Instead of a Path, I Got a Swollen Knee – My First Solo Hiking Adventure (Day 6)
06 October 2020, from my archives. Of breakfast in the spotlight, grounding exercises, purple fields, algae foot scrubs, balance tests, ghosted towns, chasing mailmen, two dinners.
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Hello & welcome, dear reader! Whether you’ve been following me for a while or are newly joining me — I’m so glad you’re here. 🌿
Here’s a quick summary of what you can expect in this post:
This is Day 6 of my first solo hiking adventure back in 2020 — a journey that began in the middle of personal turmoil and slowly unfolded into something deeply liberating and healing. Over 10 days, I hiked from Berlin to Wismar along the coastline of the Baltic Sea, navigating tangled thoughts, mesmerizing sceneries, too much sun, my photography addiction, and panicky but funny-in-hindsight trail fails.
In case you’ve missed the beginning of the story, you can catch up on the earlier posts here.
Alongside the story, you’ll find plenty of photos to bring you right along with me on this adventure. 🌻
This one’s about a 20-25 minute read, so grab your favorite warm drink, lay down in a cozy corner, and come wander with me — through my awkward adventures on my way from Rerik to Neubukow. ✨☕️
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Part 1 — I Came for Coffee, Not the Spotlight
Okay, today is a really tough one. I’m already tucked up in bed as I start writing, feeling both exhausted and strangely grateful.
As a little reminder: On day 6, I wake up in Rerik, at a cute little guesthouse called “Kiek In.” Rerik is a little town at the coastline of the Baltic Sea in Germany. Yesterday, on day 5, I hiked along the coastline from Kühlungsborn to Rerik.
And now, let’s take today – day 6 – from its beginning…
I again wake up before my alarm and take the chance to start the day early and do some packing before breakfast. Why not, with the sun already teasing me with its early morning rays and a view that invites me to head out as soon as I can?
A few morning stretches and some light yoga help me settle into the flow and prepare my body for the day ahead. My sleepy morning brain feels excited about the first sip of coffee and my stomach keenly awaits a good, energizing breakfast.
And so, I head to the breakfast room as soon as I finish my last stretch. Immediately upon entering the room, I notice there’s no open buffet, thanks to Corona regulations and all that, so instead, an elderly woman with a petite stature serves us through some sort of canteen-style window in the door of the kitchen. We have to wait in line.
When my turn comes, I tell her I’m vegetarian — and silently hope no one else hears me. Something tells me that vegetarians are a rare species around here.
Indeed, the woman gives me a startled look for a second, but then starts enthusiastically and generously offering me options from a wide range of cheeses, salads, fruits and vegetables. She keeps adding vegetables to my plate without me even asking, as she’s worried that I won’t feel well-fed as a vegetarian. How sweet.
I walk away with a full, colorful plate, about to be my perfect energizer for the long day ahead. And, of course, with my much craved coffee — my morning mazag (مزاج), as we call it in Egypt.
However, my intuition about vegetarianism being a rare occurrence around here wasn’t far off. After serving me, the woman can’t help but comment on my being vegetarian.
“More and more of today’s youth become vegetarians,” she says, then pauses. “But I don’t think it’s bad. I think it’s good.”
I find it quite funny that the comment is not aimed towards me at all. She drifts off toward another table, continues to talk about the topic with four seniors sitting there, totally excluding me, and somehow they end up talking about chronic sinusitis. *lol*
I could’ve joined in on that topic as an expert, too…
As I have a whole table to myself, I use the time to observe the scenes unfolding around me in quiet. The crowd is about 90% seniors, with just a couple of women who look a bit younger. Everyone seems to know one other, probably they’ve all met during the previous days.
Two men standing in line keep throwing some curious glances my way. Being the shy person I am, I feel a bit awkward, but I do understand I might look a bit “odd” here, with my dark curls and light-brown skin. And to add on top of that — I’m the only one here entirely on my own.
