Solo

The first time I traveled solo was in Europe.  I was 21 years old.  It was my third time in Italy, and I figured having traveled there twice before might make it easier for me to go it alone. Our ship docked in Civitavecchia, a tiny port town less than an hour by train to Rome. 

 Traveling on my own was scary and exhilarating and exciting and frustrating, but it was something I had wanted to do for a long time. By this time I knew travel was going to be an important part of my life, and so I thought I might as well find out what I was made of now.  Italy was one of our last stops on our around the world voyage, and I was eager for the challenge after already putting eight countries under my belt. I wouldn’t say I was confident, but I was certain.

 I took the train to Rome, not necessarily alone.  No one from the ship was staying in Civitavecchia, we were all headed elsewhere, on the same train.  I found a hostel and dropped my bag. I took to the streets and was bombarded by sights and sounds I had forgotten from my two previous visits there. I found a pizza shop I was certain I’d eaten in before.  A gelato I had devoured in the past.  It’s a funny thing the things you remember when you think you will never return. 

 I’d run into fellow passengers along the cobbled streets; not an unusual occurrence when 600 students are set loose in a port.  And in this sense I was not completely on my own. I recommended a hostel to two guys from the ship and received a discount when they showed up for a room. I was particularly proud of this. Somehow, to me, it meant I was at ease alone in a place I wasn’t sure I should be.  That moment, more than any other in the five days I spent on my own in Rome, proved to me that I could do this.
 

Since then, nearly everywhere I’ve ever traveled, I’ve traveled alone, including two months traveling in the south of Chile and Argentina, two weeks traveling to Antarctica, and two months in Central America.  When I tell friends or strangers that I am going to Puerto Rico or Colombia the first question out of their mouths is, “with who?” They are shocked and surprised when I say, “no one,” or “myself.” I suppose I’ve not found a very good answer to that question.  Not one suitable to the person asking anyway.  They are not sure how to react to this bit of information.  They’d never do that. Aren’t I scared? Worried? Nervous? Won’t I get lonely?

 The truth is, each time I go, I am a little nervous in the days leading up to the trip.  I worry that I’ll get lost, or the language barrier will be too much, or maybe I will get lonely.  I chalk this up simply to the anticipation of the trip.  But pretty much, by the time I get to whatever hostel I find, I’m good. I got this. The excitement of exploring a new city, a new culture overwhelms any fear I might have had.

 Instead of being lonely, I welcome the solitude. I read whole books in days, I write for hours, I sit on the beach and enjoy the sound of the waves as they crash at my feet. I spend entire afternoons on outdoor patios sipping beer and watching people pass by.  I eat amazing food I can’t name and perhaps suffer the consequences later. And while I’m doing all of that, I reflect on my life and where I’ve come. I have time to be grateful and appreciate where I am.

 And while traveling on my own has other benefits that you might imagine- being on nobody else’s schedule but mine, and therefore not needing to have a schedule at all, falling in love with a place and deciding to stay longer, lingering at a waterfall that perhaps a companion would rush me from, drinking till 4 am at an Independence day celebration and sleeping till 12 with no complaints from a too gung ho pal- I am discovering with each trip I take, (and the progression in years has not escaped me here either), that I may want a friend with me to share the beauty of that waterfall, or to walk me back to the hostel after a long night at that bar by the beach. 

 I know I will continue to travel alone.  Finding someone to go on month or longer trips is not easy.  Not everyone has a great job like mine which allows me extended time off to go away. I’m also not sure many people would really want to travel the way I do.  But I also know, the more I continue going and growing, the more I want someone to share it all with. To finish the stories I return to tell. To confirm the sunset over the ocean, the wolf that crossed my path, the rum in that strange drink. To hold my hand when words are worthless.