To the end of the world

15th of April, 2021. Two weeks before departure. Helmond, sperwerstraat number seven. I ring the doorbell and after some time the door opens. “I’ve got a special question” I say. “Could I maybe take a rock from your backyard?”. As a kind face is looking at me rather questioningly, I continue: “In two weeks I will leave on foot to Spain. “ “To Spain?” “Yes to Spain. I’m walking to a place called Finisterre, the end of the world. I’m knocking on your door because I used to live in this house. In fact, I was born here. A tradition of the way I’m going to walk is to carry a stone with you, that symbolizes what you want to leave behind“. The friendly lady still doesn’t know what to make of it, but I get to take a rock from the backyard. And yes, there’s plenty to leave behind from this place. 

Just across the street from that house is the church where my father used to be a preacher man. The idea that you have to do good might as well have been in between the bricks of our house. Such a strong implicit presence it had. Yet it is exactly what I want to leave behind. The obligation to do good. Don’t get me wrong. Doing good is not a problem. Though if you have to do good for others, before you can do good for yourself, that’s where trouble starts. 

Maybe that’s how my father ended up in a burn-out, because he felt he had to do good. To make matters worse he took a fall from a ladder at the very place where he was recovering from this burn-out. He was taken to hospital with sirens blaring. We were not sure if he was going to make it….. 

But he did. 

After a long period of recovering he came home being even less stress resistant than before. The brain damage from the fall eventually led to my mom’s brave decision to move away. Away from home, hearth, the community of the church and my father. So I guess you understand there is more than enough for me to leave behind from this place. 

After two weeks of walking I already noticed I felt much lighter. I had never felt so incredibly free of stress before. I wild camped my way through Belgium in two weeks. I’d walk about 25 km a day, try to find some groceries and perhaps cook at the edge of a town. When nightfall drew closer, I set out to look for a spot to camp. In Belgium this was still not strictly speaking legal (also not strictly speaking it was definitely illegal), but as long as nobody knows you’re there and you leave only your footprints, I don’t see any problem.

I would check google maps’ satellite images for a promising forest and would usually be lucky enough right away. It was only once that I felt unsafe. I was walking along the river Maas, just past Namen. Some night fishermen saw me and my way-too big backpack (I started out carrying 18 kgs). They knew I was going to sleep around there somewhere and they had a grim look about them. 

Still, they were probably just antisocial fishermen (why else would you go fishing?). The next morning I woke up with both my kidneys still there, so you guess I could say I was happy! On the way I learned that fear can really have a life of its own. It makes you see only everything that can go wrong and makes you assume it probably will. It’s like standing so close to the edge of a cliff that you don’t see that there’s a bridge to cross just one hundred meters to your right. 

I had this very same experience when I learned that France had closed all campsites, due to Corona still (flashback to 2021!). Those sites provided me with a washing machine for my clothes and power to charge my phone (for navigation). I felt desperate and didn’t know whether I was going to make it, but still I carried on. In time, I learned that if you don’t let fear take all of your attention, you will be open to the most magical opportunities. Though first I had to endure rain. A lot of rain. I could say it was raining cats and dogs, but I think we need to genetically engineer new species to describe the amount of rain that was coming down as I stepped into France. I walked in often pouring rain for two weeks on end.

At some point I met my first fellow pilgrim, a Flemish guy called Pieter-Jan. He was emigrating to Portugal on foot! Together we ploughed through the rain like two mud monsters, but also made the most amazing campfire dishes from virtually nothing. I was glad those 18 kgs on my back did include at least some spices. Still, at some point Pieter-Jan came up to me and said: “Amai David, ik ben de regen beu hé, ik wil niet meer buiten slapen” (Dutchies hopefully read this in a Flemish accent, it means: ”David, I’m sick of the rain, I don’t want to sleep outside anymore”). 

So we decided to knock on the door of an old abbey. After Pieter-Jan had a short conversation in French we heard: “Entrez! Entrez!”. We were welcomed by the mayor of the town nearby and his two sons. First they led us to a kind of hotel room, to get installed and freshen up with, yes, a WARM shower. After that we came down for dinner. As we were in the Champagne region, the mayor of the town popped one open. Turns out this abbey had just been the scene of a festival and they had loads and loads of food for us to eat. We had to work to contain our smiles. 

When I come into places like this, my sixth sense tells me there’s a piano somewhere. We spotted an old piano in the hall already. So Pieter-Jan told them I was a pianist and asked if I could play it. “Sure!” they said. “Though we also have another piano in the lounge”. After dinner they took us to a giant 18th century styled room, with chandeliers and elaborate wall decorations and there it was. A wooden grand piano. As I played a small concert for the mayor and his two sons, I’m sure they must have thought the encounter to be just as magical as we had.

The next morning we were still feeling the buzz. After two hours of walking I felt my pocket. 

My stone! I’d forgotten it in the abbey. That stone that symbolized the obligation to do good. It was gone. 

 It was around the same time that I realised I can make decisions solely for what I think makes me happy. I don’t have to do it for anything or anybody else. I don’t even have to do what I think will be good for my career. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was even thinking of becoming a gardener when I came back. I felt incredibly free on the road and I didn’t feel like going back to an office life. 

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I hope you enjoyed this story of my way! I would have liked to share more, but describing even only the highlights of my four-month adventure, would take a book. That might come one day! I didn’t even manage to tell you about my own piano. I started a crowdfunding for it to meet me at the end of the world and record a music video and a concert. You can see the music video here: 

Right now I’m working on a theatre show in which I show videos of my journey and accompany it with my own piano compositions. We’re looking for a date with Studium Generale somewhere just before Q4’s exams. If you’re interested you can follow me on Instagram @davidhordijkmusic and you’ll be sure to hear about all the dates and more of the stories from my way. The first concert is on the 29th of March, at the Remonstrantse Kerk in Eindhoven. It’s free! And starts at 20:00. 

That said, I wish all of you the most adventurous life you can possibly have!