Despite all of that, I head back to my room with a full stomach and a heart full of gratitude. I soak in the calm and the spaciousness of the room, feeling the pre-hike excitement rise in my chest.
For a change, I decide to turn on the little radio sitting on a shelf, while I pack. I learn a new term from some news channel: Corona chaos. Some reporter asks someone in an interview, whether one can speak of “Corona chaos” happening in Austria… Hmm, okay then. I’ll have enough of that as soon as I’m back in Berlin, so “let’s just put on something else,” I tell myself.
I switch to a channel playing Blinding Lights by The Weeknd — a song I wouldn’t normally choose to play myself, but truth be told, that song is really uplifting.
Soon enough, I’m ready. Ready for yet another warm day, now equipped with my new cap which I bought yesterday, as well as a light T-shirt and sun screen. I hand back my key and get a warm, sweet goodbye from the woman at the reception. Then I step outside, breathe in the crisp, still-chilly morning air and instruct Komoot (my navigation app — connect with me!) to start guiding me through today’s journey.
“Let’s go,” I hear the familiar voice guide me — the voice I’ve heard the most during the last five days.
Part 2 — Silence All Around, Except in My Head
My first waypoint is the Salzhaff – the salt harbor, or basically “Salzhafen” in German, said with a bit of dialect.
On the way, I almost immediately get distracted by the way the sunlight filters through the tree leaves and houses. But a short self-scold along the lines of “God, woman! You still have 20km left to walk. No way you’re already wasting time now,” does the trick. I get back on track soon enough.
I’m glad I get another chance to walk beside the harbor. Little do I know about the surprises that await me later, but for now, I’m still entirely obsessed with the scenery of the Salzhaff. The color play of water, grass, sunlight and sky is simply mesmerizing at this time of day. I embrace every step I take.
I spot some tall blades of grass, with soft golden tufts at their ends and glide them through my fingers. They feel like the fluff of a cat’s tail — light, ticklish, comforting. Like my hand is getting a hug. I probably look a little weird doing this, but I don’t care. I’m too happy!
My first break comes when I realize it’s time to unzip my trouser extensions — it’s warming up quite fast.
I take the opportunity to eat my first muesli bar and watch a woman walking through the water with her dog. They’ve been out there for a while, a good ten meters away from the shore.
Annoyingly, my mind bothers me with thoughts that are way too loud for this early time of day and for this beauty surrounding me, so I take the chance to pause and immerse myself in a grounding exercise — mentally noting five things I can see, four things I can hear, three things I can feel, two things I can smell and one thing I can taste.
The exercise feels so soothing in this surrounding that I keep noting more than the “required” number of things, especially with this beautiful choir of natural sounds surrounding me — birds singing, waves gently kissing the shore, cicadas buzzing, leaves rustling, footsteps pressing softly into the earth and the wind brushing past me.
I then keep walking, immersed in the calmness of the path, even though it’s quite busy. Every few minutes, a cyclist needs to pass me or a fellow morning hiker greets me with a smile I happily return. But I stay in my own world.
Soon enough, the path becomes emptier and emptier. I end up walking through a forest that feels entirely mine. There’s a paved trail beneath my feet, trees surrounding me on both sides, and all I can hear is the sound of the wind.
I take one more short break and devour one more muesli bar, before I continue. The different shades of green around me are deeply comforting to my soul.
Part 3 — Obstacles, But Not Really
Soon enough, I reach what looks like an obstacle. A tiny metal gate blocks the path. It’s low enough that I could just hop over it, but wanting to be sure I’m not trespassing, I follow the fence line for a bit, hoping to find an exit. That’s when I notice the wire running along the fence is electrocuted — not dangerously so, but definitely not something you want to touch.
Hmm. How far do I keep walking before I admit defeat? Not long – thanks to my lack of patience. Two minutes later, I decide to turn back with no choice but to jump over the fence.
