Five free short adventurefilms who gave me instant goosebumps

Because I’m a filmmaker, film festival organizer and random film lover, many films pass my eyes. Some are great, some are crappy but every film is made by somebody who loves to share their experience of adventure. Sometimes this can lead to films that haunt you and inspire you to make the best of your life. I made a list of five of the best short adventure films I came across during the years.

The Important Places

(Forest Woodward/Gnarly Bay, 2015, 9″)When we become older we see how we start to look more like our parents. We see we get older as well, and how the choices we made in past years influence us. When Forest found a poem his father  wrote him after his birth, he decides it’s time to step into the time machine. He takes is 70 year old father down the Colorado river to let him relive his youth. A beautiful and breathtaking film, showing we are never too old to go on an adventure. Goosebumps assured.

The Road From Karakol
(Ducttape Then Beer, 2013, 25″)

In this film climber and adventurer Kyle Dempster starts out naked at seven in the morning. We probably ask ourselves: Why is he up so early? Well, he is crossing a river in Kyrgystan; the Alps of the Central Asia. This adventure brings Kyle to the most inhabited places in the country, cycling to blank points on the map. After getting lost, almost being swept away by a monstrous river and getting up so early he finds unclimbed peaks to make first ascents. Kyle is a great character to follow on this journey. He is a genuine adventurer and goes for the real deal, having the camera as his diary. Sadly in 2016 Kyle went to the mountains of Pakistan to never return. This film now serves as a beautiful hommage to a real adventurer.

Upon A Ribbon Of Wildness

(Ian Finch, 2015, 5″)The Outer Hebrides are Britain’s far flung north-west frontier, an archipelago stretching over 120 miles north to south, thirty to sixty miles off the coast of Scotland. Islands of myth and mystery, of mists and dazzling sunsets across sparkling blue seas, of gentle machair and rugged mountains, home of the Gaelic speaking crofting people. The Beautiful music matches perfectly with the images shot by Ian himself, making this short film a dream of adventure.

Adventure Not War

(Stept/Max Lowe/The North Face, 2017, 8″)Adventure Not War is the story of three U.S. veterans traveling back into the mountains of Iraq on a mission to heal wounds and experience the country and its culture without the shadow of war. Without the war they can finally meet the real people of Afghanistan. This beautiful story makes an unknown soldier to a real person. And shows what war can do to a person as well as adventure.

Tall Bike Tour

(Zenga Bros, 2015, 11″)The Zenga Bros are exploring creativity, society and mainstream media. They have their own idea about this; “Be yourself, but only weirder.” Through Tall bikes they express their feelings towards society. A truly creative family showing life can be lived outside the box and this is way more fun then a “normal” life. Not an adventure film in the traditional sense of the word but in a way of living. Take your television, drag it behind your bike and go explore the boundaries of creativity!

Do you know some great adventure films as well? Let me know in the comments or on Facebook!




Walking tasusiyt: the long road to the Barrage du souss

I’m lost. The only thing I see are thorn bushes for kilometers on end. In the distance the long shape of a mosque, an indication that i’m not too far away from society. But nothing more. I look at the sun but can’t make anything of that. How can I lose track of the river?

Sometimes an adventurous journey is a real adventure. Sometimes nothing happens. We tend to forget this; the long kilometers of black asphalt, cars passing by, the dredge only broken by a honking horn or a passing donkey packed with weeds. A day where actually nothing happens, until something happens. Because on an adventure the little things are the most important.

The long asphalt stretches it’s black tongue in front of me, mostly I don’t even see the end. I know it’s just 20 kilometers more. A walk of four hours, but I calculate six. At these moments my mind wanders, it wanders from left to right, from the tip of the iceberg all the way to the bottom of the ocean. Good ideas come up, stupid jokes that make me grin and past experiences with friends or family. As the ticking of my walking sticks indicates the ticking of the clock and the passing of kilometers the sun flies more towards the west. I hit the end of the road and put up my tent at an orange orchard. The voice from the mosque tells me it’s time for an evening prayer. Time for dinner.

