the track above.

🙋🏻‍♀️ Hi everyone and welcome to a new post about my Sweden hike in September 2025!

Today’s post is about day two of my hike — a day with its fair share of challenges and a couple of mental thunderstorms. ⛈️ It’s not the brightest chapter of the hike, but it was part of the journey, and it deserves to be shared honestly.

So sit back, enjoy, relax and feel free to laugh at my chaos. 😁

Would you prefer to read this post in Egyptian Arabic? Then click here.

(Estimated read time: 35 minutes)

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September 20, 2025 – Day 2
(Hike from Järna to Gnesta)

🍃 Part I – Greeted By Morning Dew, Warmed Up By A Golden Fog

05:30 AM. A gentle “By The Seaside” ringtone tries to nudge me awake – to no avail. Unless there’s an actual sea right outside my window, it won’t do the trick. Snooze.

05:39 AM. Second try. With one eye open, I look around me. It’s still dark, and it’s cold. I can’t imagine getting out from under these incredibly cozy blankets. Snooze.

This battle goes on for roughly another twenty minutes, until at 06:00 AM, luckily, I once again summon the question that hits the right nerve at the right time: Do you really want to hike 25 kilometers today without a proper breakfast and morning stretch? And do you want to miss your train? Clock’s ticking… Okay, okay! I’m up.

I push myself upright and sleepily walk to the window, curious to catch a glimpse of what I assume must be a beautiful dawn scene. But as soon as I open the blinds, I see nothing but an incredibly dew-filled window pane showing a blurry, dark terrace beyond it. I can also vaguely spot a couple of really big spiders floating in the corners. Mmm… let’s just keep the blinds closed for now, shall we?

A hot cup of coffee and warm porridge set the tone right for my usual morning stretches. I don’t have much time, so I multitask my way through getting dressed, stretching some more, tidying up, and packing everything as neatly and efficiently as my 6:00 AM brain can manage – preparing for the train ride and the long hike ahead.

Once finished, I calmly go over today’s plan in my mind: in a few minutes, I’ll walk to Trelleborg Central Station to take the first train to Malmö, then the second train to Södertälje, and finally a third one to Järna. From Järna, I’ll start a 25 kilometer hike all the way to a forest cabin in Gnesta. Intense, I know. But I sure am thrilled about the adventure awaiting me!

I open the blinds again – now revealing a lighter, though still incredibly blurry scene. I then swing my backpack onto my shoulders, slip into my shoes and say goodbye to my little sanctuary for this short night.

06:35 AM. I hear my hosts’ dog faintly bark as I leave the apartment. So friendly…

But as soon as I step onto the street, the place already feels miles away. It’s incredibly quiet, filled with that magical morning freshness, just as the light-blue sky begins to playfully turn pinkish. I take a deep breath, inhaling the cool, humid air, feeling relieved and happy to be here.

The streets give off a bit of an American Beauty vibe – you know, the movie. Cute houses, each with its own well-kept garden. Long street. Quiet, peaceful. Trees lining up along the pavement.

07:13 AM. A few unplanned detours and small panic moments later, I finally reach the station. Google Maps had guided me through streets that are actually closed off for construction, forcing me to jog my way through longer routes just to make it on time. But once there, I realize I still have seven full minutes to spare. Win!

I get enough time to make a photo showing a beautiful sunrise scene playfully reflecting off the trains.

07:20 AM. The train leaves right on time, with me sitting in a comfy corner seat. Relief washes over me as I realize I’ve made it. I enjoy the emptiness and calm around me – it’s just me and a couple of other passengers.

I lean back and watch scenes of vast, golden fields slide by, embraced by morning fog and glorious sunshine, offering me a quiet kind of comfort.

I keep going over today’s plan in my head, while double-checking the train tickets on my phone. The conductor appears within the first few minutes, requesting to see the first one of them. I’m comforted by his smile and polite tack (“thank you” in Swedish) – a small confirmation that I’ve got the correct ticket. Now I can relax a little.

🍃 Part II – In Transit, In Thought

07:52 AM. Thirty-two minutes later, we reach Malmö, and I find myself in a station that immediately confirms I’ve entered a big city. I follow a few passengers up the escalator, before stepping into a current of hundreds of people through the upstairs halls.

Knowing I won’t have much time to stop at a supermarket for water later on in Järna, I head into the first service store I spot and impulsively buy three bottles of water and a banana. You can’t have too much water!

