For vertical souls living in the Netherlands
I’ve lived in Denver. I’ve lived in Sandpoint, Idaho. I’ve stood on high passes where the air thins and the pines grow twisted by altitude. I’ve walked ridge trails where every step feels like prayer. So when I say I miss the mountains, I mean it in my bones.
And yet now, I live in the Netherlands—a land where the horizon goes on forever, and where elevation is more suggestion than fact. It’s beautiful here in its own way. Serene. Gentle. But if you’re a hiker like me, someone who finds rhythm in ascent and solace in the sweep of a valley below, you’ll understand the ache.
This piece is for those of us learning how to live without the mountains—without losing the part of us that climbs.
Climb What You Can: Vertical Spaces Indoors
While I’m not a climber in the harness-and-chalk sense, there’s still something affirming about being in a space where people move upward, hand over hand, testing their limits.
The Netherlands has no shortage of climbing gyms—and even for hikers, they offer a kind of communion with verticality.
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Monk Bouldergym (Eindhoven, Rotterdam, Amsterdam): Thoughtfully designed, welcoming, and energetic. Great for bouldering and people-watching alike.
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Klimmuur (Amsterdam, Haarlem, The Hague): For those into rope climbing, with decent heights and good variety.
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Mountain Network (Arnhem, Nieuwegein, more): Offers rope climbing and even alpine training—handy if you’re planning a trip back to real mountains.
Even if it’s not your usual scene, it’s worth stepping into the vertical energy now and then. Just to remember the feel of reach.
Find the Hills (Yes, They Exist)
You won’t gain serious altitude here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t places that lift you—gently, persistently—into wider views and deeper breath.
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Utrechtse Heuvelrug National Park: Wooded ridges, peaceful trails, and a handful of lookouts. The Amerongse Berg (69 meters!) won’t impress your friends from Colorado, but it might surprise you with its quiet charm.
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South Limburg: The closest thing the Netherlands has to alpine terrain. Rolling hills, forested walks, and the satisfying rise of the Vaalserberg (322.7 meters), where three countries meet.
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Veluwezoom National Park (Posbank): Known for its purple heather in late summer, but also worth exploring year-round for its layered landscapes and wide panoramas.
These places don’t offer the burn of a summit trail—but they’ll give you a good walk, and a reason to look out rather than down.
Weekend Escapes: Real Mountains, Just Across the Border
When the pull becomes too strong—and it will—you’ll be relieved to know that real elevation is only a few hours away.
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Ardennes, Belgium: Deep forests, hidden valleys, and rivers that carve the land. La Roche-en-Ardenne is a lovely trailhead town with just enough ruggedness to stir old instincts.
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Eifel National Park, Germany: Quieter, wilder, with volcanic hills and serene lakes. Monschau makes a great base—half-timbered charm, surrounded by woods.
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Sauerland, Germany: For more sustained climbs, alpine lodges, and even skiing in the colder months. Further out, but worth the pilgrimage.
If you can swing it, travel mid-week to avoid crowds and pack like you’re returning home to yourself.
Rethink Altitude: Vertical in Spirit
Sometimes, when the land won’t lift you, you have to lift your perspective. Verticality isn’t just about elevation—it’s about awareness, attention, and the courage to rise.
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Climb a dune in Schoorl. Let the sea wind tousle your hair. Let your legs remember resistance.
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Ascend a tower—like Utrecht’s Dom Tower or the bell tower in Delft. Stone steps, narrow spirals, and a view that rearranges your thoughts.
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Seek rooftops, balconies, bridges. Even a few stories up, the world looks different. You feel different.
In flat places, the climbs are small but sacred.
Closing: The Hiker’s Heart
Living without mountains has taught me something I didn’t expect—that elevation is a state of mind as much as a geography. That what I miss about hiking—the solitude, the rhythm, the clarity—can be found in other ways, in other places.
But still, I miss them. I always will.
So I chase little rises and borrow vistas and plan escapes when I can. I walk dunes like they’re ridgelines. I climb stairs like they matter. And I carry the memory of real peaks with me, always—an inner compass, pointing up.