During the night my phone bleeps and indicates it’s empty. For the next day I apparently don’t have a GPS, but I’ve made a drawing from the map; this way I should be able to find my way to the base of the Souss river, the Barrange du Souss. I have found my way before with my own maps, but it seems my “map drawing skills” were a little out of date. The map is simple; I just have to follow the river, pass a bigger road, follow a little more river and then hit the road towards the Barrage. 20 maybe 30 kilometers, I could make it! After walking in the base of the river for an hour or two I decide to go for the edge. The boulders and the sand in the river make the going too slow. After an hour I have no more clue where the edge ends and the Moroccon wasteland begins. Thorn bushes everywhere and no shade to hide from the scorching sun. I can see for kilometers on end. There is nothing. Only bushes, sand, boulders and the occasional crossing turtle, who asked what i’m doing there. I know when we are lost we have the tendency to walk in circles, so I look for a higher point in front of me and just walk that way. When I stop i feel my head getting dizzy. I have to keep going. Finally I find a cactus with a little shade. It might not be such a good idea to lay under it, but it’s the only shade I find.

Finally I find my old friend the river again, I’m happy to see him. I recharge my phone at a little store in a village and go on my way towards the last kilometers. When I see the first streams water in little rivers next to the path I know I’m getting close. I follow the flow and see how the sides of the river get more and more green. Lush vegitation instead of dried up clay. I walk through nameless villages until I reach the town of Oulouz. Here I treat myself for a tea with a big omelette. The locals in the store are fascinated by my story, and I’m fascinated by theirs. We exchange experiences, smiles and end up talking about soccer. Barcelona or Real Madrid? I get the omelette and tea for free. Just a little sign of Moroccan hospitality.

Im going uphill towards the Barrage, and when I finally reach it I’m happy but tired. I sit down and enjoy the view and strong winds blowing shapes into the water. I’ve made it; I nearly walked the entire length of the Souss river. Except for the 14 kilometers I hitchhiked towards Taroudant my feet took me all the way from Agadir to Aoulouz and the Barrage. I think of all the people I met; the lonely young sheepherder who stalked me for most of the trip with weird whatsapp messages, the girl who wanted to be an English teacher and her father who owned a little store giving her an opportunity to go to school. The countless women who were hidden inside the houses but made me tea. They have not seen my smile their tea gave me. The farmer who gave me two kilo’s of oranges or the little kid who wanted to throw a rock towards me because I didn’t give him money. The shared laughs, countless hands and all the types of beautiful handshakes I’ve came across. And the countless sardines I’ve eaten. Maybe next month will be a sardine-less month.

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Following Tasusiyt: At the pace of a sloth

I’m walking the full lenght of the Souss river in Morocco in search of real Moroccan life outside the cities. So far I’ve encountered friendly sheepherders in long jalabas, vans packed with people and many, many orangetrees.

The sun is blasting on my dry skin. My lips are dry, the air is dry and the river is dry.  Although many signs I come across in the river tell a quite different story. After an hour walking over the boulders that is the Souss river I stop at a little shop where they sell all the moroccan nessecities; sardines, sweets, soda and bread. In this little place I learn the cold hard truth, seeing the evidence on a phone. A week ago water was flowing through this dry and dusty river with the power of 1000 horses.

The blisters under my feet are getting a little better and since I’m not too good in sitting around it’s time to get on with it. This river doesn’t walk itself. I decide to have an easy day to let my feet get used to walking; 8 kilometers. After an uneasy start I find myself on the brink of the city and on a pathway leading to the Souss. The plan was to walk the river, but past days I mostly was finding roads close to it and I saw the river once a day. Now I’m walking through it. The river is made up of boulders, sand and clay. The first day after Taroudant, where I took a hotel room, is just 8 kilometers but it takes some hours. I decide to camp on the edge of an island, where apparently is a graveyard for cattle. There are a couple of “islands” in the river, they are used for orchards or grazing for cattle. These “islands” are quite long (five to seven kilometer)  and about one and a half meter higher then the riverbed. While I set up my tent a drizzle comes in. The only rain I would see for many days.