Five minutes later, I’m inside the train to Södertälje, happily finding my reserved seat right away. I get cozy, greet the Swedish ad that will stare me into the face for the next five hours, and watch the platform drift away, as we begin our journey on time at 08:07 AM.

The mood on the train is quiet and at ease – everyone’s either sleeping or reading. As I’m now fully awake, I take a moment to become mindful of my surroundings: a young man in the four-seater next to me is immersed in a book, shoes off, legs stretched comfortably across from him. In front of me, a sweet-looking couple leans their heads together; a few minutes later, the woman spots the empty seats and moves to lie down there, continuing her nap. Sweet.

The sun pours gently through the window, soft and golden, adding to the warmth of it all. I stretch my own legs across the seat beside me (no seat neighbor, yay!) and put on my beloved audiobook The Disappearance of the Universe by Gary Renard, filling the air with its mind-opening spiritual-philosophical musings. With amusement about the time and place I find myself in right now, I immerse myself in thoughts about the universe, hugged by this quiet morning between strangers. I sink into a kind of meditative stillness, recharging my energies – at least until a hundred new passengers board the train a few stations later.

11:15 AM. The steady motion of the train begins to make me feel a little dizzy, so I decide to get up and walk to the bistro in search of grounding – and coffee. A few wagons, some hallway balancing acts, and a queue of ten customers squeezed into a one-meter-wide corridor later, I return with a hummus wrap and a steaming cup of coffee, both of which I enjoy gratefully back at my seat. Outside, the sun has disappeared and the sky has turned hazy, which is a bit of a bummer for my hike… but I stay optimistic. The forecast promised clearer skies later. Little do I know that will be the least of my worries in just a few hours.

12:12 PM. An announcement mumbles something in Swedish, and it’s by pure luck that I catch the word Södertälje. How is it possible that I almost missed my stop? Oh, dear…

Hastily, I pack everything up in the remaining three minutes — headphones, hummus wrap, the three impulsively bought water bottles, banana — and put on my jackets in the planned order. I can do this!

At 12:15 PM, I’m standing on the platform in Södertälje, relieved. I take a deep breath, before walking off to find the next train.

🍃 Part III – The Big Slow Beginning

The station is small, with just a few people scattered around – and a somewhat sleepy vibe to it. Finding the next platform turns out to be trickier than expected. The signs don’t help, and the app doesn’t show which platform my train to Järna departs from. None of the screens display the train number I’m seeing on the app either. Hmm. Am I at the wrong station?

I look around, my eyes scanning my surroundings for someone I can ask, but there’s no one particularly approachable – and no information desk, just another service store. Two men glance at me with a smirk, which I take as my cue to just go anywhere else but stay here.

Finally, with great relief, I spot a small hidden sign at the far end of the station that says Pendeltåg (commuter train) – exactly what I’ve been looking for! I follow it down a long hallway, then an even longer escalator that carries me to a hidden open-air platform. This must be it. And the train won’t arrive for another twenty-eight minutes. Cool.

For a moment I consider walking instead – it is just one stop after all. But a quick look at Komoot confirms it’s a definite NOPE. It’s a four kilometer walk. An hour on foot. Not worth it. At least not prior to the 25 kilometers awaiting me… And so I stay and practice patience.

Once seated, I let the pre-hike calmness settle over me, taking in the small sounds that greet me – the rustling of leaves in the wind, the occasional announcement echoing through the platform, the voice of the only other passenger murmuring on the phone. I mentally revise today’s route, sending a quiet wish that it won’t be as difficult a route as I fear it will be.

But a demanding one it shall be — 25 kilometers with around 400 meters of elevation — and what I hadn’t realized before booking all my accommodations and trains: the sun now sets at 7:00 PM. Back in Germany, hiking in early September, I’d had a full extra hour of light. That difference might seem small, but today, it could make things… well, adventurous. Let’s just call it that.

01:01 PM. The announcement voice repeats for the fourth time that the train is about to arrive — it’s been saying so every minute for the past four minutes. At 01:02, it finally does.

I step in and notice with happiness that the wagon is empty, with plenty of space. Even though it’s just a seven-minute ride, I will take any rest I can get before the hike. I’ve managed to attach my backpack in juuust the most comfortable way I could figure out, but it’s still heavy. I find a seat near the door and let the bag rest on the seat beside me.

