The Truth Behind Solo Travelling

I don’t know who needs to hear this (probably no one), but after nearly a decade of solo trips sprinkled throughout my life, I’ve picked up a few things — not just about the world, but about myself. This isn’t a how-to guide or a romanticized pitch. It’s just my truth, shaped over years of being both the photographer and the subject, the planner and the lost tourist, the one eating alone and loving it (most of the time).

Why I Started Travelling Alone

Solo travel wasn’t something I grew up dreaming about. It was born from a shift in my life — something personal that nudged me to go out into the world and let it leave its mark on me. As someone who’s always found comfort in solitude — the kind of person who enjoys their own company and doesn’t mind being the third wheel to their own thoughts — travelling alone didn’t seem strange. It felt natural.

Some people see solo travellers as brave. Others see them as loners. The truth is often somewhere in between. Travelling alone isn’t always easy or glamorous. It can be awkward, lonely, and yes, sometimes downright inconvenient. But it can also be powerful, healing, and beautifully clarifying. It strips away the noise, leaving you face-to-face with yourself — your thoughts, your fears, your instincts, your joy.

Personally, I’ve found it both liberating and quietly lonely. But it’s taught me to sit with that loneliness without trying to fix it. To notice more. To wander more freely. And to find joy in my own company, even when things don’t go as planned (and they often don’t).

The Freedom Is Real — and Glorious

One of the most intoxicating joys of solo travel? Total, unapologetic freedom. You do what you want, when you want. Want to eat lunch at 3 p.m.? Sure. Want to skip lunch and have a pastry for dinner? Go for it. You can spend hours people-watching at a café without anyone rushing you. You can wander aimlessly through side streets without having to justify your lack of itinerary.

No coordinating wake-up times. No negotiating dinner spots. No elaborate Google Docs planning the trip down to the minute. You just… go. And that kind of freedom is rare and delicious.

But You’ll Miss the Shared Plates

As much as I love the freedom, let’s talk about the tragedy of dining solo: limited stomach real estate.

I love food — deeply, reverently, like one might love a pet or a really good book. But when you’re travelling alone, you’re stuck ordering one or two dishes per meal. In a place bursting with local flavours, this feels like a cruel joke. There’s only so much you can sample when it’s just you and your one solo appetite trying to do all the work.

When you travel with others, you order everything. You taste. You share. You nod dramatically with every bite. But alone? You choose. You savour. And you mourn what you didn’t get to try.

The Small Things You Start to Notice

One of the lesser-celebrated gifts of solo travel is how it fine-tunes your senses. With no one else to entertain or distract you, your surroundings begin to bloom in high-definition.

You hear the trickle of a water fountain, the rustle of leaves in the jungle, the chatter of birds at sunrise. You begin to appreciate the artistry in the tiniest things — a hand-carved door frame, a tangle of vines curling up a crumbling wall, the stained glass catching the morning light just so. You notice the rhythm of traffic, the smell of grilled meat drifting through the air. You take slower bites. You actually taste your food.

I’ve realized that when I’m dining with others, I often can’t fully register what I’m eating — my mind is busy navigating conversation. But when I eat alone? Every flavour gets a proper introduction.

Traveling Alone Made Me More Empathetic

The first thing solo travel taught me was just how much of a privilege it is to travel at all. Physically, financially, emotionally — the ability to explore another place is something many people dream of but may never access. That realization alone changed the way I show up in the world.

But beyond that, travelling alone made me pay attention — really pay attention. Without the buffer of conversation, you start noticing things that would usually fade into the background.

Construction workers, sunburned and dust-covered, toiling under an unforgiving sun to build something that might one day become a city landmark — the kind of place tourists photograph and admire, rarely thinking about who laid the foundation. Street sweepers who clear the debris before the city even wakes. Bartenders moving like clockwork during the evening rush, effortlessly attentive to strangers they’ll never see again. Street food vendors, working deep into the night, feeding steady lines with practiced ease.

The beautiful, the mundane, the unfair — you begin to see it all. And in seeing it, you start to feel it. Those quiet observations begin to shift something in you. You stop just passing through and start bearing witness. You begin to understand, on a deeper level, that a city isn’t just its architecture or cuisine or curated “vibe” — it’s the people, often unseen, who keep it all running. And once you see them, you can’t unsee them.

That awareness stays with you. It softens you. It makes you slower to judge, quicker to listen, and more generous — with your time, your attention, and your gratitude.

The Ache of Not Sharing the Moment

Some people say they could never travel alone because they couldn’t imagine experiencing something new without someone to share it with. I get it. It’s deeply human to want to turn to someone and say, “Did you see that?” and have them smile back with the same wonder.

Many of my most cherished travel memories involve others — family, friends, past partners, even strangers who became temporary companions. There’s something innately comforting about shared awe.

But solo travel offers something uniquely its own. It teaches you how to hold a moment just for yourself. To be present without commentary. To feel something deeply — a sunset, a bite of food, a view from the top — and know that it’s enough to simply feel it. No audience required.

Safety and Self-Reliance

Of course, travelling alone comes with practical concerns — especially safety. I’ve had my fair share of sticky situations. The first time I was pickpocketed in Paris while studying abroad? Not my finest hour. But it taught me to be vigilant, to prepare well, and to trust my gut.

Solo travel forces you to rely on yourself. You learn how to scan your surroundings, avoid risks, and bounce back quickly when things go sideways. And they will — from missed trains to wrong turns to strange conversations that make you instinctively inch toward the exit.

But each time, you get a little more confident. A little more sure of yourself. A little better at knowing when to say “yes” — and more importantly, when to walk away.

No, You Don’t Have to Skip the Fun Stuff

For a long time, I avoided certain activities because I thought they were best done with a group. Adventure sports, fancy restaurants, long hikes — all filed under “Things for People With Travel Buddies.”

But I’ve learned that solo doesn’t mean limited.

Last year in Ubud, Bali, I went whitewater rafting with a group of strangers. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I screamed. I laughed. I bonded with people I didn’t know an hour earlier. And I didn’t feel alone — not once.

That said, I’ve also learned to be smart. Just because I’m travelling solo doesn’t mean I need to say yes to everything. I trust my instincts now more than ever. If something feels off, I walk away. No FOMO is worth compromising my safety.

So, What Does Solo Travel Really Teach You?

Solo travel teaches you how to be your own anchor. To enjoy your own company. To marvel, to wander, to mess up, and to recover — all without needing someone else to make it okay.

Yes, there are moments when I wish I had someone beside me. When I’m standing in front of a view so beautiful it almost aches, and a part of me quietly wishes there was someone next to me — someone to sit with, to share the silence and the wonder. But that longing doesn’t take away from the fullness of what I’ve found on my own.

In the End…

Solo travel isn’t better than travelling with others — it’s just different. For me, as someone who leans introverted, enjoys reflection, and finds peace in solitude, it makes sense. For others, it might not. And that’s okay.

I’m not here to convince you to book a solo trip. But if you’re curious? Try it. Once. See what it teaches you. At the very least, you’ll have one hell of a story to tell — even if you’re the only one who hears it.