Next morning I leave to an early morning sun to make some decent kilometers. After the rain from last evening a fresh blanket hangs over the riverbed. The little pollen of grass I find still wears drops of dew before they evaporate in the hot sun. The wind is strong and I’m struggling to find good spots to walk on. The best is the dried up clay. This is hard and solid. The worst are boulders or loose sand. And I have to admit most of the river are boulders and loose sand. After four hours I check how many kilometers I’ve done. Little over eight… This means two kilometers an hour! This is just a little faster as an sloth. I keep on zig-zagging through the river, searching for good ground to walk on when the wind picks up.

The wind gets stronger and stronger while more and more sand leaves the bottom of the river to take to the sky. I’m finding myself walking through a sandstorm, while in the middle of a river. I never expected to end up in a sandstorm. The winds are now so strong I sometimes lose sight of the sides of the river as well as the front. During the day I see many little improvised shacks in the river. As well as a waterway, this river is a source of rocks used elsewhere. People work in this river and these little buildings give them a safe place away from the winds and the scorching sun. After a day of wind and sand between my teeth I find an orange orchard where I secretly put my tent. A fox comes out and welcomes me before I fall into a deep sleep.

I have to make up for the missed kilometers during the sandstorm. Walking in the base of the river is exciting but hard. Next to the river is a stretch of pure black asphalt. About 25 kilometers. I decide to get to the road but all things are not so easy. Kilometers through the sand and boulders of the river. I try the banks, but there is a lot of agriculture going on and I find myself trying to navigate trough dry farmers fields. There are no paths, just straight on through the brown, dried up fields. Slowly but surly my surrounding gets more green. A palm tree pops up, thorn bushes make way for lemon green grass and flowering weeds. Finally after a hot morning I get to the little oasis of the town of Arazene. I’m hungry and could use some good food. Just a minute after walking into the village, I ask the first person I come across where one can get some food. He guides me to his friends, and within a hour a beautiful tagine is produced and we eat while trying to communicate in French, Arabic and English.

With my stomach full I forget to buy food for the evening and next morning, until I decide to set up camp in a field full of pumpkins. I don’t think they’ll miss one or two. When I hit the black asphalt next morning I know its going to be 25 kilometers straight on. Just a couple of curves, no lefts, no rights. Just straight on.

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Following Tasusiyt: Heat and sardines


“Shut up, be quiet!” Mustafa, our taxi driver is sweating. And very angry at us. He turns the car in the middle of traffic while he screams: “I bring you back to busstation, no cheap hotel for you!” He, what happend? Let’s go back 10 minutes.

Leaving the bus in Agadir, where the Sous river flows into the Atlantic, Eveline and me get out. I met her in Marrakech and in search of her own adventure she decided to join me to Agadir. Like lost children we are an easy prey for taxi drivers who want to earn a quick buck from tourists. All of a sudden there is Mustafa with his battered taxi. Small mustache under big eyebrows and a sweaty forhead. A friend of him has a cheap hotel and he wants to bring us there. “Only tourist, good hotel!” This slogan comes out of the Lonely Planet of tourist scams but oke, lets go for it. We decide we pay him 50 Dirham for the trip. Like a stock car racer he is driving through the streets. Then he decides we have to pay 100 Dirham in stead of 50. When I object we get into a fight. He starts screaming and threathens to bring us back to the busstion. The car is already on it’s way back as a matter of fact. After some screaming we let him win the game. 100 Dirham. Sweaty taxi driver 1 – tourists 0. Is this Morocco?


After a day in Agadir it’s time to start my journey. The end of the river is not easy found but around noon I finally got to the beach. I can’t get through the water and mud so I decide that 100 meters from the ocean must do. While I start walking a flock of pink flamingos fly over my head.