01:09 PM. Järna. Finally! How long did it take me to get here again? A day and a half, if I count yesterday’s journey. And now I’m here. I take a deep breath in, as I take the first steps onto the platform, looking for the stairs. My navigation app points to an exit on the right, up a steep set of stairs. Ugh! Stairs already? I spot a ramp on the opposite side and decide to walk toward it, hoping it’ll lead me around somehow — but no.

I find myself under a heavy grey sky, next to a street, a bus stop, a few small houses, and immediately realize that I’ll have to walk back. The ramp leads nowhere useful; the only way to the other side — the one the stairs would’ve taken me to — is up a busy, elevated road, and then across, costing me a good 500 meters of effort. No way around going back and taking the stairs. Still, I can’t help but wonder what people in wheelchairs do here. That’s a cruel detour to have to take.

I spot a pair of teenage girls watch me curiously, while I think. It must be my hiking poles… or my braids… or my backpack… or just EVERYTHING mixed with my clueless face, I think to myself with an inner laugh. What’s up with this cluelessness anyway? I ask myself. I do have a plan after all, but a small part of me feels reluctant to begin — that familiar pre-hike unease.

I realize I need some grounding before I start. I walk toward a nearby bench, drop my backpack, unclip the poles, take a sip of water, and peel off my fleece jacket — the humidity is rising, and I’ll be sweating soon enough. I put my phone on silent, so as not to be disturbed.

A few deep breaths in and out, and it’s definitely time to move. It’s already 1:15 PM. I pull myself together, swing my backpack onto my shoulders again, and head toward the stairs I’d been trying to avoid.

🍃 Part IV – Finding Rhythm Amongst Mental Battles

As soon as I take my first steps, the outskirts-industrial vibe clings to me: wide streets, spacious grey pavements, and monotonous bland commercial buildings with bad typography. I decide this is the perfect chance to practice using my hiking poles — my very first attempt. Clumsily, I try to balance being overly self-conscious and out-of-place with finding a rhythm that works… but I fail spectacularly.

I try to find inspiration and support in the sight of a little senior woman walking towards me, with poles in her hand. She moves effortlessly, yet she holds the tips at ear level, which makes… no sense to me at all. I notice I’ve got no “theoretical” clue on how to approach this, should’ve watched a YouTube video, and decide to just stash the poles away for now and try again later. I can’t afford to let anything slow me down now, and it’s hard enough with the constant stream of cars rushing by.

Around a kilometer and a half later, Komoot guides me to a hidden left entry – and just like that, I finally step onto the Sörmlandsleden. I can now say my hike has officially started!

The Sörmlandsleden spans rougly 1,000 kilometers of hiking trails across Södermanland, south of Stockholm, weaving through nature reserves, cultural sites, and historical monuments. The section I’m on leads mainly through untouched greenery.

Soon enough, I find myself gliding over long, lush-green grass, surrounded by thousands of trees. The air smells fresh and humid. And funnily enough… like mushrooms. Intensely so. Curiously, I take a deep breath in, smiling at the novelty of this experience. And as the elevation rises, I find my hands intuitively reach for the poles. Indeed, in this entirely different setting, I can figure out how to use them. While naturally leaning forward on the incline, they offer support just when I need it, and to my big relief, I notice it’s actually helping a lot!

A few steps later, I encounter a group of four young men lounging on the grass at the edge of the path, one of them half-leaning into it. Awkward… I prepare a friendly hi, but they don’t give me any attention and remain immersed in their conversation. Oh well, probably for the best.

I walk further, noticing the trail is changing: stoney ground, much of which is covered in thick moss, surrounded by hundreds of trees. And the mushroom smell gets even more intense. The air feels more humid now, reminding me to thank my past self for following my intuition and taking off my jacket. I take a moment to pause and let my eyes wander over the fresh green.

Moments later, as I shortly stop over a bridge, I hear human voices. I look back and spot the same group of young men catch up to me. Am I that slow?! I try to quicken my pace, but they are still much faster. As I’ll just be in their way, I just let them pass me, flashing them with as confident a smile as I can muster. They thank me briefly and move on. Damn, they really are fast! And they’re not even using hiking poles… impressive, but also slightly intimidating.

My worry grows, as I check Komoot after what feels like an hour of walking. Expecting five kilometers, I see I’m only at 3.25. With still over twenty kilometers remaining! The reality, that this will be much more difficult than I expected, hits. Elevated ground slows progress much more than I’m used to.

