From Dukovec Station to Krapina — Two Miles of Intentional Movement
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On January 20, I will travel north to Krapina, carrying with me more than a backpack and winter layers. I will carry intention. This journey will not be accidental, rushed, or merely touristic. It will be a deliberate act of presence — a winter walk aligned with the Tuesdays 4 Climate Revolt, a peace movement that insists climate action can be calm, reflective, human, and deeply rooted in everyday landscapes.
This trip will be short in distance but expansive in meaning. I will arrive by train, step off at Dukovec station, and walk roughly five miles toward Krapina. Only about 500 meters of that route will lack sidewalks, yet every meter will matter. This walk will be a statement: climate awareness does not only belong in capitals, conferences, or crisis headlines — it belongs in quiet towns, frozen fields, and ordinary winter mornings.
I. Preparing for a Winter Journey
I will wake early, knowing the day will begin under frost and muted winter light. I will dress for cold — layers, scarf, gloves — aware that winter itself will be an active participant in this experience. I will not fight the cold; I will accept it as context.
The train ride toward Krapina will serve as a gradual transition. As the city recedes, the landscape will become more open, more rural, more honest. I will watch trees stand bare and dignified, fields lying dormant under frost, villages passing slowly like still images. This will not be idle observation. It will be preparation.
During the ride, I will think about how winter is changing. I will think about how frost is no longer reliable, how snow arrives late or vanishes early, how predictability — once the backbone of agriculture and seasonal life — is dissolving. I will remind myself that beauty and crisis are not opposites. They coexist.
II. Arrival at Dukovec Station
When the train stops at Dukovec, I will step onto the platform deliberately. I will pause. I will breathe in cold air sharp enough to clear the mind. This station will not feel like a stop “before” Krapina — it will feel like a beginning.
Dukovec will represent something important: a reminder that climate action does not start at destinations. It starts at thresholds. It starts where movement becomes intentional.
I will take a moment to orient myself, adjust my backpack, check my route, and then begin walking — not to rush toward Krapina, but to fully inhabit the distance between.
III. Walking Through Frosted Landscapes
As I begin the walk, I will move through fields edged with frost, where grass will crunch softly beneath my steps. The land will appear calm, almost timeless, yet I will know it is not static. I will look closely — at uneven snow cover, at damp patches where frost has already retreated, at subtle signs of irregular freeze and thaw.
I will allow myself to walk slowly. This will not be exercise for speed or endurance. It will be movement for awareness.
When I reach the section without sidewalks — approximately 500 meters alongside the road — I will walk attentively. Cars will pass. Engines will hum. Modern life will briefly intrude into the quiet. This stretch will feel symbolic: humans navigating narrow margins between convenience and consequence.
I will not dramatize this moment, but I will register it. Climate change is not always spectacular. Often, it is just this — walking alongside infrastructure that assumes endless growth, endless fuel, endless motion.
IV. Winter as a Climate Narrative
Throughout the walk, I will think about winter not as a backdrop, but as a story. Winter will be speaking — through temperature, silence, light, and absence.
I will remind myself that climate change does not erase winter. It distorts it. It makes it unreliable. Shorter, harsher, wetter, or unexpectedly mild. It alters ecosystems that evolved around consistency.
As I walk, I will consider how people often say, “But it’s cold — where is global warming?” I will think about how misleading that question is. Climate is not about single days or single sensations. It is about patterns — and those patterns are unraveling.
This winter walk will not be nostalgic. It will be observant. It will acknowledge beauty without denying fragility.
V. Anticipated Encounters
I will likely meet locals along the way — people clearing snow, walking dogs, heading to shops, living their lives. I will greet them naturally, without agenda, without slogans.
If someone asks where I am going, I will say: “To Krapina. Walking. For climate awareness.”
If someone asks why, I will not lecture. I will explain simply: because walking slows thought, because landscapes deserve attention, because climate conversations must happen outside screens.
I will listen more than I speak. I will note how often people already sense change — in seasons, in harvests, in weather patterns — even if they lack technical language. I will treat those observations as expertise of experience.
VI. Entering Krapina
As Krapina comes into view, I will feel arrival — not relief, but alignment. The town will not mark the end of the walk; it will mark its transformation into reflection.
I will head toward a café near the station. I will order something warm. I will let my hands thaw around a cup. This pause will matter. Activism that does not allow warmth and rest becomes brittle.
While sitting there, I will write. I will record impressions while they are fresh: the sound of frost under boots, the silence of fields, the sensation of walking with purpose but without urgency.
I will think about Krapina’s deep history — prehistoric layers beneath modern streets — and how even ancient timelines are now intersecting with a rapidly changing climate. Prehistory will not feel distant here. It will feel present, fragile, instructive.
VII. Why This Walk Will Matter
This planned journey will not aim to be heroic. It will aim to be replicable.
Two miles. A winter day. A train ticket. A walk.
This is what Tuesdays 4 Climate Revolt will stand for: climate action that is accessible, peaceful, grounded, and emotionally honest. Not everyone can attend summits. Not everyone can chain themselves to institutions. But many people can walk, observe, and talk.
This walk will demonstrate that resistance does not always roar. Sometimes it moves quietly through frost.
VIII. Looking Ahead
When the day ends and I leave Krapina, I will not consider the journey finished. This walk will be part of a longer series — a rhythm of Tuesdays dedicated to climate presence, creative resistance, and public reflection.
I will carry this walk forward — into writing, into conversation, into future routes. It will shape how I think about scale, patience, and impact.
On January 20, I will not just go to Krapina.
I will practice climate awareness as movement.
I will turn walking into witness.
I will let winter speak — and listen carefully.
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