I try to follow the river as close as possible, but soon this seems impossible. I have to walk through villages and towns on asfalt and gravel. I find myself in outskirts where children ask for money. A youngster tries to take one of my walking sticks because he can use it. Children throw rocks. I walk fast and try to get out of this “civilised” area. But I understand it, my wealth is in no comperisement to their poorness. I don’t think I’m rich by western standarts but here the inside of my bag is way more then a month of earnings. My name is no longer Ali Baba like in Marrakech, but mister Dihram.


Next day I walk into the countryside. People laugh more. They greet me and stick their thumbs up. We exchange smiles and everything becomes more positive. When entering a village most of the kids are quickly gathered around me and we shake hands, give hi fives and I let them listen to my electro music from my mp3-player. The countryside is filled with curious sheepherders, working people on orange fields and chilling people. These people seem happier then in the big cities where hussling is a way of life and making money. The way of life on the countryside is probably not too easy, but I could see it’s more rewarding.


Trying to follow rhe river is a quest. Mostly I get close by and find myself going through meadows of chillis, melons or eggplants. The river is a little canyon in the landscape but after 30 kilometers nearly dry. Sometimes there is a puddle of water where birds gather. In the night I pitch my tent while bullfrogs sing as the mosques sing their prayers. Sometimes a lonely dog howls along. I almost feel the urge to howl as well. As an alternative to the riverbank I walk the little roads through the fields as close to the river as possible. Sometimes I find my own paths and the going is slow. Sometimes I choose asfalt and I can make up for the time wandering the fields.


Most of the houses I come across are made of clay with hay or concrete bricks. No windows. There is no need for this, since it’s nearly always hot here. Early march is not too warm. I’ve seen people with woolen hats and thick jackets. 25 degrees is not warm. Summer is warm. I’m glad I’m not here in summer. The “heat” makes it harder to walk, especially in the fields there is hardly any shade and after a hour of walking I need to rest and air my feet. Blisters start to grow after day one and are a continious source of worries. Especially on my left foot where they have a foursome on an area of one centimeter. All I can do is air my feet regulair and in the process eat what I gathered in the villages.


The stores in the villages sell bread and sardines. Fruit and veggies are bought on local souks. Which I don’t pass. Bread and sardines it is. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. One morning I walked into a village to turn up to the litte shop of Mustapha to gather some supplies (read: sardines and bread). I told him what I was doing and he invited me for tea in this house. Soon a table was set and bread, oil, honey and oranges where brought by his wife and daughter. In the traditional Moroccon manner tea was poured from nearly a meter high with fine precision. The feast could begin; this is real Morocco.


After a day of rest and blister healing I continue to follow the Sous. 100 kilometers are left before I head North and head into the ice capped mountains of the High Atlas. The next stretch are mainly banana fields or a long asfalt road. Let’s see what happens!


Walking Tasusiyt


“Ali baba, ali baba! How are you my friend?” The young guy in the blue jalabah sticks his hand out to me. I take it and knows what he wants. He owns a shop for herbs and tea. The previous day I had a little chat with him about my next journey. About the real berber tea he sells. “Real good for nose and stomach!”

After I told a friend I wanted to hike for a month in Tenerife, her answer was: “Why don’t you go to Morocco? It’s way more interesting.” My eyes lit up and my mind was already there. Morocco, or, the place the sun sets. I don’t know anything about Morocco so I started doing research on the net. Not much was found about hiking or cycling in this country and for me this is always a good sign. A country unknown to long distance travelers.

When looking on the map I soon found a long river, leading from the Atlas mountains to Agadir. This seemed a good hike and from the mountains I could walk back to Marrakech. The whole strech is around 300 kilometers and perfect for a 20 day hike. Walking a river is a good way to get to know a country.

The valley of the sous river is among the most furtile areas in Morocco. Dates, palmtrees and fruittrees are in abundance in the lush area. Located between the Atlas and the Antiatlas this region is a Berber region where most people speak their own berber language. A very interesting place to explore and to see the real Morocco.

During my journey I’ll make one analoge picture every day. To describe the day I use as many words as kilometers walked that day. This way I have to make every word count and make every picture count as well to tell the story.