However, I remind myself to stay focused and disciplined: take fewer photos, shorter breaks, regulate your pace and most importantly – don’t doubt too much.

However, the “don’t doubt too much” part proves to be the most challenging. My mind takes this as an invitation to launch a relentless assault of doubt, spamming me with thoughts like:
“This will never work. What were you thinking?”
“This is so exhausting. You’re not well-rested and your backpack is so heavy. Poor planning!”
“Wasn’this supposed to be this fun, amazing experience you’ve been planning for months? Doesn’t look fun to me…”
And the worst one of all: “What if you don’t make it? What if you have to spend the night in the forest?”

Whenever I notice that pattern of useless thoughts, I take a moment to stop and take in my surroundings, letting the silence comfort me. Sometimes it works well, sometimes not so much.

2:40 PM. At 4.5 kilometers, I take a 15-minute break to give myself some damage-control self-talk. I’m familiar with such moods, but aware that the difficult terrain makes this one extra tricky. I remind myself: nobody forced me to go on this hike — this was my decision. Even if it turns out to only be an unpleasant experience, it’s still an experience I chose. I remind myself it’s okay if this day turns out badly, and that every challenge is valuable. And there’s still time. I close my eyes and take in the perfect silence. There is no sound but my breath.

A few shoulder stretches and a couple of energizing snacks later, I feel a little steadier. But I know the challenge won’t vanish; keeping this mindset will require work for the hours ahead.

🍃 Part V – Jazz And A High Chance of Cloudy Thoughts

3:00 PM. Today is clearly not a day to embrace silence – a realization that hits me while my thoughts continue to provide a rough symphony to my steps. I seek comfort in my Spotify daylist, which decides it’s time to bless me with some jazz. SURE! I’ll take anything.

With music coming out the pocket of my trouser, I continue navigating the Sörmlandsleden, following the faint voice of Komoot that only works sporadically. The trail winds through trees, orange markings guiding me, moss-covered stones underfoot, challenging every step.

Using the hiking poles has become intuitive and automatic by now. I find comfort in the support they provide and silently thank my past self for buying the poles at the last minute, one day before leaving. While reviewing everything, I realized with a face-palm that I forgot to buy hiking poles. In the comfort of my home, exhausted from the workweek, that little voice in my head almost won: “Ah, let’s just risk it.” Luckily, I didn’t take that risk. I still shudder at the idea that I’d be climbing up this rocky terrain without the poles. My knees would’ve rebelled immediately.

Every 300 meters or so, I take a short five-minute break to lay down the backpack, rest my shoulders, eat some nuts. I put on a timer, so as not to lose track of my strict schedule. I feel tired, and the situation is frustrating. The time pressure prevents me from slowing down and enjoying my surroundings or enjoying a proper meal. But the most frustrating thing: I’m still too slow for my actual plan. The humid, slightly windy air strains my breathing, but there’s no choice but to continue onward. And so I do, trying to find solace in the beautiful surrounding.

Every once in a while, I find a pair of wooden boards laid over puddles (or sometimes “mini-swamp” is more like it). A small aid to help hikers cross over without getting wet. The boards, however, eaten by water and humidity, are soft and unstable, usually only one at a time sturdy enough to cross. I balance carefully, knees shaking under the weight of my backpack, but making it through. Thank you, yoga mornings – at least a small win. But adrenaline spikes anyway.

3:54 PM. Extremely freaking exhausted, I claim a longer break atop another stoney hill. With a big sigh, I collapse onto my backpack, allowing my body to rest fully. With a metal fence on my left, and endless trees, moss and stone on my right, I stare into the sky. Breathe. Slow, heavy breaths. Yes, I’m slower than expected, but I’ll somehow make it.

To my surprise, the clouds part and the sun emerges gently. Even now, in such a moment of exhaustion, this simple sight comforts me and gives me a small boost of energy. I look forward to capturing the trees bathed in light, though all my body can think of right now is: WARM BED. MASSAGE. NEVER DO THIS TO ME AGAIN.

Reluctantly, I strap the backpack back on, push myself upright, and step forward. Knees in pain, lungs heavy, I continue the hike, looking past the protest of my body toward the trail ahead.

🍃 Part VI – That Forest Might Be Comfortable For The Night, No?

