There are things about travelling that I love.
I love meeting people just like me. In everyday life, meeting a solo traveller is a rarity. You field questions like, "You're travelling alone?" "In Eastern Europe?" "Won't you get lonely?"
The thing is. No. No. I don't get lonely. I get homesick and that's a completely different thing. I miss my friends. Which even if I was travelling with someone I knew, I would miss the people from home anyway. I would miss my family and my best friends and uni (ridiculous) and dancing with an entire group of people I love.
Because the truth is, travelling alone is excellent. You get to decide. You get to decide where you go. How long you stay there. And the thing is, the common misconception, you are not alone. Not unless you want to be. You find people. You find people who are the same. Who are different. You find people and groups of people to be with. To drink with, to travel with, to cook with, to chat with. And if all you want to do is stay in bed and watch tv shows back to back, hey, you can do that too.
But. You also meet people that make you realise how much you like travelling alone. And how rare it is to find someone just like you. It makes me treasure the time I had with Tild, exploring Spain and Portugal. Because everyone travels differently. And no matter how great they are, you can't stay with them for long. I meet people that make me realise how cautious I am. Safety is always number one. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.
I will never be a hitch-hiker or a person who asks people in the street if I can home-stay with them. It seems ridiculous to me, even the idea of doing that. But as I continue to travel I meet people who routinely stay with people they don't know, get into the cars of strangers and they do it alone. They do it alone as women. I spent some time with a french girl called Marie, through Bosnia and Hercegovina and I don't think I've met someone so dedicated to travel. I don't like the way she travels, don't understand it, would never do it myself. But I can appreciate the idea of travelling for six months and being able to spend next to nothing. To have the confidence to trust the kindness of people. She travelled in Tasmania two years ago and on finding herself with no accommodation one night, knocked on doors and ended up being hosted by a 70 year-old who told her amazing things about his life. he stayed with Maoris in New Zealand. She moves through countries learning about the people from the people. She couch-surfs. She trusts.
I spent a week on a cruise in Croatia. It was incredible and I'll get around to writing about the drinking and dancing and beauty of it all soon, but again, it makes you think about the traveller you are. I'm not a tour traveller. I will travel with Topdeck again in Turkey (money, time, safety) and I will have just as much fun. But I do believe in doing things slow. In doing things in a way that exposes me to a place. I don't actually want ot be somewhere that I can leave my expensive stuff lying around. Because that's not travelling, it's a holiday. I love holidays, but that's not what I'm doing here.
In Dubrovnik, Marie knocked on doors for us (me and two other French guys) to find somewhere free for us to stay. I had booked a hostel, but it was out of town and was stuck with the group and the car. The idea of a place for free doesn't appeal to me. Maybe it's some kind of infringing politeness. What do these people owe me, that they would give me a place in their home? Why am I here if I am just going to impose on other people? I know that it's not true. Some people can think of nothing more wonderful than sharing their homes, learning about someone else in return. I believe that travel should be available to everyone and that hitch-hiking and couch-surfing and home-stay make this possible. But I can't escape the uneasy feeling when people around me ask for things for free.
I was taught that my travels should be funded by me. That a major reason that I worked and saved for three years was for this. That I can stay in a nice hostel, that I can buy a nice dinner, that I can hire a kayak, or go into a museum if I want to. The flipside of this is that I'm not here to drink every night. I hear stories of people who spend a week in Budapest without leaving their hostel. Europe is here to be explored. The beautiful cities, the ugly histories, the people, the beaches, the mountains. I didn't save all my pennies for a big party. Yes, the nightlife is a huge part of a city, but it can also be the most expensive. And drinking and dancing without my friends has never been so much fun anyway.
Above all, as a traveller, I will always be safe.
I lock my bag while I sleep, I double and triple check my stuff, I'm never out after dark by myself. Am I missing things? Maybe. But like when I make a decision not to jump off a tall rock into the sea, I just don't think it's worth it to play with my safety. It's not worht the weird sick feeling in my stomach. It's not worth my heartbeat racing, not worth panic, not worht discomfort. Paying for a taxi to get me to the airport on time, is worth it. Getting to bed early is worth it. Booking a nice place ahead of time is worth it. Waking up before the rest of the city is worth it. The kind of traveller I am values these things. The quiet, the parks, the museums, the cafes, the beauty of the wild thing that is Europe. But, most of all, the kind of traveller that I am is safe.
