What a resort in the Caribbean and a street in Colombia taught us about hospitality

Every winter, we disappear for a bit.

Not because we don’t love what we do.
And definitely not because we’re tired of Camp Vodenca.

Quite the opposite.

We travel because we need a reset.
The kind that doesn’t come from sleeping longer or answering fewer emails. The kind that happens when your surroundings change, your senses wake up, and your thoughts finally get some space to stretch.

Travel gives us energy in a very specific way.
Not the loud, flashy kind.
More like a quiet recharge. The kind that sneaks up on you while you’re walking down an unfamiliar street, sitting somewhere without knowing the rules, or watching a morning unfold in a place that doesn’t expect anything from you.

That’s when ideas show up.
Not the “write this down right now” ideas, but the deeper ones. The ones about how places feel. How people move through them. What makes you feel welcome. And what makes you want to leave.

This winter, we experienced that contrast very clearly.

We started in Dominican Republic.
We stayed in a huge resort. On paper, it was impressive. Beautiful. Perfectly maintained. Flowers everywhere. The kind of place that looks amazing in photos.

But the feeling wasn’t there.

Even though there were so many employees, everything was about waiting.
Waiting in line for food.
Waiting in line at reception.
Waiting in line for a sun chair.

The staff looked bored. Tired. Not very interested in talking, connecting, or helping beyond what was absolutely necessary. And no matter how tidy and beautiful the surroundings were, that lack of warmth changed everything.

Then we went to Colombia.

A completely different story.
Different rhythm. Different energy. Different music to my ears and, more importantly, to my heart.

We stayed in Medellín, and what stayed with us most were the people.
Genuinely friendly. Open-hearted. Truly happy that you were there. Happy that you chose their country. Happy that you were part of their day, even if just for a moment.

It was a cultural shock.
The good kind.

And it reminded us of something very simple, yet very important:
you can have the most beautiful place in the world, but without warmth, presence, and human connection, it stays empty.

That’s why discovering different kinds of tourism is essential if you want to do this job well.

We pay attention to everything.
Big resorts. Tiny family-run places. Busy destinations. Quiet corners.
What works. What feels forced. What feels genuine. What feels like a copy of a copy.

Every country teaches us something new.
Sometimes it’s about simplicity.
Sometimes about hospitality.
Sometimes about how not to do things.

And all of it comes back with us.

Back to Camp Vodenca.

We don’t travel to bring souvenirs home.
We travel to bring back perspective.

That perspective shapes how we run our camp.
How we welcome people.
How much space we give them.
How involved we are in their days.
And when we step back and let nature do the talking.

Camp Vodenca didn’t start as a business idea.
It started as a feeling.

A feeling we’ve been chasing, protecting, and refining ever since.

We genuinely love this place.
We couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
But loving something also means knowing when to step away for a moment, so you can come back with fresh eyes and a full heart.

Every year, we choose a new destination.
Not to tick it off a list.
But to learn something new. About the world. About people. About ourselves.

Then we come home.
To the mountains.
To the river.
To the camp.

And we build the kind of place we would want to stay in.
Again. And again. And again.

That’s why we travel in winter.
And that’s what we bring back to Camp Vodenca. 🌲💚