05:00 PM. The sun lights up the forest in golden hues, comforting me slightly, reminding me to look ahead and keep believing I’ll make it. Despite the exhaustion through my legs and the slow crawl of a bad mood, I still find myself stopping every so often to take in the beautiful scenery around me – a few short breaths of calm between all that effort. In the end, why am I doing this if I don’t give myself this chance? I ask myself, standing in the middle of a heathland beneath a giant transmission tower that hums quietly above me.

A few steps later, a wide puddle of water interrupts the path. Damn. No wooden boards to cross it, no way around. I decide to balance my way along the stones at the edge of it. It looks doable. I tell myself: you can do this, as long as there’s something solid to step on. Carefully, I start inching forward, holding onto the stones, pretending to be some spontaneous climber version of myself. It works — until it doesn’t. The walkable stones suddenly disappear, and I spot a small mound of soil in the puddle that looks firm enough. I take the leap, swing my left foot onto it, and immediately realize: that was a mistake. The ground sinks beneath me. My foot plunges into the muddy softness. Oh no.

Luckily, my shoes are water-resistant enough that my socks stay mostly dry. Still, the incident gives a heavy blow to my mood. I try to clean off the shoe with a tissue, but my patience is wearing thin. Eleven kilometers down, fifteen still ahead. Sigh.

Once the worst of the mud is removed, I move on. The forest thickens around me again and moss covers every stone. Golden-greenish colors surround me, as the sun shines through the trees. Then, in the distance — I suddenly spot movement. A different color. People! With a closer look, I realize it’s the same group of guys I saw earlier. Oh, what a relief! It’s one of those moments I know well from other hikes — when the simple sight of other humans feels like the universe is handing you a bit of courage. You’re not alone. Someone else is walking this same path. And even better – I’m not much slower than them.

I try to keep them in sight, but they vanish behind the trees after a few minutes. Ten more minutes pass without a trace. How could this be? I start wondering if I hallucinated them out of sheer willpower — a small mirage to keep myself going. Who knows at this point…

05:32 PM. I reach a wooden shelter overlooking a small lake. The sun filters through the trees, giving the water that late-summer glow that always looks otherworldly. I walk towards it and just stand there. I come to terms with the realization that the sun will set long before I’ve reached my destination. There’s no way of denying this anymore. The only control I have is how quickly I can keep moving. I really don’t want to be inside the forest when night comes — I’m not experienced with this, and I can already feel myself shudder at the idea of walking through spiderwebs that shall be manifesting in the coming two hours.

For a brief moment, I wonder if spending the night here could be an option. The place looks calm, safe even. I don’t have a tent, but I have my emergency blanket, something that could pass as a pillow, food, water-cleansing tablets, and a lake shimmering right there. It’s tempting — until I picture how dark it will get. How alone it will feel. How I’d have to walk again tomorrow with no nearby bus, no road, no taxi to call. And my phone’s already attached to the portable charger and won’t make it through another hike tomorrow without a charge. I do have physical maps, but no… it’s just too risky. There’s really no way but forward.

I sit down for ten minutes, eat a few snacks, and remind myself of something that’s saved me many times before: It’s a matter of willpower. Pain is just pain. I can make it despite the pain. I can feel pain, but still keep going.

At 05:45 PM, I do a quick stretch and continue.

🍃 Part VII – The Trees That Finally Broke My Cool

05:55 PM. My energy is surprisingly steady, as I keep going. I’m at 13.5 kilometers now, walking at a decent pace. The forest still holds enough light to comfort me, and I try to focus on the music playing softly from my packet. Spotify has decided that hip-hop is what I need for the evening. Sure. Why not.

Then, I reach a crossroads — the Sörmlandsleden, my official route, continues to the left, while another trail, the Blå leden, veers off to the right. Both seem about the same distance, but the Sörmlandsleden leads downhill and along the water, so I decide to stay loyal to the plan.

A few steps later, something shifts. The forest thickens around me, the air growing heavy and dark. My eyes start to strain against the dim light and humidity, but I try to stay calm, one step at a time. Then I see it: three fallen trees lying across the path. Fuck.

I climb over them slowly, every movement feeling like it costs ten steps’ worth of energy. Then another tree appears, surrounded by a chaos of dead branches. And further ahead — more. The path is littered with fallen trunks.

There aren’t really words for that moment. A deep wave of hopelessness just rolls through me. I stop, press my hands over my eyes, and let out a few small tears — half anger, half surrender. What the fuck do I do now?

Continuing feels impossible. I’m at 14 kilometers, with another eleven to go. If the rest of the trail looks like this, I won’t make it. And the thought of walking back uphill to the Blå leden makes me want to collapse right here among the branches.

