About me

The red dust of the continent has a way of settling into your skin long before it settles into your soul. When I first set out to cross Africa, I thought I was simply collecting stamps in my passport, but the reality of the journey quickly dismantled any preconceived notions I held. My route wasn't just a map of borders and capital cities; it was a patchwork of overwhelming silence, roaring rivers, and the quiet luxury of outposts that somehow felt perfectly woven into the wild.

My first realization of this scale hit me in Botswana, standing on the blindingly white edge of the Makgadikgadi Pans. It is an otherworldly expanse where the curvature of the earth feels tangible. I stayed at San Camp, a place that is far from your ordinary safari camp. Sleeping under the canvas there felt like resting on the moon, stripped of all noise and distraction. The sheer isolation of the pans forced me to slow down, to listen to the crunch of the salt crust under my boots, and to watch the sky turn a bruised purple at dusk.

Leaving the starkness of the desert behind, the air grew heavy and sweet as I moved north into the emerald altitudes of Rwanda. The landscape shifted dramatically into the dense, misty jungles of Volcanoes National Park, home to the mountain gorillas. Tucked into the lush green were the distinctive beehive-shaped villas of Bisate Lodge, clinging to the slopes of an extinct volcano. Sitting on my private deck, watching the fog roll through the Virunga massif, I felt entirely swallowed by the jungle. The trek to find the gorillas the next morning was muddy, breathless, and intensely primal, a stark contrast to the refined warmth of the lodge waiting for me upon my return.

From the enclosed intimacy of the Rwandan jungle, Tanzania broke the world wide open again. I found myself standing on the edge of the Ngorongoro Crater, the wind threatening to steal my hat as I looked down into the prehistoric caldera. I found refuge at the &Beyond Ngorongoro Crater Lodge, perched directly on the rim. The interiors were as dramatic as the view itself, an eccentric blend of chandelier-lit glamour and raw African earth. Waking up before dawn, I would watch the clouds spill over the crater’s lip like a slow-motion waterfall before descending into the bowl to find lions sleeping lazily in the tall golden grass.

The journey eventually wound its way down to South Africa, into the dense, predator-rich thickets of the Sabi Sand. Here, the rhythm of the bush dictated everything. I stayed at Singita Boulders Lodge, a space where the architecture seemingly dissolved into the ancient landscape, allowing the wilderness to step right up to the glass. It was here, watching a leopard slip silently through the brush just yards from my plunge pool, that the true weight of the journey settled in. You do not just travel through Africa; you let it happen to you. Every lodge was a masterclass in belonging to the land, and every landscape asked me to leave a little piece of myself behind while carrying its wild, beating heart forward with me.