I took my first solo trip in the fall of 2000. I had been living in Madrid for a few months and was hitting that bizarre breakpoint of both feeling at home and wanting to go home. We had a 4 day break, and I needed to GET OUT. I did some research and called my mom to tell her that I really, really needed a trip alone, and was she going to freak out if I went to Wales by myself?
Fortunately, even in those days when you still needed an Internet cafe to send email and my international cell phone cost a small fortune and was used sparingly, she agreed.
And so I set off. In hindsight, my 20-year-old self had no clue what she was doing. I flew into London and took the world’s longest unnecessary overnight train ride to Tenby, Wales, a charming little seaside town with a claim to fame of an island off the coast where monks lived and made chocolate and perfume. I wandered around, ate good food, went riding in the Welsh countryside, took a boat ride around the island. While I was buying my ticket for the boat, the middle aged woman selling them realized I was traveling solo and remarked how brave it was. I surprised myself – having not quite processed how I felt about this solo travel thing yet – that I really loved it, and found it freeing and not lonely.
After all, the lovely British couple I had ridden with gave me a ride back to my B&B. In the restaurant where I had my first nice solo meal I learned the joy of quiet people watching. The priest and his sister from the Anglican church where I attended vespers (and this was before my Episcopalian days) had invited me to tea and would later see me safely to the train station, even specifying the best seat on the train while standing on the platform watching me board.
What I learned, on that first solo trip, is that traveling solo is not traveling alone unless you want it to be.
Since that first trip, I have traveled solo on almost every continent. I have galloped down a dirt lane in the Galápagos Islands, learned trapeze in Turks and Caicos, gotten lost in the Provençal woods that inspired Van Gogh, and slept under the stars (well, until it started raining…) guarded by Samburu warriors in Kenya. In the States, I have eaten my body weight in Maine lobster, almost hit a coyote in Yellowstone, and driven a dog sled on a frigid day in Wyoming.
When I plan these trips, it is frequently with the intent of getting some quality time all to myself – to be accountable only to myself (and my mother, with whom I check in on safe arrival everywhere 
). And I always get that, but I try to keep myself open to interaction with other travelers, because that is when things get really fun.
When you are a woman traveling solo, people notice. They tend to try to bring you into the fold, make sure you’re safe and out of danger. Occasionally there’s pity, but that usually fades quickly once it’s clear that you are traveling solo by choice.
Over the years, I have had some fascinating interactions with fellow travelers. Some were brief, like the afternoon in St. Remy de Provence where, having missed the lunch hour at every restaurant (thanks to being lost in the aforementioned woods), I collapsed in the corner of a bar with a glass of rosé and my iPad, only to be swept across the bar by a group of lovely French folk determined not to let me read quietly and plied with more rose, fruit tart, and an apple galette. I speak what could be called pidgin French, but between that and one of the men’s Spanish, we managed. Other encounters form longer lasting connections (aided by the social media of today), such as our Eiffel Tower family from the same trip – a group of 3 Australian families (2 couples and 1 family of 5) and myself who found ourselves randomly together in line and over the 4 hours of line and tour, chatted, stuck together, took pictures, and offered up guest rooms and couches for future travels. If I want to go see what life is like on a real deal farm in the Outback, I know who to call! (I also learned that stunt women who are perfectly willing to be lit on fire as they leap from a moving car are terrified of heights.)
I am grateful for these experiences – both the truly solo moments and the moments with other travelers. I have been accused of being fearless, but that is not quite true – there are places I will not travel solo, and I am careful about where I stay and walk and how I travel. Unlike that 20 year old who booked a flight to London when she was going to Wales, I have learned to do my research and travel efficiently along with safely. My solo experiences easily translate to non-solo ones – I love to visit friends who live in fun places, and so when a flight to Taiwan was completely rerouted due to floods, leaving me in a tiny airport to find my way to the bus that would take me to my friends, it was easier to take in stride, knowing from previous experience that I would eventually get to my destination. Traveling tempers my otherwise slightly OCD nature – I control what I can and roll with the rest.
I am not sure what my point really is, here. I have been traveling a ton lately, not really for fun, but frequently solo for much of the journey, and so I have been thinking about these things more. I would encourage other single women to travel solo – for me, it is as much about convenience as it is about enjoying it. My wanderlust is severe, and few people who share that in my life can be available for the same time period, or they have families that are hard to leave behind, or we would make poor travel buddies (this is key). But there were (and are) places I couldn’t wait to experience, and as someone who firmly believes that living life as a single person should never look like a life lived in waiting, I decided I just had to go solo. And as it turns out, solo rarely means alone.
Quote for the day:
“Through travel I first became aware of the outside world; it was through travel that I found my own introspective way into becoming a part of it.” – Eudora Welty