I stand there for a while, quietly furious. I had checked the official Sörmlandsleden website before coming here — no mention of fallen trees, no sign of this mess. This isn’t some recent storm damage. How irresponsible is this?

Eventually, I take a moment to accept what I’ve been avoiding: This sucks. And I can’t do this alone anymore. My thoughts are too heavy, looping in anger and doubt, and I need an anchor. So, with reluctance and relief in equal parts, I call someone I trust. It feels like a small defeat — this is supposed to be my solo hike — but also like an act of sanity.

As soon as I hear a familiar friendly voice, I start talking fast, ranting, letting it all out. “I still have fourteen kilometers to walk, and I’m tired, I hate this, and none of this is worth it. Everyone told me I have to go to Sweden, I have to go to Sweden, but it’s not even that different from Germany! I fucking hate this.”

And within seconds, the pressure eases. I did the right thing. The weight in my chest begins to dissolve. I’m not alone anymore — at least not in the ways that matter. The thoughts that have been pacing in circles finally quiet down. My body still feels resistant to continue with every step, but I have no choice but to go on.

So, with a supportive voice on the line, I start walking back up the hill. Every step is a prayer — that the next path, the other path, will be kinder.

🍃 Part VIII – A Night Walk Nobody Asked For

06:30 PM. It’s getting darker, fast. Luckily, the Blå leden turns out to be much friendlier — familiar mossy stones, soft forest ground, a rhythm my body remembers. The sound of someone else’s voice in my ear helps work wonders, tugging me gently away from my spiral of bad thoughts. And slowly, my energy starts returning, and I find my arms swinging the poles with something close to enthusiasm again.

I stop to check my map, searching for an alternative route — something more open, less forested, even if it adds distance. I’d rather walk an extra hour than stumble through the dark forest, waving a flashlight at spiderwebs and fallen trees. Nope to that.

06:50 PM. Relief washes over me as I reach a gravel path. It adds another kilometer, but I’ll gladly pay that price. There’s still a faint shimmer of light left — maybe twenty percent — and around nine kilometers to go. Although with every step doubt lingers like a shadow at my heels, I hold tightly onto the belief that I can make it.

07:30 PM. Relief hits me again as the gravel turns to asphalt. An actual road. Who would’ve thought I’d ever be so happy to see cars? It’s another detour, another two kilometers added, but it beats walking through the forest in the dark. The sky has faded to its last thread of blue, maybe five percent light left. Cars pass occasionally, their headlights feeling surreal, like brief, alien visits.

I realize I’ve never done this before — walking alone in the dark. I’ve always wanted to try it, but definitely not like this. I tell myself it’s an experience, at least — a story in the making — but the thought lands flat. Everything hurts. My body feels like it’s running on reserve battery mode.

I decide that if a car stops and offers help, I’ll say yes. But none do. Not one slows down. Do I look like I know what I’m doing? I wonder. Probably. And truthfully, the thought of stopping someone makes me uncomfortable. Unless I collapse right here and my legs refuse to get up again, I won’t ask. I chose this path; I chose the risk. Being tired, angry, and sore is part of the deal. And even through all that, I still believe I’ll make it — angry, sad, exhausted, yes — but I’ll make it.

08:00 PM. Seven kilometers to go. I try to comfort myself: this is just like walking across Berlin. Easy. I’ve done that before. Just not with twenty-one kilometers already behind me, and a mountain for a backpack. Still, doable. This is just a walk across Berlin – I try to make it my mantra.

By now, the sky is ninety-nine percent dark, the last one percent borrowed from the stars. There are no streetlights here. I turn on my phone’s flashlight — both to see the ground and to signal to occasionally passing cars that I exist. My clothes have nothing reflective, so this tiny rectangle of light becomes my lifeline.

The trees look utterly different in the light of a flashlight. There’s nothing serene about them now — no dreamy moss, no magical sunlight glow. They’re skeletal, distorted, shifting shapes in the beam. There’s nothing poetic about them in this light. It feels like a horror film I accidentally wandered into. I try to focus on the road, but every few meters a road sign catches the light and flashes back at me — and for a second I think it’s a person. My heart jolts. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe.

