The solo trip that changed my life

Blame it on Harry. Nilsson, that is. Not just him, of course, but his famous song, One is the Loneliest Number.

It summarises the message we hear constantly from society: that being alone is the worst thing you can be.

However, for travel, we’d argue that the opposite is true. Travelling by yourself is the most liberating way to explore the world.

Travelling alone does not mean being lonely.Credit: iStock

Not only can you have everything your way – no more arguments over where to stay, where to eat, whether to visit a museum or go shopping – but you will connect with your destination in an entirely different way.

Solo travellers open themselves up to the sorts of random encounters and unexpected experiences that make travel memorable.

Worried about having to look after everything yourself, about getting lost or feeling lonely?

Relax. Technology has made the solo travel experience all that much easier, whether it is booking everything in advance or sharing WhatsApp updates with your friends.

In fact, the biggest challenge for solo travellers these days can be resisting the urge to touch base with home and to simply enjoy the moment you are in.

Like any other skill, solo travelling takes practice. Start with a destination that feels comfortable before working your way up to more challenging adventures.

To provide inspiration, we asked seven Traveller writers, highly experienced in travelling the world alone, to reflect on the most memorable experiences of flying (and every other kind of transport) solo. – Ute Junker

Falling for a snake charmer in Vietnam

By Ben Groundwater

It begins with trepidation, and a snake, and the loss of a few hundred dollars. It ends with a revelation.

The setting was Hanoi, a testing destination for any traveller, particularly a kid who had never been to South-East Asia before, who had never travelled solo before, who trusted in the world and its goodness with the utter faith of the uninitiated.

Vietnam can be a learning experience for young travellers.Credit: iStock

That was me. I was 24 – so, not exactly a kid, though it felt that way on reflection. I arrived in Hanoi at the beginning of a year-long solo adventure. It was the first time I’d struck out truly alone, with no-one else to rely on, or team up with, or blame.

I’d been in the city for about three hours before I got scammed. I was sitting by Hoan Kiem Lake, trying to take it all in, when a local guy approached me, befriended me, and asked if I wanted to go and eat with him.

How lucky was I? My first day in South-East Asia and I’d already made a local friend, already been invited out to lunch.

It took a good few hours to realise I was being swindled. I was taken to a restaurant on the far outskirts of Hanoi, with no idea where I was, and no way to get home. There, I’m plied with a meal of snake, a specialty here I was told.

Within a week of being scammed I was in Hoi An, and laughing about the time I paid all that money for a snake.Credit: Getty

I never saw a menu. Never thought to ask what it cost. But then the bill arrived at the end of the meal and it’s more than $US200 ($313) – and apparently I was the only one paying.

That was two weeks’ budget; it was also a huge blow to a novice solo traveller’s confidence. Was I really cut out for this? But you pick yourself up, and you move on because there’s no other choice.

Within days, I made real friends, fellow travellers with whom to team up and rely on.

Within a week I was in Hoi An, sharing a room with an English backpacker I’d met in Halong Bay, sitting out on the street on sultry nights drinking 333 beers and laughing about the time I paid all that money for a snake.

By the end of that year of solo travel I was a completely different person, self-sufficient, confident, resourceful, and far less naive. I can do this, I realised. I have what it takes. And I will never get scammed again (even though I was).

Find the rub in Colombia

By Ute Junker

I arrived in Colombia unprepared. Oh, I had a hotel room booked, and the currency conversion memorised, but I didn’t have a single conversation starter.

Solo travel is all about connecting with the locals and the best way to do that is to have something to say.

I usually prep before I go. In South America, boning up on the best-loved local music, whether it is salsa or samba, chicha or reggaeton, works nicely, but on a last-minute trip in the early 2000s, when the Internet wasn’t as all-encompassing as it is now, I was completely clueless.

I looked for a walking tour that would give me some insights but in my first stop, Medellin – a city that was just starting to shrug off its 1990s reputation as the murder capital of the world – offerings were thin on the ground.

Plaza Botero is filled with bulbous bronze works by Colombia’s most famous sculptor, Fernando Botero.Credit: iStock

The only option was to join a small group of Colombian tourists on their city tour, and so I did.

I only have a smattering of Spanish, so I missed most of the commentary, but I did learn one important thing – Colombians love to laugh.

My fellow guests decided to have fun with the foreigner and took great delight in making me pose for ridiculous photos, particularly at Plaza Botero, filled with bulbous bronze works by Colombia’s most famous sculptor, Fernando Botero.