Starting from Agadir means I will follow the river upwards; to the point where the river starts. This is high in the Atlas mountains, where temperatures are below freezing and ask for good preperation. After crossing the Atlas mountains I will walk back to Marrakech and mister herbtea in the long blue jalabah.

I leave his shop with a bag of the real berber tea. Actually I wasn’t planning to buy any tea but the power of Moroccan haggling is as strong as the burning sun in the Sahara desert. “Good luck my friend, and be carefull!”

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GranCanaria 24 ~ The story

On the 31st of January 2018 the night was lit by a full moon. Perfect for a 24 hour cycling journey around Gran Canaria. I would cycle for 24 consecutive hours, only stopping to rest or eat a little. With a little help from Pop On Bike I started the journey at 11AM. Every hour has been documented by one picture and 24 words. Here is the story.


11 AM: Ready to leave.


11 – 12 AM: Rain, rain, rain pants. I hate shoppingmalls. And being wet. Quickly I left the “Sexy Beast” and went into hell. To get rain pants.


12 – 1 PM: First hills. Have the feeling I’m going too slow to make my whole route. Strong winds, rain and sun to make me extra sweaty.


1 – 2 PM: Already 2 PM. Raining again. First longer stop where I eat and drink. I tend to forget this. Eat and drink, Erwin! You must!


2 – 3 PM: Sun and rain. Together they bring heat and cold. Looking at the moubtains I see nothing but grey. The contours give away steep climbs.


3 – 4 PM: I’m not relaxed. I want to GO! No time to eat or rest. Racing against myself. This costs energy. When relaxed, it becomes easier.


4 – 5 PM: I feel more relaxed and look forward to the mysterious mountain peaks. What do they speak about? Snow? Rain? Fog? Adventure, that’s for sure.

17-18 soep

5 – 6 PM: Hot food, before darkness sets in. A huge full moon seems like a dream behind rain filled clouds. Through glass I see clouds pass.


6 – 7 PM: I’m a little cold, my gloves are still wet and it’s dark now. I’m going deep into the mountains. Start a wet, cold night.

19-20 rainface

7 – 8 PM: Bluuugh, too much food. Struggeling to climb. Mind in my stomach, can’t focus. Darkness reveals nothing of the surrounding, I might be anywhere now.


8 – 9 PM: Rear light just ran out of battery. Catasrophe. Unsafe. More rain, strong winds and climbing. I’m wet but sweaty and hot. Is this fun?


9 – 10 PM: The road is closed. There is snow in the high peaks. Wind is still here but the moon is shining bright through the clouds.

22-23uitzicht cruz

10 – 11 PM: Freezing hands during steep, quick descents. Maybe good that road was closed. Hot drink and food in Artenara. Need some heating of the body.


11 – 12 PM: Above me clouds are rolling down from mountains while the moon lights up the valley below. I’m in the middle; now part of nature.


12 – 1 AM: I see four surprised faces staring at me. My eyes spit fire. I tell about the mission and they calm down. Food and warmth.


1 – 2 AM: The dark road is all mine. No cars, cyclists, motordrivers. Fog, wind and asfalt while the fat moon pierces the clouds now and then.

2-3 nothing

2 – 3 AM: Mongolian music is guiding me through mysterious foggy mountains. There is no left, right, up or down. Only forward while time is passing by.

3-4 cruz2

3 – 4 AM: Gotta keep moving. Cold. Snow, hail, wind and rain. Exhausted. Lots of fog, nothing but road. I need to follow the long white line.


4 – 5 AM: First signs of new day come in the shape of a garbagetruck. New motivation; makes me warm. And the extra sweater does as well.


5 – 6 AM: The road leads me deep in the dark abyss. Attacked by hail and rain. Nothing to see but only the feeling of going downwards.


6 – 7 AM: The night feels like a cloudy dream. Clear village lights awake me and send me down to sea level. I’m tired. Waiting for daylight.


7 – 8 AM: Drank coffee in a warm bar, feeling warm has been a while. Tiredness still has me in it’s grip, giving me a twitching eye.