But, wait. Maybe I should just try opening it first? I carefully push the door, and I find it to be… open. No problem there at all.
I sigh and laugh at myself. Why do I always have to be such a well-behaved, overly cautious girl? Oh, well…
From there, my path leads me to some vast fields, the sight of which really soothes me — something about looking at those fields tends to always calm me down and make my mind, heart and soul feel like they can breathe. Same thing with looking at a vast, empty desertscape.
I put on Eddie Vedder’s Into the Wild soundtrack and sink into every step. Walking along these open fields, while having this endless space stretch above me, feels like I’ve drifted to a different universe.
I’m so fully immersed in the moment that I barely take any photos (and that says a lot!)
After passing this purple piece of heaven, I pass through a really tiny village called Teßmannsdorf. I barely spot a handful of houses, and it takes me roughly ten minutes to walk through all of it. And I don’t see a single person.
As you see on the map, I’m led into another path of forest after walking through the village — the big green block on the left side of the screenshot.
I feel some anxiety creep up, because it’s the afternoon already, and I feel that familiar feeling of unease emerge regarding spiderwebs. (Read Day 1 - part 5, if you don’t know what I’m talking about. 🫣 And it’s okay – you can laugh. A bit.) I know they start building their webs around the late afternoon/early evening, and I try to avoid densely grown forests at that time of day.
But thankfully, the paths are all well-maintained, not densely grown, and when I spot a man collecting mushrooms with a bucket and stick, I feel reassured. Now I know this path is not abandoned or barely visited, so the chance is smaller there’ll be spiderwebs cutting through my path.
Then comes a little challenge, which quickly turns into a big challenge. Take a look at the screenshot showing my path below…
See that messy, tangled pattern just before I head toward the water? Yeah. That’s me reaching the end of the forest path, totally immersed in my music, expecting to connect with a trail that leads directly to the water. But guess what? Surprise! Again, there’s no trail at all! Just a hint of a trail, now fully overtaken by reed. Fuck.
(If you’re new: This has happened to me several times on day 1 — thus the “again” — and I thought I’d have the hints figured out by now while planning, so this doesn’t happen again.)
To give you an orientation on the map: I’m talking about the path that I do end up taking after all (the white marked one), after the initial shock. But before that, I attempt taking the path marked in black, but it’s so filled with trees and densely grown bushes, that it’s basically unpassable. After a couple of meters in, my gut tells me to let it be, and I walk back.
The situation leaves me torn. I don’t want to walk the whooole way back (through the forest, through the village, through the fields) and take the roadside route again. It would waste a full hour, tons of energy, and the sound of cars would be such a moodkiller. And I’d been looking forward to walking by the water all day! It was supposed to be my highlight.
So, I pull myself together. I grab a fallen branch and decide to battle my way through the overgrown reed path. Again, just like in day 1, I summon my inner Kylo Ren…
…pray for the force to be with me, and brace myself to break web after web (Again — I’m SO sorry, spiders!).
But to my surprise, I don’t spot any big ones at all. I do, however, keep feeling little threads brush against my exposed legs… then against my arms… then I feel them everywhere. And eventually, it becomes so much that I give up walking and just RUN like there’s no tomorrow — with eyes half closed, stick out in front, aimed like a compass towards the water. I probably whince a lot and look like a scene from a comedy show.
I hold on to the faint “You can do this! Just keep running!” whisper in my head, trying to zone out the sound of reed breaking underneath my feet.
And then — With a big relieved sigh, I realize I’ve made it to the water!
Okay, so I know it’s not like I was going to get tangled in a giant web or dragged off by a spider seeking revenge for its ancestors. But still… fear has a way of spinning its own webs, doesn’t it? Especially if it’s an unexplained, irrational one…
And if you’ve read this far, I trust you know me (and my anxieties 💁🏻♀️) by now.
