The First Time inspired

When you work in travel and tourism, you’re constantly exposed to the magic of “the first time.” It’s someone’s first time visiting Namibia. Their first time seeing an elephant. The first time witnessing a lion kill. It’s amazing how even seasoned travellers, who’ve ticked off countless bucket lists, still encounter these moments of newness, “first times” that remind us of the vastness of this world.

Over my decade as a travel writer, I’ve had the privilege of experiencing so many first times. Some of them were mine; others belonged to my companions. And honestly, I’m not sure which I enjoy more. There’s a special joy in seeing someone else’s eyes light up, their breath catch, their world shift. The first time is always a forever-memory. A vivid snapshot in your cerebral album.

I remember the first time I saw the Hartmann’s Valley stretch out before me, its silence broken only by the whisper of the wind. The first time I walked knee-deep in water across a flooded Sossusvlei pan, my mind reeling at the surreal beauty of it all. The first time I tracked a rhino on foot, the weight of every footfall mingled with awe and trepidation. Or the time my soon-to-be brotherin-law tentatively tried oysters on a boat cruise, grimacing before admitting they weren’t so bad. The first time I took my husband to Damaraland, my favourite place in Namibia, and constantly scanning his reactions to this new place. Then there was the moment I watched a friend’s face light up during a hot air balloon ride, a joy that outshone even my own solo experience.

And then there are the “first times” in the skies. A human’s first experience of flight – leaving the earth behind to ascend to the heavens – is nothing short of monumental. I can’t recall my own first flight, but I adore witnessing it in others. A few years ago, I travelled to Ghana with a colleague. As the plane took off, I noticed his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests with all his might. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied, though his voice betrayed his nerves. “It’s just my first time.”

So what got me thinking (inspired) about first times? A recent conversation with the Impact Team at Wilderness. Dr. Nad Brain shared photos on his phone that left me smiling for days. Over the festive season, he’d been doing aerial patrols near Palmwag to monitor wildlife crime. One day, he decided to take some local children for a ride in his small Cessna. These kids had grown up in the area but had never seen their home from above. It was their first time flying.

The photos captured their wide-eyed wonder, their unrestrained laughter, and their awe as they looked down at the world from this new vantage point. For these children, it wasn’t just a joyride. It was a glimpse into possibilities beyond the horizon. A small gesture with a massive impact. That’s what travel and new experiences can be. When we reflect on the impact of our actions, we realise the immense privilege of not only having these moments for ourselves but also sharing them with others.

Think back to your own first times. The first time you visited a new country and felt the thrill of stepping into the unknown. The first time you tried a food so unfamiliar, you hesitated before taking a bite. The first time you immersed yourself in a new culture, learning its language, traditions, and rhythm. These moments stay with us, surfacing in quiet reflections or vibrant conversations.

And here’s a thought: what if you could share a first time with someone else? Imagine introducing a child to their first safari or watching a friend see a pangolin for the first time. You’d get to experience their awe and joy – and through their fresh eyes, you might rediscover that same wonder for yourself. Suddenly, the familiar becomes extraordinary again, as though it’s your first time too.

Every first time shapes us. It adds depth to our life’s story and, sometimes, alters its trajectory entirely. So, I hope we’re brave enough to seize these opportunities. That we’re humble enough to savour them. Gracious enough to share them. And conscious of the ways they ripple outwards, touching lives beyond our own.

Elzanne McCulloch