8 – 9 AM: The sun is shining. Rays of light squirm through the streets like a long snake in desertsands. Yellow waves push away the cold dream.


9 – 10 AM: Last kilometers to Las Palmas. The adventureflow is gone, now it’s filling up time. The rain makes it a bit more adventurous. Almost there.


10 – 11 AM: Looking back I see dark clouds. I see rain, hail, storm. Mountains filled with experiences; beautiful ones and tough ones. Mountains full of adventure.


11 AM: Back where I started. 24 hours, 147 kilometers and 3197 hight meters in my legs. A fresh beer in my hands and the perspective of a warm bed makes the memory of those cold  windy hours melt like snow.

Schermafbeelding 2018-02-02 om 17.19.59Schermafbeelding 2018-02-02 om 17.20.26

GranCanaria24 ~ a new adventure


Every adventurous journey I took is made out of certain elements; time, distance, beginning and end, route and transport. To make a journey more interesting it’s an idea to play with these elements. For my next journey I play with the element of time.

I’ve been making journeys for some years now. I’ve been playing with the adventurous elements before, but some are still to be explored. The mode of transport were rollerblades in the winter during my “East 2 West journey”. During my “Without-a-map” journeys I didn’t have a set route, but a destination. So now it’s time to take the element of time to see what I can do with that.

I will cycle for 24 hours without making a long break. Of course I will stop to eat a little, strech my legs and get something to drink, but I won’t sleep or rest for longer then 30 minutes. The bike will be provided by Pop on Bike Canarias, they provide me with a bicycle, bags, lights and moral support.

I will start in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria; the capital of Gran Canaria. From there on I will cycle south to Valsequillo de Gran Canaria to Vega de San Mateo towards Tejeda. From there on to Artenara, Santa Maria de Guia, Firgas, Arucas and back to Las Palmas. This journey takes me deep into the mountains of Gran Canaria that will be 1811 meters high. Las Palmas has a beach, so I will start and end at sea level. This is approximately 160 kilometers, but the route is subject to change during the journey. If I feel that it’s too much, I cut a piece of the route; this journey is about the time and not about the kilometers. Maybe that’s a thing for the future. I start my journey on January the 31st at 11:00.

Schermafbeelding 2018-01-23 om 15.49.19Schermafbeelding 2018-01-23 om 15.49.32

The journey will end on 1st of February at 11:00. Why this date? Because the full moon grants me extra light that I will need in the dark mountains. 13 hours of this journey will be trough the pitch black night; the sun is going down around 19:00 and the sunrise isn’t untill 7:50 in the morning.

This is also the thing that worries me the most. How will my mind react to cycling for 13 hours through the darkness, when I already cycled a whole day? How will it be to cycle up a mountain after doing this for ten hours in a row? How will I feel when the first sun rays hit my face? This will be more of a mental challenge then a physical one.

Next to the cycling I will make a picture every hour, with a captation of 24 words. 24 hours, 24 pictures, 24 words. January 31st, 2018. GranCanaria24

You can follow my journey on my Facebook page the next day!

Journeys are the midwives of thought

walk mountain

~ English below

“Reizen zijn de vroedvrouwen van onze gedachten” – Alain de Botton, uit: De kunst van het reizen.

Soms komt een speciaal boek je tegen. Het is dan niet de vraag of je het boek gaat lezen, maar wanneer je de tijd ervoor neemt. Tijdens het “Campfire Storytelling Festival” zag ik een open bibliotheek waar men boeken achter kon laten of mee kon nemen. Mijn oog viel op de prachtige blauwe rug van Alain de Botton. En, in gele letters getatoeëerd: “De kunst van het reizen”.

