Slow Down and Keep Moving: A Recalibration of My Approach

When I left Nahoon Reef, toilet paper stuffed into my cycling shorts, catching the overflow of a nasty saddle sore. I felt like I was holding myself together with duct tape and sheer willpower. My mind was locked on a single goal: keep moving.

This relentless drive was the backbone of my journey cycling around the perimeter of Africa. Every pedal stroke, every hill climbed, every checkmark on the map felt like progress. But beneath the surface, I was unravelling. My saddle sore was more than a physical ailment—it was a crack in my armour, a sign that my “push through” mentality was beginning to fail me.

When I arrived at Buccaneers, a backpacker’s haven nestled in Chintsa West, I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to learn a lesson I didn’t even know I needed.

Chaos Meets Peace

I’ve always thrived in chaos. I like to think it’s part of my charm—driven, passionate, and slightly unhinged. It’s how I’ve tackled life, always with a sense of urgency and purpose, always chasing the next thing. But when chaos becomes the only language you speak, it can drown out the quieter, more important voices inside you.

Buccaneers introduced me to something I had been missing: stillness. Shaun, the owner, embodied this effortlessly. He reminded me of my dad—measured, intentional, and steady, with a way of making you feel seen without the need for many words. Then there was Slade, the bartender. Slade didn’t rush for anything or anyone, but somehow, he never missed a beat. His quiet energy reminded me that life doesn’t always need to be lived at full tilt. Sometimes, it’s okay to just…BE.

The contrast between my inner turmoil and the gentle energy of this place was jarring. For the first time since I left home, I felt the pressure to “perform” begin to ease.

A Lesson in Connection

On my first night, I wandered to the poolside braai area and found myself surrounded by strangers who welcomed me like family. Kyran’s tales of backpacking through South America transported me, reminding me of the beauty of adventure and its unpredictable nature. Amber’s fiery spirit and openness challenged me to embrace my vulnerability. Isabelle, at 19, carried a spark of curiosity that felt contagious.

These connections weren’t fleeting. They weren’t just travelers passing through my story. Over the three weeks I spent at Buccaneers, they became mirrors, reflecting the parts of myself I had been too afraid to face: my longing for connection, my need for stillness, and my need to find balance in this great adventure I am undertaking. 

The Breaking Point

Slowing down didn’t come easily. I felt like I was failing—not just in my journey, but in my identity. Rest felt like weakness, and I was consumed by the fear of falling behind.

One day, in a moment of frustration, I called my mom. The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered: “I need to get back on the road. I need to keep moving. I think I will start walking….” Her response was calm but firm: “You’re not racing anyone.” Those words echoed in my mind for days.

It wasn’t just my body that was breaking; it was the foundation of my approach. From the start, I had equated movement with purpose, purpose with worth, all a frantic chase to get to the next town. Buccaneers was forcing me to confront the hollowness of that mindset.

I began to embrace the slowness. Mornings became moments of ritual—sipping coffee on the balcony, watching the mist rise over the hills, and letting the day unfold without a plan. It was in those still moments that I found clarity.

The Horizon Holds Answers

One morning, I stood on the balcony, mist draping the green headlands, headphones in, playing Sash Seabourne’s Soft Blue Dress on repeat. The horizon stretched out before me, endless and unchanging, and full of life. I wasn’t just looking out at the world; I was looking inward, piecing together the “why” behind this journey.

In that moment, the “Why?” pieced together. A story I struggled to articulate, narrated itself along ancient hills before my eyes That is when I wrote my first blog, “A Journey of Dreams, Resilience, and the Open Road”

A New Lens

As I packed up to leave, Pete, the accountant, snapped a photo of me with Slade, Amber, Isabelle, and Devina. It was taken outside the reception, the place where I had spent most of my mornings soaking in the stillness while throwing down mugs of coffee. That photo, captured on a disposable camera gifted by my lifelong friend Ben, is more than just an image. It’s a reminder of what I found at Buccaneers: the power of connection, the beauty of presence, and the necessity of balance. (I will take 1 photo, on the disposable, in every country I pass through.)

In the months since, I’ve carried those lessons with me. Slow down and keep moving. It’s a paradox, but it’s also the essence of life. Rushing robs us of magic, but stopping completely leaves us stagnant. The key is to find a rhythm that lets us savour the journey while still moving forward. South Africa is one of the only countries that I do not have time restrictions in and that is exactly why I have moved through it as slowly as possible. It is the country for me to lay the foundation for my approach to the rest of my expedition.  

Buccaneers wasn’t just a stop along the way—it was a recalibration of my entire approach. It taught me to embrace the stillness, to lean into connection, and to appreciate the beauty in every moment. And for that, I’ll be forever grateful.

"Get Out There and Get Moving!"