Today I walked a section of the Drenthepad, in preparation for Walking for Humanity – my 26-day journey along the Pieterpad, past asylum seekers’ centers, and dedicated to humanity. But training day or not, it felt like more than just a workout.
I’d actually hoped for a heavy shower – so I could really test my rain gear. The forecast was on that side, but typical Dutch weather: it turned out glorious. Sun, clouds, a pleasant breeze. You won’t hear me complaining.
What made this day truly special were the encounters. It was as if the path was constantly offering me a new story.
Stories on the way
The first encounter immediately touched me. A man told me how he and his wife had hiked the Alpe d’HuZes several times. Not for themselves, but for the many family members they lost to cancer. He described how he felt something on that mountain that I also hope to find during my journey: solidarity, compassion, comfort. “All those people around you, each with their own grief, yet filled with strength. It lifts you up.”
During a break, I spoke to a young boy. He was sitting on a bench with his bike, and we struck up a conversation. His father lost his job during the coronavirus pandemic, and with it, their farm. Everything was lost. But it wasn’t just a story of loss. His father now has a new job, and, he said without regret or anger, “We finally got something better in return.” A lesson in resilience—spoken so young, yet so maturely.
Later, I walked with an 82-year-old man. A sharp mind, straightforward, with little patience for long words. We clashed a bit at first, but after a while, things turned around. We found common ground through conversation, listening, and ultimately, mutual respect.
Also special was the couple who walked with me for a while: a woman from Brabant and a man from Limburg in Belgium. They joked about how that could ever go well, but I mainly saw warmth and connection. They genuinely asked about Walking for Humanity, and we had a wonderful conversation about hope, commitment, and humanity.
Meaningfull Pause
Just over halfway through my journey, I arrived at the Frederikshaven roadside restaurant in Uffelte. It was a welcoming spot by the road, and I decided to stop in for a cup of coffee. Annemarie was behind the bar and asked with interest what I was doing. I told her about my training trip, my mission, and my desire to find stories and connection along the way.
“Hold on,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen. A moment later, a steaming plate of salad, fries, and a large meatball appeared before me. “This is ours. For you.”
That gesture—small and grand at the same time—touched me. Because it was given so freely. Because it demonstrates what I mean by humanity: allowing each other something. Not because it’s necessary, but because it’s possible.
Typical Dutch
What struck me again today: what a beautiful country we live in. Not just because of the landscape—the trees, the winding paths, the farms nestled in the green—but especially because of the people. The stories, the openness, the encounters.
That’s exactly what I hope to continue experiencing during Walking for Humanity. Not a walk for myself, but for something bigger. For those who feel unseen. For those seeking a sign of hope. For those who, like that man on the mountain or that family without a farm, must start over.
This was a practice day. But it already felt like the real thing.
Touched by these stories? Then support Walking for Humanity on:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/walking-for-humanity
