September found me in Slovenia, and I’ll admit—I fell in love. This small country offers something for everyone while maintaining a refreshing “slow tourism” philosophy centered on savoring moments rather than racing through them.

 

In the capital city of Ljubljana, I strolled pedestrian zones lined with outdoor cafes. At Lake Bled, the iconic castle surrounded by the Julian Alps took my breath away. For active travelers, over 1,865 miles of biking trails and 6,200 miles of hiking paths wind through stunning landscapes.

 

The food culture equally captivated me. Positioned at the crossroads of the Alps, Mediterranean, Hungary, and Italy, Slovenian cuisine reflects wonderfully diverse influences. I spent an afternoon foraging through forests with a local guide, then feasted on fresh porcini mushrooms and wild arugula we’d gathered. The wine proved equally impressive—small-batch, organically-produced wines from 43,000 acres of vineyards rival Italian quality at a fraction of the cost.

 

Slovenia charmed me completely. But Kenya? Kenya broke me open.

 

It’s hard to put into words what Kenya did to me. This was my second safari, and somehow it surpassed even the wonder of my first.

During this Novembers work-study trip, I initially tried to stay in control—connected to the office, organizing my learning, documenting everything on social media, curating thousands of photos. 

Then I realized I was missing the gift right in front of me. So I stopped. I surrendered to the rhythm of Africa and safari life.

 

Days began at 5 a.m. and ended near midnight. I floated over the Mara Triangle in a sunrise balloon. I sat in stillness watching elephants tend their young, lions survey their kingdom, and the raw beauty of life and death playing out in its purest form—survival as nature intended.

 

In traditional villages, joyful children ran to greet us. At luxury tented camps, I shared sunsets overlooking Mount Kenya with fellow travelers who became fast friends. I even adopted two orphaned baby elephants, Nyambeni and Kipikee, whose stories of loss and resilience mirror the landscape itself.

But it was the Kenyan people who undid me completely. Their genuine warmth opened doors to deep conversations about family, faith, the ancient traditions of Maasai warriors, and the delicate balance between conservation and survival. Every interaction felt like a gift. 

And when it came time to leave? Saying goodbye to the people who’d welcomed me so warmly brought tears I didn’t expect—the kind that come when you realize you’ve been truly seen and accepted. Transitioning from camp to camp meant leaving behind pieces of my heart with each farewell.

 

I came home touched, humbled, and fundamentally changed. I believe anyone who truly allows themselves to experience Africa does.