09:00 PM. Three kilometers left. It’s hard to describe the exhaustion coursing through me — it’s not just physical anymore. It’s something deeper, a full-body protest. Somewhere, far in the rational part of my mind, I know this will turn into a story I’ll value later, when it’s just a memory. But right now, it’s pure torment, a slow-motion test of will. I’ve been walking for two and a half hours straight, trapped in the loop of just keep going. I know if I stop, my legs will refuse to lift again.

Every little sound sharpens my nerves. A sudden rustle, a shape in the dark — everything sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. My energy is strained to the maximum, all of it channeled into movement and fear management. And my mind, being unhelpfully creative, starts digging up every horror movie I’ve ever seen, filling the night with imaginary monsters.

Still, I walk.

🍃 Part IX – The Longest Kilometer Of My Life

09:30 PM. One kilometer to go. The darkness of the trees has vanished, and I find myself beneath a vast, star-filled sky. It’s calm. I take a moment to stop, to grasp that I’m here, still standing upright, and to feel the awe of what’s above me. The pain in my joints is unbearable, but for a fleeting instant, I feel hugged by the serenity that surrounds me. It’s just me. The silence. The night. Thousands of stars shimmering, unaffected by my complaining self. A sight I’d neither see in Berlin nor in Cairo. And even though I’m in pain, there’s a flicker of gratitude.

09:45 PM. 600 meters left. With tears held back, I walk. A distance so small, compared to the rest of the trip, yet so cruelly infinite. Each micro-movement screams pain. My body has turned into one long ache, the last 5% of my energy is fully employed in this desperate choreography of walking. Almost there, I tell myself. Just keep going.

09:50 PM. Thousands of trees have swallowed me again. Darkness presses in from all sides. But thankfully, the gravel path is wide and well-maintained. I know the cabin sits by a lake, hiding somewhere in this quiet maze. Then in the distance, I see some faint lights. As I approach, I spot small, round lightbulbs strung along a fence.

My navigation shows I’m fifty meters away, but I don’t see anything. Then I realize I’ve fallen victim to my favorite rookie mistake once again: putting a “vague” pin as a destination, instead of the exact address. With a frustrated sigh, I adjust the destination, and with a very relieved sigh, I realize the cabin is only another 200 meters further…

09:55 PM. I can definitely recognize I’m at the campsite now, but I don’t spot a single person. Limping between wooden structures and vans, I notice how every bit of patience is long gone. I’m dying to lay down. As even the motion of reaching for my phone hurts, I try to find the cabin based on my vague memory of the Airbnb photos. I spot a small cabin that looks somewhat familiar — wooden, with stairs, maybe it’s this one. I climb up, whispering apologies to my knees with every step. But at the door: no lockbox. I shine my flashlight through the window, peering in like a desperate person. Definitely the wrong one. And luckily empty.

And then — something brushes hard against my leg. I jump back, heart in my throat, only to find… a friendly orange cat. Just seeking some attention.
“Oh, hello there…” I manage, half chuckling, half in shock. It rubs against my shin again, purring like it knows I needed this tiny distraction. I bow down for a second to pet it and let myself be comforted by its fluffiness, before apologetically dragging myself down the stairs once more.

10:00 PM. And there it is. The right cabin.
A Swedish flag hanging proudly from its balcony. My final landmark.

I climb up again — slowly, apologizing aloud to my joints. I punch in the code, open the lockbox, and when the key falls into my hand, I nearly cry. The door opens on the first try. And there, standing in the warm light of the cabin, I hang up the phone with a grateful heart, throw my backpack to the ground, let myself fall on the couch, and just lay there for what feels like eternity.

“I’ve made it.”

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🍃 If you’ve read this far, thank you — truly. I know this day was heavier and darker than most of my hikes, maybe even difficult to read at times. But growth and self-discovery are a big part of why I walk and put myself in challenging conditions, and that means learning to accept that not every trail is made of sunlight. And since honesty is the ground I try to write from, softening this story or polishing it into something neater would have felt wrong. But looking back, these experiences are always the ones that leave the deepest trace, the life learnings, the ones that quietly shift something inside me — so it’s with gratitude that I’ve written this chapter.

I promise the next ones will come with calmer skies and even some sunshine. 🌞

Thank you for walking with me — I’d love to hear what you think. 🙌

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Quick view of hike stats:

🥾 Distance hiked: 27.9 km
⏱️ Time in motion: 7h 12 min
🏃🏻‍♀️ Average speed: 3.9 km/h
⛰️ Elevation hiked: 370 m

More detailed stats 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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