Part 4 — Oops, That’s Way Too Much Algae! (A Barefoot Balancing Act)
What matters is: now I’m here. Rewarded with a beautiful, wide-open view of the water! And I hear absolutely nothing. It’s blissfully quiet. Just a couple of SUPers (stand-up-paddlers) gliding across the surface of the water, paddles dipping rhythmically into the stillness.
Then I glance to the left, in the direction in which I’m supposed to continue walking. And something immediately feels off. The sandy path I was hoping for (and which is shown on my Komoot map) seems to disappear just thirty meters ahead…
I zoom out mentally, trying to remember the satellite map — there was a light yellow strip all along the shore, wasn’t there? I’d taken it for granted that this would be walkable. But clearly, that image must’ve been outdated.
So I’m left with two choices: again, either walk all the way back (now with the reed section on top of that) or… risk it. If it comes down to it, walk through the water itself. What do you think I go for?
I’ll let this photo be your hint.
Of course, I choose the water. My feet could use some cooling down anyway. It’s a bit of a gamble, but one I’m willing to take. Still, the uncertainty continues to accompany me. What if it gets too deep? Too stoney? Too slimey?
And the worst case scenario — what if I find no exit and the water becomes impassable and I have to turn around and go all the way back with still around 10km left to walk?
I don’t know how I actually manage to push myself to do that, but somehow I keep going.
As you might see on the photos – at the beginning, the path is still walkable on sand. Then the reed takes over the sand entirely, pushing me into the water. And then it’s shoes off!
This fills me with very mixed feelings. On the one hand the coolness of the water around my feet is incredibly refreshing in this warm weather, but on the other hand, I’m not actually sure I’ll be able to find an exit through the reed, ever, and I’m afraid I will have to walk all the way back. Also, it’s full of algae and big stones that aren’t so easy to spot. So I have to be very conscious of every step I take. I walk with as much precision as I can muster in this situation, trying to think of it as a balance and mindfulness test (did all the yoga in the morning pay off yet?).
But, surprisingly, after the initial anxiety phase is over, it actually becomes quite fun.
See this dried algae on the ground in the above photo? When it crosses my path, I definitely choose walking on it over stepping on the stones you can see right next to it in the water. However, it’s a quite icky feeling I have to get used to with my bare feet.
As you also see in the photo, I eventually spot a couple walking behind me in the water. And damn, do I feel an immediate wave of relief! It means that I am not doing something entirely reckless — and there will be a way out of here.
The couple’s walking fast — really fast — and I think ah, they must be wearing these water shoes. I suddenly wonder if it’s even realistic for me to make it barefoot like this. But as they get closer, I realize they’re barefoot too. Huh.
When they reach me, I gather up my courage and ask them if there’s a beach up ahead. Part of me doesn’t want to know the answer.
Indeed, the man tells me there’s no beach, no, and as I feel my heart skip a beat in panic, he assures me there’s an exit through the bushes. Oh, what a relief!
I say something about how they seem like they know this path well, and they smile without saying anything. Then, just like that, they wish me a nice day and they’re off again, confidently striding forward.
Even though I deeply value the solitude of hiking solo, the presence of that couple reassures me. I don’t feel as stranded anymore, and I feel my body relax a little. This whole situation still feels surreal to me, and I know for certain I won’t forget it anytime soon.
Eventually (or more like – finally!) I reach the escape point — a tiny path through the reed. I feel such incredible relief, that I let myself fall to the ground as soon as I reach dry, solid ground, away from the reed. I’d only walked 1.3 kilometers through the water, but it more felt like 5. After letting out an intense sigh of achievement, I find a tree that can provide me with some shade, drop my backpack, and let my body take a moment of well-deserved rest.
I still have a long way to go today, and I’m already very tired. The sun is blazing now, and I can feel the beginning of a sunburn on my shoulder, as I haven’t had a chance to reapply my sunscreen in a while.
But with some excitement, I realize now would be the perfect time for a coffee.
