The 12-hour walk
I’m going to walk for 12 hours. Shirtless. In shorts. From the heart of Rotterdam to the Netherlands’ most famous beach, Scheveningen—and back again. Just me, two bottles of water, and a backup set of clothes in case a hurricane joins the party. Why? Because it sounded fun.
(See the map below.)
Hour 1-2
I’m excited! It’s fresh, but nothing I haven’t handled before. The sun is out, and now that I’m shirtless, I can actually feel it—warming me, fueling me. No music, no distractions, just the raw soundscape of the world around me. Feels good.
I have my phone, but only to make sure I don’t accidentally pull a Christopher Columbus and end up on a whole new continent. (Not today, history.)
The first hour is easy—familiar streets, my city, my roots. Rotterdam hasn’t changed much. The same buildings, the same roads, the same pulse of daily life. But then, I pass Overschie… and suddenly, I’m somewhere else entirely.
Gone is the city. Now, I’m swallowed by nature’s greenery. No cars. No people. Just the crisp symphony of birds and the slow whisper of the river. I’ve never been here before.
And then, the sky shifts. The clouds close in, huddling together like an audience before a grand performance. A few drops, then a downpour. Cold rain meets warm skin, goosebumps rise. Suddenly, my walk feels like the opening scene of a horror movie. Scream—but make it scenic.
Still, I trust the path. I trust the journey. We go with the flow.
The bottom pin was my starting point. The top, De Pier, was my mid point. And then I walked the same road back home.
Hour 3-4
I can’t believe how long this river stretches. Or how I’ve lived so close and never explored it. What a shame. I realize now—I don’t need a screen to entertain me. This is life. This is the moment.
Walking still feels effortless. My feet move like they were made for this. There’s a sense of freedom I can’t quite explain. I remember something a Russian teacher once told me:
“Your mind thinks as big as the space you’re in.”
- My Russian teacher
That’s why humans love the horizon, why a broad landscape makes us feel free. Our little box-shaped homes don’t expand the mind, but out here? Out here, the mind breathes.
And I love it.
Soon, I step into Delft—a city frozen in time. Narrow canals, cobbled streets, charming old brick houses. Delftware pottery, Vermeer’s light-drenched paintings, a place where history and creativity intertwine. It’s beautiful.
It also marks the one-quarter point of my walk. Civilization again. People again. Surprisingly, no one seems to care about the random shirtless guy wandering through their town. The sun returns, and after hours outside, it feels different—warmer, deeper, almost nourishing, like my own personal photosynthesis.
Delft
The city of Deltfsblauw (Royal Blue) and Dutch history. It’s quirky streets give you the feeling of sipping on hot te on a snowy day.
Hour 5-6
I’m in The Hague—where my destination, Scheveningen, awaits. This is real. I’m actually doing this.
The Hague is where history, power, and culture collide. Home to the Dutch government, international courts, and grand palaces, it’s a place of quiet elegance. But for me, it’s just another step closer to the ocean.
I’m still feeling good. My feet are fine. I sip water here and there. I’m walking on an empty stomach, by the way. Did I mention that? Well—now you know.
A friendly grandpa stops me and asks what I’m up to. When I tell him, he smiles wide. “Keep it up!” he says. Moments like this—small but meaningful—fuel me.
The Hague
The Beach and Law capital of The Netherlands. One step closer to the ocean.
And then, I feel her before I even see her.
The beach.
I can hear her waves in the distance. I can see the energy shift in the people around me—more relaxed, more vibrant. I can smell her, the salt, the sea. Seagulls overhead, surfboards under arms, the ocean calling.
After 27 kilometers, I arrive at Heart Beach—my favorite spot. I do a quick upper-body workout at the outdoor gym (because, of course, gotta keep the pump alive). Then, I push forward to my final destination: The Pier.
The farthest point I can walk into the ocean.
I stand there, staring into the vast, empty blue. The sound of the wind dominates, wrapping around me like a song. If you close your eyes, a waterfall can sound like thunder. Thunder can sound like fire. Isn’t that interesting?
Six hours later, I loved the beach even more. There’s something special about earning your dopamine.
But now… it’s time to head home.
The Return
Same path, same journey—yet it feels different now. More reflective.
Three-quarters of the way back, I finally feel the hunger. But I keep going.
Another man stops me, curious. We talk about breathwork, mindset, and then about his son. He’s so proud. I see it in his eyes—shimmering, full of love. It’s beautiful.
The last stretch is easier than I expected. Honestly? I’d love to tell you this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But as I sit in a café, writing this, I reconsider.
Why should it be the hardest thing I’ve ever done?
Difficulty is just a perception. It’s subjective. My experience wasn’t suffering—it was beautiful.
Twelve hours alone with my thoughts. Walking through all seasons in a single day. Watching strangers become stories, and nature become my entertainment.
I’m reminded how lucky we are to be here. How kind people can be. How much beauty this world holds.
We’re all walking our own paths, aren’t we?
Anyway—I digress. But you get my drift, I think.
I get home and make myself an açaí bowl. Something tropical, something Brazilian. It might just be the best bowl I’ve ever made. Or maybe, after 12 hours, my taste buds are just as grateful as my soul.
Either way…
Life is good.