Going it alone

I've loved solo travel for a long time, and recently I've realised that it's something I need to do more of.

I loved solo holidays long before I was a widow. At 22, I spent three weeks travelling round China. I’ve stayed at the seaside in Portugal and explored Istanbul. I journeyed by train from London to Copenhagen. Recently, I spent a few days alone in Vienna and on that trip I realised that I need to make a point of going it alone much more often.

So what’s so great about travelling alone?

I’m an extrovert. I love company and chatter. My work involves a lot of talking and I live in an exuberant household.  But I do love a bit of peace sometimes. Solo travel can mean proper relaxation. I  enjoy the quiet in my head when I need to speak only to ask for food, drinks or tickets. I never phone home.

On my own I feel flush and give little thought to what things cost. This is in contrast to holidays with my family when I often take a deep breath when picking up a bill for five or six people. When travelling with friends, I expend emotional energy wondering whether the prices of things are OK for them, or whether I really want to spend my money on the things they suggest. This is not to say I don’t enjoy holidays with family and with friends, because I do.

A holiday alone is time off from thinking about other people’s enjoyment. No one cares what time I get up, I can eat or drink what I fancy and I don’t need a plan for the day. When I’m by myself, I really don’t mind how things turn out. Before I set off for Vienna I had managed to bag a cheap ticket for the opera and another to see the famous dancing horses. Both experiences turned out to be more than a little disappointing. I had a very restricted view of Tosca and I realised that I don’t actually like opera, and while I do like mincing Lippizaners, I don’t like watching them squashed on a balcony being bossed about by Austrian officials. On my own, I didn’t dwell on the disappointment. Had I been with others, I would have been gutted and felt that I’d let everyone down

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I’m a “head of wellbeing” at work. It’s my actual job to help people to be happy. And it’s really nice to take a break from that!

It’s hardly been scary at all

Some people think solo travel is brave. There have been a few hairy episodes, but they haven’t put me off. In fact they’ve made me a better traveller.

I recall one scary experience during my trip to China. I left Hong Kong by train for Guangzhou. My trusty Lonely Planet had suggested a youth hostel that sounded like a good base for the first couple of nights, while I got my bearings. I got myself to the right place, but found, to my alarm, that there were no single rooms available. I would have to sleep in a room with three other people. Worse still, I discovered that one of them was already in the room, very tall and sound asleep. I left my rucksack there and went out for a little wander and a think. I was quite perturbed. I hadn’t imagined I would be sharing with strangers so soon, and I definitely hadn’t thought that I would be sleeping alongside someone who was no more than a dark, snoring shape. I realised I could either lay awake all night so that I would be ready if he woke up and attacked me, or I could wake him up there and then, while it was still light, and say hello. I decided on the second option and woke Daniel, a young Swiss man who had been in Guangzhou for a while and was leaving the next day. He suggested we go for some street food. We had wonderful beef noodles, several beers and a few games of snooker in an underground bar before going back to join our two other roommates. This taught me to trust that other people are much more likely to be good than bad.

I had another wobbly moment, much more recently, spending a night in Hamburg on my way to Copenhagen. This time I did have a single room in a hostel, but the area felt a bit creepy as I walked there from the station in the November evening gloom. Again, I realised I had a choice. I could stay in my room and waste the opportunity of discovering what Hamburg had to offer, or I could just get out there. With a phone and the internet (unlike the trips of my youth), I found that there was an original language cinema not far from where I was staying. I learned the first few turns of the route from Google maps so could stride out confidently. I’m so glad I did. The Hamburg cinema was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever been in, and watching Joachim Phoenix’s Joker with a Weissbier was a great introduction to what is now one of my favourite cities.

Which leads me to a question that people often ask about lone travel.

What do you do in the evenings?

Since that night in Hamburg, I have added cinema to the list of things I do when I’m away. Many European cities, I’ve found, have a cinema showing films in English. I heartily recommend the open air cinemas in Athens. Top Gun with a view of the Parthenon? Yes, please. These days, I check what’s on before a trip and book tickets to keep me busy for at least a few nights of my stay - films, theatre, concerts, gigs, comedy.

A book or a laptop can be a good companion for dinner or a drink in a bar, though I’ve also had some lovely evenings chatting to strangers. In Vienna, I discovered that taking photographs makes me less conscious of being alone in cities at night, and I’ve managed to get some great shots too.

I also consider it perfectly acceptable to buy dinner from a supermarket eat it in my room. An early night can be a treat after an active day of sightseeing. I think my favourite evening in Vienna was when I did 20 lengths at the local swimming baths, ate in at a döner kebab place, then went back to my little hotel room to watch The Third Man. I can’t imagine any of my friends would have wanted to do all of those things, but to me, they were just perfect.

I’ve been hugely lucky to have a long weekend or more away nearly every month over the past year and a half - with my mates, my mum, my daughters. Long may it continue. I’ve never felt quite so well travelled. But now, I’m also going to make sure I grab at little bit of peace by going somewhere all by myself every year for as long as I can.