I almost didn't go.
Getting my visa for the Skål World Congress in South Africa turned into weeks of back-and-forth: documents, follow-ups, and a lot of waiting. By the time my visa came through on September 30, the congress had already started without me.
Part of me thought that was the end of it. My team didn't.
"You can still make it," they told me. "We need you there to represent us."
So I booked my flights, packed my bag, and left that same day.
The route was Entebbe to Addis Ababa on Ethiopian Airlines, then on to Johannesburg, then down to Gqeberha (Port Elizabeth). I landed on October 1, the second-to-last day of the congress.
Some people would call that too late. I decided to call it just in time.
A driver arranged by the organizers met me at the airport. I've thought about that a lot since. After a long, uncertain journey, the first thing I felt was that someone had planned for me. That small moment of being expected set the tone for everything after it.
Destinations put a lot of thought into the big welcome: the gala, the keynote, the branded lanyard. But the arrival matters just as much. The first person a tired traveler meets often shapes how they feel about the entire trip.
Try this: Walk through your destination's arrival experience as if you were a late, tired visitor. Where is the first moment they feel expected?
Delegates were given a list of recommended hotels. I read up on each one and chose the Boardwalk Capital Hotel, which sits inside a mall.
I'd recommend it without hesitation. The food was excellent, room service was spot on, the accommodation was comfortable, the Wi-Fi worked, and the gym and ambiance were great. But two things mattered even more to me.
The first was security. It's one of the first things I look for whenever I travel, and here I never had to think about it.
The second was inclusion. Everyone was treated with the same warmth, regardless of race, gender, or how they identify. That's something guests notice, especially guests who have walked into places where they weren't welcome.
Inclusive hospitality isn't something you can advertise into existence. It lives in training, in culture, and in how the person at the front desk looks at you when you walk in. That makes it a workforce question as much as a marketing one.
I showered, changed, and headed straight to the President's Gala Dinner. There were official protocols, the traditional Skål toast, a three-course dinner, live entertainment, and the executive board changeover ceremony.
When I walked in, a member of the organizing committee spotted me. "Oh my God, Dee, you made it!"
"I had to," I said. "I'm a nerd."
She said I deserved a medal. I told her I'd gladly accept one. (I'm still waiting.)
The rest of the evening was about connection. I met tour operators and tourism professionals from around the world, swapped contacts, and took more photos than I can count. People kept asking where I was from and what I do in tourism. Every time, I got to talk about Learn Tourism, the organization that has helped shape me into the tourism professional I am today.
What struck me was how much one evening could hold. I'd missed most of the program, but showing up for the part I could still reach was worth every connecting flight.
The next day was wrap-up and departures. Delegates could choose between a safari and a city tour.
I'm from Uganda. I've been on plenty of safaris, and I love them. But when I travel, I try to choose the thing I haven't done before. So I picked the city tour, which included a boat ride on the Sundays River. It was amazing.
It's a useful reminder for anyone designing experiences. Your visitors arrive with their own history. What feels exotic to one guest feels like home to another, and offering real choice respects that.
This was the part of the trip that surprised me most.
From the water, I could see huge sand dunes and hilltops with incredible views. I was sure there would be quad biking or some other adrenaline activity on every slope.
There wasn't.
My first reaction was mild disappointment. My second was respect. The dunes were left as they were. That's a choice, and it says something about what this place values.
We often talk about sustainability as something a destination adds: a program, a pledge, a certification. Sometimes it's something a destination decides not to do. Not every beautiful landscape needs to become a playground, and the most responsible experience can be the one that stays off the menu.
Try this: Name one place in your destination that is special because it hasn't been developed. Who decided to protect it, and do your frontline staff know that story well enough to tell visitors?
Learn Tourism extended my stay by three days, and I used every one of them. I visited shops, tried local restaurants, learned more about South Africa, and finally slowed down.
People were warm and welcoming everywhere I went. I came home with new contacts, a camera roll full of faces, and a much bigger picture of what hospitality can look like.
The Skål World Congress is the annual international gathering of Skål International, a global network of tourism and hospitality professionals. The 2026 congress was held in Nelson Mandela Bay, South Africa.
Learn Tourism attended to represent the organization, connect with tourism professionals from around the world, and share our work in tourism education, workforce development, and destination stewardship.
Arrival experiences, safety, inclusion, and responsible choices about what to develop all shape how visitors feel about a place, and all of them depend on well-trained, confident people.
I nearly let a delayed visa decide that I wasn't going. What changed my mind was a team that believed showing up late still counts.
So here's the question I keep coming back to: who in your organization is waiting for someone to tell them they can still make it?
At Learn Tourism, we believe every destination is in the business of learning. Want to help your team build confidence, welcome every guest, and care for the places they call home? Let's talk.