Vanuit het boek “Leve de vrijheid” van Brits auteur en professioneel lanterfateraar Tom Hodgkinson heb ik geleerd om mijn hersenen te bemesten. Zorg dat je veel goede dingen er in stopt, zoals paardenstront en koeienmest op het land, en er zullen mooie ideeën en gedachtes groeien. Lees goede boeken, kijk interessante documentaires en heb diepe gesprekken. Zo bemest je je hersenen en zorg je dat er genoeg voeding is om tot mooie dingen te komen. Daarom greep mijn hand de blauwe rug van Alain de Botton.

Kort samengevat gaat het boek vooral over hoe het reizen zijn stempel op kunst heeft gedrukt. Zou Vincent van Gogh even beroemd zijn als hij nooit naar Frankrijk was afgereisd? Zou William Wordsworth’s poezie het zelfde zijn als hij nooit naar het Lake District was gegaan? Op pagina 62 vond ik de meest prachtige zin van het hele boek “Reizen zijn de vroedvrouwen van onze gedachten”. Een zin die mij tot de verbeelding deed spreken en die naar mijn idee zo waar als een klontje is.

Als ik reis op wat voor een manier dan ook, met de fiets, benenwagen, kano of inline skates of elke andere manier van natuurlijk voortbewegen duurt het niet lang of mijn brein komt in een andere staat van bewustzijn. Het gebruiken van het lichaam, de frisse lucht, de nieuwe omgevingen en de weg, het pad of het water maakt mijn geest meer open. Omdat ik meer open sta voor alle prikkelingen van buitenaf, wordt mijn brein van binnen ook geprikkeld. Dan ontstaan de gedachten en ideeën.

In maart fietste ik dwars door Nederland op zoek naar paalkampeer plaatsten. Tijdens die reis kwam ik op het idee om samen met Marin een wildpluk/survival reis te maken door een heuvelachtig gebied. Dit idee ontstond terwijl ik door de landerijen heen fietste en ik alle beslommering van de normale dag al een tijdje achter me had gelaten. De afwas had ik al gedaan, de was zat in mijn tas en ik wist wat ik ging eten die avond. Hierdoor was er ineens ruimte voor andere gedachtes. Bijvoorbeeld een nieuwe reis. Reizen wekken in dit geval nieuwe reizen op.

Maar niet alleen reizen komen uit reizen, ook diepere inzichten en oplossingen op persoonlijke kwesties hebben ruimte om zich te ontwikkelen en uit te komen. De helicopervisie die ineens ontstaat omdat je uit je “normale” omgeving bent zorgt ervoor dat er van bovenaf naar een kwestie gekeken kan worden. Je zicht wordt als het ware gekanteld als een spiegel die scheef staat en hierdoor kijk je met een ander oog naar de situaties waarin je je in het dagelijks leven bevind. Door die gekantelde blik, kom je op ideeën die zich anders niet voor zouden doen. Voor mij is een reis ook altijd een grote reset-knop. Ik kan situaties met mensen, projecten of gedachtes die vast zitten even achter laten en me focussen op wat komen gaat; de reis. En dan als ik een tijdje in de reis zit, kijk ik achteruit en zie ik de situaties die ik in het begin van de reis op de grond heb gegooid weer liggen. Ik kan er nu met een ander oog naar kijken en makkelijker zien wat ik met deze situaties, projecten of gedachtes kan doen. Vaak kom ik dan met een origineel idee of goede oplossing omdat ik meer open sta voor interpretaties van de kwestie.

Reizen zijn de vroedvrouwen van onze gedachten; waarheid als een koe en een zin die staat als een huis. Bij je volgende grote beslissing, probleem of gedachte waar je in vast zit; pak je backpack en je tent. Fiets, loop, skate. Kook op een vuurtje. Kampeer. Drink Cowboy-koffie in de ochtend en denk na. Draai de spiegel en kijk erin. En voel hoe de vroedvrouw aan je gedachten trekt.

Voor meer op het gebied van avontuur en inspiratie, check de Raw Sleep-out Facebook!


“Journeys are the midwives of thought” – Alain de Botton, from: “The art of travel”

Sometimes a special book will find you. Then it’s not the question if you will read the book, but when you take the time to read it. During the “Campfire Storytelling Festival” I saw a free library where one could leave and take books. My eye fell on the beautiful blue back of Alain de Botton. Tattooed in yellow letters, it said: “The art of travel”.