My companions explained that it was tradition to rub each statue for luck and pointed me to the first one, a giant horse with shiny patches on its legs worn away by countless hands.

Cheered on by the rest of the group, I dutifully posed for photos rubbing one of the legs. I already had an inkling where this may end up and sure enough, the highlight of the tour – for my companions, anyway – was when we reached the oversized naked man.

Dutifully I posed for photos rubbing the lucky part of his anatomy (yes, it was exactly what you think it is). My companions were so pleased that I was willing to play along that hugs all around ensued.

Colombia’s tourism scene has changed out of sight since I first visited, and you will find plenty of tourist-friendly facilities everywhere from the picturesque Caribbean city of Cartagena to Bogota and yes, even Medellin.

The one thing that hasn’t changed is that Colombians still love to laugh. Remember to pack your sense of humour, and you are bound to have some memorable encounters as a solo traveller.

Letting go of my emotional baggage in India

By Catherine Marshall

I was the only foreigner on the flight from Delhi to Srinagar, summer capital of Indian-administered Kashmir. In the arrivals hall, a rifle-wielding soldier strode towards me and thrust a sheet of paper into my hand.

“Fill it in!” he barked. I fished for a pen from my backpack and obeyed his order. This encounter was the only desolate moment on my journey to one of the world’s most beautiful – and politically fraught – destinations.

My fellow passengers spilled from the tiny airport and into the arms of their families. I stayed behind in the empty arrivals hall and filled out the foreign registration form. My lone suitcase looped around the baggage carousel; it was a fitting metaphor for the solitude of unaccompanied journeys.

Solo in Srinagar: not everyone wishes to holiday in places shaped by ideological conflict, no matter how arresting the topography.Credit: iStock

But solo travellers are never truly alone. Most often, we are surrounded by people we have yet to meet.

A year earlier, on a visit to Allahabad sans companion, I’d attended the world’s biggest religious gathering, the Kumbh Mela.

I’d wandered the megalopolis of tented camps, roamed ashrams clouded with marijuana smoke and received blessings from naked sadhus.

How could I be lonely, when I was amid millions of Hindus coming to perform puja at the confluence of the Ganges, Yamuna and mythical Saraswati rivers?

Now, released from that soldier’s glare in Srinagar, I emerged into a sea of alpine air and jostling, curious faces. I’d arranged for a guide to meet me. “Welcome to paradise,” he said.

Wedged between India, Pakistan and China, this precipitous territory has long been contested.

My fascination with such geopolitics lends itself to solo travel; not everyone wishes to holiday in places shaped by ideological conflict, no matter how arresting the topography.

Though Australians are now cautioned against visiting Kashmir, my journey was skirmish-free; only that cantankerous soldier threatened to rattle my composure.

But such trials are mere stepping stones to the ultimate quest: connection with people, place and – most constructively – self.

This final undertaking is the true reward of solitary travel: unknown to every last Kashmiri, I had to relinquish my baggage and perceive myself, and this foreign world, through their eyes. There was no room for pride or ego here, no friend who could reassert my rank and status.

In the absence of a support system, trust becomes a powerful equaliser. As snow-capped peaks stacked the skies and saffron-filled valleys yawned below me, so my consciousness expanded. It is best to meditate in solitude upon such wonders.

Of sliding doors and spoon sweets in Cyprus

By Katrina Lobley

Travellers my age don’t usually wing it. We arrive at an overseas destination with hotels booked and a plan in hand. Depending on your POV, having no plan is either extremely stressful or wonderfully liberating.

The latter attitude prevailed when I landed in Cyprus earlier this year with no plan beyond picking up rental wheels and heading to my first night’ s hotel.

Travel has a way of opening doors: Cyprus’ Sea Caves, or Palatia (palaces).Credit: iStock

I doubt a travel companion would have appreciated my free-and-easy let’s-just-book-as-we-go concept.

Dynamic hotel pricing can make this behaviour expensive; luckily, I was travelling well before the country’s summer high season and accommodation was affordable and readily available.

Also, I must confess to suffering from choice paralysis. Cyprus is (no thanks to Turkey) a small country; theoretically, I could cover its length and breadth over four days.

But I didn’t want to race here, there and everywhere. So, I let go of the idea of reaching Pafos and Aphrodite’s Rock in the south-west. I’d flown into Larnaca on the east coast and wanted to explore a few highlights without spending too long driving.

