How My Love Affair with South Africa Began

Once upon a time, I was completely over society and capitalism (still am, but that's a tale for another time). Sure, it's a bit hypocritical because I still adore pretty clothes and all things fancy. My dream was to escape to the middle of nowhere, get a beach house, and live the dream. So, I went for it.

Now, I'm not a fan of the word "manifestation"—except when it works in my favor. Looking back, I guess manifestation is real because I did end up with that dream house and life.

Becoming a mother kicked off an existential crisis. I went from being a backpack-toting world traveler to feeling like a ghost of my former self. Keeping a tiny human alive, dealing with midnight wake-ups—it wasn't a walk in the park.

So, I grabbed my makeup bags (because that's what I did and still do sometimes) and flew to South Africa. Why South Africa? Well, it shared the same time zone as Amsterdam, and I knew many Dutch clients flocked there in the winter for summer photoshoots.

What was supposed to be a three-week trip focused on motherhood and self-discovery turned into a love story with a country unlike any I'd known.

I stepped into a land brimming with new adventures, and I was all in. Those three weeks became some of the best of my life. I watched stunning pink-orange sunsets while Europe was cloaked in darkness, and, to my surprise, work followed me there. It was true—I could work from there too.

This adventure was so thrilling that my heart yearned for more. I returned year after year and eventually bought a house there.

Was it luck? Partly, yes. Was it courage? Plenty of it. Did I find myself in the process? Absolutely. Did I get into a lot of trouble afterward? Oh, you bet.