While reading “How to be free” from British author and professional slacker Tom Hodgkinson I learned to mulch the mind. Make sure I put loads of good stuff in there, like horsepoop and cowmanure being thrown on the land by farmers for next years crops. In stead of plants, there will be new ideas growing. Read good books, watch interesting documentaries and have deep conversations. This way you mulch the mind and make sure your brain has enough nutrition for great new ideas. That is why my hand went to the blue back of Alain de Botton.

In short the book is about art and travel. How travel changed art in many ways. Painting, poetry and drawing changed by traveling artists. Would Vincent van Gogh be as famous as he is now, if he’d never traveled to France? Would William Wordsworth’s poetry be the same if he’d never travelled to the Lake District? On page 62 I found the most beautiful sentence in the book: “Journeys are the midwives of thought”. A sentence which tickled my imagination and for me more true then a chicken comes from an egg.

When I travel with my bicycle, walking, rollerblading, canoeing or any other way of using my own body to get forward my brain goes into another state after some days. Using my body, fresh air, new surroundings, the rocky path im taking or a stream of water, opens my mind. Because I’m more open for new stimuli from outside, my brain gets tickled. A perfect situation for new ideas and thoughts.

In March I made a journey trough the Netherlands, in search for legal wild camping spots. During this journey I got the idea to go on a wild foraging/survival journey with Marin from “Groene Avonturen”. This idea came to me while I was cycling trough the wet Dutch meadows and didn’t have to think about anything from the daily slug. My laundry was done, I didn’t have dirty dishes and I knew what I was going to eat that evening. Now there was space for new thoughts, in this case a new journey. In this case, a journey creates a new journey.

Not only new journeys come from making journeys, also deeper thoughts and solutions to personal questions have space to grow and get born. Your vision will start to hover above the question or affair because you’re away from your normal home situation. Your vision will be tilted as a crooked mirror and therefore you can see a situation or affair from a different view. Because of this different view your mind starts to come up with different solutions you’d never get if you would’ve stayed at home. Next to this different view on all kinds of affairs, an adventurous journey is also a push on a big reset button. I leave affairs with people, projects or stuck thoughts behind me and I look forward and focus on the journey. After some time, when I’m used to the adventure, I look back and into the affairs again. I look with a different and more open eye and it’s easier to come up with a creative solution to these affairs I left behind because I can find different interpretations of the affairs.

Journeys are the midwives of thought; truth like the sun is a hot ball of lava and a sentence that’s hard as rock. With your next big decision, affair or stuck thought; get your backpack and tent. Cycle, walk or rollerblade. Cook on a little fire. Camp. Make Cowboy-coffee in the morning and think. Turn the mirror and look in it. And feel how the midwife is pulling your thoughts.

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Pirate crew looking for work on a ship to South America

Are you planning to sail to South America, Cape Verde or the Caribbees and could you use a crew to help you out? Don’t search any longer, your pirate crew is found!


These are Dani & Ivan, now in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, searching for a boat to cross the Atlantic. These two good friends are bringing the most positive vibe to the hostel they are in right now, so actually we don’t want to see them leave. But surely they want to. The want to go to Colombia. I’ve asked them why Colombia. “Well, we’ve never been there, so that’s reason enough to go there.” Right on, guys!


Dani’s low voice (like Tom Waits woke up after a night of cigars and whiskey) and singing skills will scare away the sharks while Ivan’s active mentality and positive energy will keep the wind in the sails.

So do you know somebody searching for crew, sailing the Atlantic and in need op help or just going a short piece of that way? Or are you planning to cross the Atlantic in the very near future? Hit me up and contact me through my Facebook page. You’ll be happy to have the animated duo as part of your crew!

Please share this post anywhere you like; on your facebook page, on Reddit, through an email chain or call your uncle and tell him. It’s good to talk to your uncle again. Especially when he is a pirate planning to cross the Atlantic!