Out of curiosity, I headed to Ayia Napa for a stickybeak. From the look of its mega-bars, dance clubs and beachside amusement park, this resort town is like Brighton-by-the-Med for sun-seeking British holidaymakers.

So glad I wasn’t staying, but stunning landscapes are nearby, and I pottered around above the Sea Caves – known locally as Palatia (palaces) – near Cape Greco Peninsula (those nimbler than me clamber down the cliffs to snap photos from a cave overlooking those Bombay Sapphire waters).

Then I moseyed into the nearby national park to admire the clifftop Agioi Anargyroi Chapel’s striking blues and whites positioned against sea and sky.

My next few days were spent in artisan mountain villages, hiking through pine-scented forests to reach waterfalls and exploring Lefkosia (Nicosia) – the world’s last divided capital.

Here, I wandered the old town’s cobbled streets, not having to explain my whims to anyone.

I bumped up against the Green Line – the UN Buffer Zone that’s a painful reminder of all that’s been lost – and got chatting with a local.

Within minutes, she ushered me inside her home and offered glyka tou koutaliou (spoon sweets) and a cold drink. Solo travel sure has a way of opening doors.

Memories of Mehmet, Ali and Ugur in Turkey

By Brian Johnston

The second place I ever travelled to solo, Turkey, transformed my life. Its beautiful and sometimes bizarre landscapes, cultural density and most of all its friendliness seduced me into a lifetime of travel.

Would it have happened if I’d travelled in company? Probably not. Going solo leaves you exposed to every impact, lets you explore at whim and, most all, allows you local interactions that decrease in a twosome.

Uchisar castle, dug from mountains in Cappadocia.Credit: iStock

Hitchhiking and riding buses and dolmus (shared taxis), I travelled down the long Aegean coast from Istanbul, then cut back through central Turkey to see Cappadocia and Ankara.

It was low-season Easter in the days before mass tourism. Solo travel teaches you to rely on yourself, and hones your independence.

I spent a lot of time drinking Turkish tea from tulip-shaped glasses in carpet shops whose owners wanted to practise their English. Or drinking coffee thick as sludge in coffeehouses where locals clacked backgammon pieces and puffed on shishas.

I met Ali, who learned English words from slips of paper he kept in his pocket. Mehmet, who was studying for his driving test. Ugur, a chatty local in a Bodrum bar.

Turkish culture places great value on hospitality, and people are unnervingly eager to help. Warnings went off in my head. But instead of being scammed, I was taken into local homes for coffees and meals.

I was given directions and even bus tickets by passing strangers. I hitchhiked with truck drivers who went out of their way to drop me off. For solo travel, Turkish courtesy and helpfulness is a godsend.

Going solo means you don’t have to compromise with anyone else. You lose out on shared experience, but you gain absolute freedom. You can veer off your planned route on a whim, or when encouraged by a newfound but temporary friend.

I was never lonely. Travelling solo makes it easy to pick up companions along the way. My diary shows I toured Ephesus with an expat American schoolteacher who worked in Cairo, and in Marmaris had dinner (and lost at backgammon) with an Israeli called Carl.

In Kas, I chatted a long time with a Canadian yachtie who’d given up regular work to sail the Mediterranean for a decade.

Sometimes I credit him with changing my life. Had I been with someone else that day, walking along the Kas waterfront, I’d never have stopped to talk and get inspired.

No compromises, no negotiations in Australia

By Nina Karnikowski

All I could think of was this never would have happened if I hadn’t been travelling alone. I was hiking through the Daintree Rainforest with a woman I’d met just a few hours ago, rain dripping through the thick palms, cycads and soaring figs, accompanied by the pop and crackle of insects.

We reach the river, strip off and throw our bodies into the water, so clear I can see the ancient boulders far below the surface. Lying on my back I let the water hold me, feeling completely fearless and free.

This moment was the pinnacle of a one-month solo road trip I took during the pandemic, when desperation saw me jumping in the car and travelling 2000 kilometres from my home in the Northern Rivers region of NSW, to the Daintree Rainforest in Queensland.

During that nature-shrouded month I did all the things I knew would soothe my restless soul, without having to justify myself to anybody.

Paronella Park.

I visited permaculture farms near Noosa and went kayaking in the Everglades, hiked in beautiful places including the Glasshouse Mountains and the Atherton Tablelands, camped in the back of our Prius (definitely only big enough for one), and had all the time in the world to go beachcombing, write in a journal and dream.

There were no compromises or negotiations about where to eat or stay or what to do. When a sign told me to turn off to a place called Paronella Park on my way back home, I had no one telling me we didn’t have time, and as a result discovered a fascinating abandoned Spanish castle hidden in the rainforest.