I decide to give the portable stove and the gas can another shot (again, read day 1 for my epic-fail first attempt). This time, I manage to get it lit without too much effort – yay, progress! But of course, the bowl I brought to heat water in turns out – as suspected – to indeed be made of… plastic. Not heatproof material as I’d thought.
(A kind self-soothing reminder this had been my first solo hike ever and I basically had no prior hiking experience to teach me absolute basics.)
So, once again…
…instead of a warm drink, I reach for my trusty emergency espresso chocolate.
Not the coffee I imagined, but still. It’s pretty satisfying.
Part 5 — Chasing the Mailman, Arguing with My Knee
I sit in my sacred spot for about half an hour, enjoying the sight of the sun shimmering off the water. I keep thinking how this setting would feel like a glimpse of my personal heaven — if only I weren’t so tired, my thoughts wouldn’t be so loud, and if I didn’t have to get up and leave again so soon. So I close my eyes and try to feel a little bit of bliss at least for a couple of minutes.
With eyes closed, I listen to my surroundings, observe how I feel and simply relax into the moment. The trick that does it is not to judge anything. No judging of the thoughts, the sounds, or the sensations. In a way, it reminds me of a Vipassana meditation, but sadly, it’s way too short to really be called one.
Nonetheless, the meditation feels liberating, because for just a few minutes, I’m not stuck with any heavy feeling or sense of obligation to change something about my life. Things are simply as they are, and I’m just watching them happen — within me and around me.
After the couple of minutes are over, I get up and continue my hike. The path leads across a field, clearly crossed by many others before me. Technically, you’re not allowed to walk over fields, but I do it anyway, as obviously I’m not the first one to be doing that. And there’s not a single person around to stop me and nothing specific seems to be growing on the field. Mostly, it’s just grass. However, part of it is painted red with low, fiery-colored wild bushes – almost desert-like in their appearance. I absolutely love the sight of them.
I want to linger and admire the plants a little longer, as anything that reminds me of the desert makes my heart go wild with joy, but I need to keep moving.
The sun is fierce. Again, I send a silent thank-you to past me for buying this black cap, which I wear a little funny, but in the most convenient way to shield me from the side-sun.
Bit by bit, I realize how much energy that water-walk has drained from me. My body is wrecked. My left knee, in particular, feels incredibly sore. But I got to keep going. And oddly, something about the pain feels… grounding. It keeps me connected to my body, instead of to the relentless anxiety-inducing thoughts in my mind that don’t leave my head, despite all that beauty surrounding me. And so I feel into my knee, embracing the pain that comes with every step that gets me closer to my destination and acknowledging it.
Along the way, I start cherishing the smallest details. I stop every few minutes to take in the scenery, to marvel at tiny findings.
I pass through a couple of small villages, one of them unsettlingly empty. Many houses are closed down and sealed behind quiet windows. Again, I don’t spot a single person.
I keep walking, exhausted as fuck. At one point I look to the horizon and spot a street lined with trees. I realize I’ve just walked down that entire road. Good job, tired legs!
I pass a mailman and his car. A few minutes later, I find him parking ahead of me. As I continue walking, I find him driving past and stopping a few steps ahead of me again. Somehow, I’ve synced my pace with the mail. That’s something, right? I’m not that slow… or am I?
I check the map what feels like every two minutes. Am I close yet? I am hungry and tired and my knee hurts. Although only five kilometers remain to my destination, each kilometer I walk already feels like five. And walking alongside the street is a sensory drain in itself: the painful sound of cars flying by on asphalt buzzes in my head and my chest. Also, I’m getting annoyed that almost every car driver keeps dropping a glance at me… (which I do get, but my exhaustion drains any bit of tolerance I have for anything at this point).
When I finally reach the “outskirts” of Neubukow in a village called Buschmühlen, I’m faced with a choice.
Should I continue walking along the street, down Buschmühler Chaussee, or switch to the Jakobsweg (or pilgrim’s) hiking path running through a forest? Although something whispers to me that I should just take the road, let the map be your hint as to what I decide in the end.
