One of my favorite travel experiences took place over 40 years ago, when I was newly graduated from college, and ready to explore the world.

I left my home city of Cape Town, South Africa, in the mid-1980s with a backpack, a round-trip ticket, and $200 in my pocket. I returned home two years later!

My journey began with two months volunteering on a kibbutz in Israel, followed by a move to Jerusalem to work as a nanny and cashier in a high-rise hotel. It was a simple life, but one filled with adventures and lessons which no classroom could teach.

On my day off, my Greek boyfriend and I caught the bus to Jericho to do some exploring. He was a tour guide so I had a remarkable resource whenever we embarked on one of our escapades. We disembarked near an area believed to be the ruins of the ancient city mentioned in biblical writings. The landscape was fascinating, but what happened next is what has stayed with me all these years.

Not far from the ruins, we came across an elderly Palestinian couple and their extended family living in what remained of a ramshackle farmhouse. They'd made the house as livable as they could, but the setting was simple and rugged.

We struck up a conversation with the couple who had retreated from the heat of the sun to the shade of their verandah. As we listened, they told us about the losses they'd experienced when they were forced from their ancestral home. Their farmland, their home, their livestock, and the life they had built there.

Then they did something I have never forgotten. They invited us to sit with them.

There was no elaborate meal offered. Nothing luxurious or elegant. Instead, they offered us what they had: a cup of hot, sweet tea infused with fresh spearmint leaves.

I'd come to love this tea during my time in Israel, but somehow, sitting there in the shade with this elderly couple and their grandchildren, it tasted different.

Perhaps it was the whispers of history sounding heavy in the hot afternoon sun. Or perhaps it was the simple generosity of two people who, despite having lost so much, were willing to share what little they had with two strangers.

We talked. We listened. They told us their story, and for a while, we were simply people from different nationalities sitting together, sharing a drink and a moment.

That experience taught me something about travel that has remained with me ever since. Authentic hospitality isn't always about the value of what someone is offering you. Sometimes, it's about the invitation to sit down, to listen, to be curious, and to see one another.

I've enjoyed extraordinary meals in many countries. But I don't remember most of those meals.

I do, however, remember that cup of sweet, mint-infused tea. I remember the shade of that verandah in old Jericho.

I remember the elderly couple who had lost so much and still found something to give.

Maggie Wolfe Miller is Zimbabwean by birth, South African and American by descent, 100% African at heart. She currently lives in Wisconsin and shares her love of globetrotting by promoting transformational travel.