Thoughts on NO land is a GPS-guided walk through the Dutch nature reserve De Onlanden, with mini podcasts at ten locations, by Peter Veen.

This work is one of the shortlisted pieces for the Sound Walk September Awards 2025. 
Below, Peter discusses his work.

Not much happens in De Onlanden. The wind blows, small waves ripple, birds call, you smell cattle and horses, you see a marsh harrier scanning the fields. A cyclist shouts “watch out!” and looks grumpy because you’re slowing him down. You pass talking walkers, runners surrounded by the heavy scent of deodorant. You hear your sleeve brushing against your jacket, the rhythm of your footsteps on the asphalt, and a moorhen squawking almost in sync. Nothing happens. Nothing special, anyway. But somehow, all that nothing adds up to something quite special.

Escaping

A photo of a landscape contains a lot of information. The viewer instantly sees the weather, the balance between land and water, how many trees and reeds there are, whether people are walking their dogs, how many birds, how the paths are paved… You could fill a whole book with what’s visible in a single image. Text doesn’t do that. Text offers more space than images. Words are less insistent, less complete. And you can escape from words — give them your own meaning.

That’s why I love text. But only when combined with sound. So I like to make soundwalks — walking audio stories, or mini-podcasts if you prefer. Walks where you can listen, on your own phone, to ultra-short stories I’ve written for specific spots along the route.

That’s also true for my soundwalk through de Onlanden. At ten locations you can listen to one or more spoken pieces, layered with music and field recordings. If you visit them all, you’ll walk about seven kilometres, including a stop at the lookout tower.

Ants and mosquitoes

In an earlier project, a farmer once told me: “Go sit in a field for an hour or two and just look, feel, and listen.” So I did — and discovered that those “empty” areas we rush through to get our steps in or to cycle to work also have another side. They’re full of life, reacting to you by hiding, crawling over you as if you don’t exist, or biting you. (I’m talking about ants and mosquitoes, not lions and tigers.)

Sitting in the grass gives you a cold backside, the sun burns your scalp, you get thirsty, and suddenly the cyclists speeding by, the chatting walkers, and the leashed or unleashed pets all feel like a nuisance — no matter how kind and friendly they are when you meet them one-on-one.

But it works. If you stay put for a few hours, the landscape around you changes into something alive, something special. And you change too — from a hurried person into someone who calmly observes the world while chewing on a piece of straw. The soundwalk is an invitation to explore the area in that same way: calmly, quietly, without purpose.

The Nothingness

That’s what strikes me most about de Onlanden. Everyone has a purpose. Cycling fast. Walking briskly. Walking the dog. Photographing birds. Like the birdwatcher I once saw — full gear, camouflage jacket and cap, long telephoto lens, even the camera wrapped in camo — who climbed into his Volkswagen Up and, to my surprise, sped straight between two red poles to reach his next spot. Clearly not his first time. (My car didn’t fit. I tried, very carefully.)

You only really get to know an area by coming there often, with an open mind. By watching the seasons pass, seeing the first leaves appear, climbing the tower to feel the autumn storm, watching the geese migrate, recognising the sounds of birds and insects. If you return often enough, you find a different kind of nature — one that’s fascinating, alive. And that process is far more rewarding than flying somewhere, lying on a beach for a week, and flying home again in a cramped tube between crying children and proud mothers. So stay home — and immerse yourself in the “nothing” of a nature reserve.

The sound walk

The sound walk de Onlanden consists of ten parts spread across a walking or cycling route of just over seven kilometres. Each part combines short texts with music and environmental sound.

You’ll hear two perspectives throughout:

First, my subjective impressions of the landscape, the animals, and the things I encounter there.

Second, factual information — though naturally, that too is somewhat coloured. Facts may be neutral, but the choice of which ones to include never is. For example, I decide whether to mention how many animals are killed by traffic, or why a white egret often appears here.

I recorded the subjective parts in my own voice; the factual parts are spoken by an AI voice. The environmental sounds are my own recordings. The music was generated using prompts on udio.com. All texts that make up the soundscape come from my digital publication Thoughts on No Land.

The winner and honourable mention of the SWS Awards 2025 will be announced around the start of 2026.