Initially, I should’ve listened to my inner whisper. The Jakobsweg is beautiful, sure — but it’s steep, uneven and scattered with tiny obstacles. And I am so tired.
Still, the trees and the stream beside me can be a little comfort. The sun shines softly through the forest and the air has cooled around me. I stop really often. Basically every ten minutes. I breathe and take photos.
I encounter a funny incident that gives me the chills. Look at the photo above. While passing this part of the path that is shown in the picture, I get a strange, uneasy feeling. But only upon looking back, I understand why. It’s because there is no fence. How come?
Because it’s broken.
Judging by the way it looks, someone must’ve slipped or lost balance, fallen on that fence, broken it in the process and fallen down that hill… damn.
I find it funny that my subconscious picked up that creepy feeling, without me consciously really getting it in the first moment. Luckily, I’m safe.
Part 6 — At Last, a Shower, a Feast, and a Baby’s Sleep Greet Me in Neubukow
And then — at last! — I arrive in Neubukow, my destination for the day.
I like it immediately. The houses are simple, but have charm. I take a few photos, even with my sore knees and feet numbed by pain.
Less than a kilometer left now. 800 meters… 500… 200… My knee is begging for mercy. But we’re nearly there. We’ve almost made it.
And finally, we do!
I arrive at a hotel that’s put together in a very interesting way (sadly, I forget to make a photo of it) — a resto-bar below, some strange mix of red Chinese-style decoration and hardrock café… and a very steep and tight stairway. Oh, my poor knees.
I spot a tiny portable fountain, strangely placed but kind of amusing, on a counter stacked with brochures. However, I do not spot a single person or a check-in counter. Am I in the wrong place?
I peek into the restaurant on my left and see a woman with long black hair, drying beer glasses. She’s dressed in a hardrock style — black clothes with a skull print, silver jewelry, and she wears a surgical mask that make her bright blue eyes look electric. Colored lenses, I assume. A young man appears behind her, dressed in the same style. They start flirting.
After I shyly ask where I can check in, she tells me to come with her, leading me up the steepest stairs I’ve ever climbed, into a corridor blasting red from every corner.
She shows me my room for the night and tells me to come to her if I need anything. She’s nice.
And then I’m in. In my room. I can’t believe it. I made it. I made it, dammit!
My swollen knee, my tired feet and my sun-kissed skin — all here, all intact. I sit down, not even sure what to do next. I’m so tired, and so hungry! Should I take a break, then eat? Or should I shower first?
I know that if I rest and shower, I won’t be able to get back up again. So, I check Google Maps for restaurants still open and happily spot an Asian restaurant only three minutes away. I drag myself there and order rice with vegetables in peanut sauce. While they’re cooking it, I impulsively add a second dish: noodles with vegetables. I don’t even care if it’s any good — I just know I need food.
And then I walk back, taking one last glance at the sunset. The view is soft and golden, the little city center lit like a dream.
Back in my room, I take a long, hot shower. I slip into soft clothes, do some very basic stretches and then I eat like there’s no tomorrow!
With a happy stomach, I tuck myself into bed, full, warm, aching… and already hungry for tomorrow’s journey.
Trip stats:
🗺️ 20.9 km distance
🥾 5 hours 4 minutes (in motion)
🏃🏻♀️ 4.1 km/h average speed
If you’re interested to look at my actual journey on Komoot, here you go:
https://www.komoot.de/tour/264151291
As you’ve read over and over again — a small cup of coffee goes a long way with me. 😉
Stay tuned for Day 7, where...
I’ll take you through hushed forests and open fields, carried by the stillness of the world and the whisper of the wind — a hike filled with quiet beauty and dreamy landscapes. 🌾 🌿
Thank you so much for the restack, @houda bouabdallah! ☺️
Great adventure writing, made into an interesting writing, with stunning nature images