Eating alone can be one of the most daunting aspects of solo travel. In this instance, though, it let me give my full attention to the spectacular sunsets that were unfolding at my beachside camp spots while I was slurping my noodle dinners, with no idle conversation to distract me.

When we travel with others our blinkers are usually on. Details can pass us by, and strangers often won’t feel as comfortable approaching a couple as they will a single person.

Had I been accompanied on that road trip, I’m almost certain I wouldn’t have met that fascinating mushroom farmer who quit his job in oil and gas to follow his fungal dream in Noosa; that bubbly owner of the A-frame I stayed in on Magnetic Island who remains a friend to this day, or my Daintree skinny-dipping buddy.

Most importantly, though, I wouldn’t have gotten to know myself quite so well, the ultimate gift of solo travel.

My way on the US highways

By Julie Miller

America’s car culture makes solo travel so easy. Grab your rental at any given airport, lock your suitcase and valuables in the trunk, then hit the road, cranking up the country music on the car radio. No need to chat to anyone, no need to be polite, just focus on keeping the middle line to your left and watch those tricky right-hand turns.

Embrace the silence when driving through America.Credit: iStock

On America’s highways, your car is not only your means to an end, it’s also your safety net, your bunker and your trash can. Travelling on your own, you can dither all you like, take wrong turns, and make spontaneous stops if so inspired. No judgement, no dramas. Even if things don’t go to plan, I find it the most stress-free way to travel, with the added rewards of discovery en route.

Three decades of exploring the United States by road – sometimes with family, occasionally with friends, but largely on my own – have taught me several things: ground floor motel rooms are preferable if you have luggage; an international data plan on your phone is essential, as GPS navigation isn’t standard in hire cars; and continental breakfasts are best avoided. And don’t get me started about American coffee.

But more importantly, travelling alone in this populous, gregarious country is never lonely. Americans are always up for a yarn, especially when you open your mouth and Australian vernacular spills out. (“I’m not sure what you just said, ma’am, but keep on talking – I love your accent!“) And while I’m happy to embrace silence (or my off-key singing) in my vehicle, once I arrive at a destination, immersion as a solo traveller in guaranteed.

From chatting with barmen during countless Happy Hours, to shooting pool or two-stepping with dusty cowboys at a historic Wyoming hotel, Americans rarely accept the Greta Garbo mantra of “I want to be alone” and instead will invite solo strangers into their world – or at least into their night out. Call it opportunism or just good manners, but a single female sitting at a bar will generally be proffered free drinks by fellow patrons; and while there’s many a time I have broken out the old “I’m waiting for my boyfriend/husband/girlfriend” line to deter unwanted attention, in general, I find the flirtations benign, based on a culturally-acceptable friendliness, curiosity and wonderment that you are, indeed, venturing into the big bad world alone.

Take the time in an Idaho honky-tonk when every AC/DC song on the jukebox was selected in my honour; or when an encounter with an old man in a museum in South Dakota ended up being a brush with Lakota royalty, a wise nonagenarian with precious knowledge and stories both heartbreaking and hilarious.

Interactions like this would not be possible travelling with a group, or even with friends where itineraries have fixed timetables and agendas. Travelling solo invites the luxury of flexibility and self-indulgence. And that’s the way I like it.

Five tips for successful solo travel

Practise self-confidence

Apart from deterring people with nefarious intentions, this attribute will diminish the self-consciousness solo travellers often suffer from, open you up to new encounters and put you at ease in a foreign environment.

Make a lunch date with yourself

Daunted by the thought of dining alone every night? Make lunch your main meal with a small snack at night. A solo lunch can feel less confronting and you’ll also save money, particularly in Spain and Japan where good value set-price lunches are common.

Start a conversation

… you never know where it can lead. Say hello, give a compliment, do a good deed or chit-chat with your seat neighbour. You could end up with a ride from the airport, a coffee or lunch date, a fabulous sightseeing tip – or even a friend for life.

Take a chill pill

Relax when interacting with others. Most people respond to friendliness, and are willing to provide casual assistance. If you’re uptight, hesitant or nervous that vibe will likely be returned.

Pack a journal

Whether you’re lonely and need someone to talk to, or just want to capture your travels on something other than your iPhone, a journal is a wonderful way to digest and appreciate life on a deeper level, and is one of the best travel companions.

What was your most memorable solo travel experience? Post a comment below.