I love meeting people just like me. In everyday life, meeting a solo traveller is a rarity. You field questions like, "You're travelling alone?" "In Eastern Europe?" "Won't you get lonely?"
The thing is. No. No. I don't get lonely. I get homesick and that's a completely different thing. I miss my friends. Which even if I was travelling with someone I knew, I would miss the people from home anyway. I would miss my family and my best friends and uni (ridiculous) and dancing with an entire group of people I love.
Because the truth is, travelling alone is excellent. You get to decide. You get to decide where you go. How long you stay there. And the thing is, the common misconception, you are not alone. Not unless you want to be. You find people. You find people who are the same. Who are different. You find people and groups of people to be with. To drink with, to travel with, to cook with, to chat with. And if all you want to do is stay in bed and watch tv shows back to back, hey, you can do that too.
But. You also meet people that make you realise how much you like travelling alone. And how rare it is to find someone just like you. It makes me treasure the time I had with Tild, exploring Spain and Portugal. Because everyone travels differently. And no matter how great they are, you can't stay with them for long. I meet people that make me realise how cautious I am. Safety is always number one. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.
I will never be a hitch-hiker or a person who asks people in the street if I can home-stay with them. It seems ridiculous to me, even the idea of doing that. But as I continue to travel I meet people who routinely stay with people they don't know, get into the cars of strangers and they do it alone. They do it alone as women. I spent some time with a french girl called Marie, through Bosnia and Hercegovina and I don't think I've met someone so dedicated to travel. I don't like the way she travels, don't understand it, would never do it myself. But I can appreciate the idea of travelling for six months and being able to spend next to nothing. To have the confidence to trust the kindness of people. She travelled in Tasmania two years ago and on finding herself with no accommodation one night, knocked on doors and ended up being hosted by a 70 year-old who told her amazing things about his life. he stayed with Maoris in New Zealand. She moves through countries learning about the people from the people. She couch-surfs. She trusts.
I spent a week on a cruise in Croatia. It was incredible and I'll get around to writing about the drinking and dancing and beauty of it all soon, but again, it makes you think about the traveller you are. I'm not a tour traveller. I will travel with Topdeck again in Turkey (money, time, safety) and I will have just as much fun. But I do believe in doing things slow. In doing things in a way that exposes me to a place. I don't actually want ot be somewhere that I can leave my expensive stuff lying around. Because that's not travelling, it's a holiday. I love holidays, but that's not what I'm doing here.
In Dubrovnik, Marie knocked on doors for us (me and two other French guys) to find somewhere free for us to stay. I had booked a hostel, but it was out of town and was stuck with the group and the car. The idea of a place for free doesn't appeal to me. Maybe it's some kind of infringing politeness. What do these people owe me, that they would give me a place in their home? Why am I here if I am just going to impose on other people? I know that it's not true. Some people can think of nothing more wonderful than sharing their homes, learning about someone else in return. I believe that travel should be available to everyone and that hitch-hiking and couch-surfing and home-stay make this possible. But I can't escape the uneasy feeling when people around me ask for things for free.
I was taught that my travels should be funded by me. That a major reason that I worked and saved for three years was for this. That I can stay in a nice hostel, that I can buy a nice dinner, that I can hire a kayak, or go into a museum if I want to. The flipside of this is that I'm not here to drink every night. I hear stories of people who spend a week in Budapest without leaving their hostel. Europe is here to be explored. The beautiful cities, the ugly histories, the people, the beaches, the mountains. I didn't save all my pennies for a big party. Yes, the nightlife is a huge part of a city, but it can also be the most expensive. And drinking and dancing without my friends has never been so much fun anyway.
Above all, as a traveller, I will always be safe.
I lock my bag while I sleep, I double and triple check my stuff, I'm never out after dark by myself. Am I missing things? Maybe. But like when I make a decision not to jump off a tall rock into the sea, I just don't think it's worth it to play with my safety. It's not worht the weird sick feeling in my stomach. It's not worth my heartbeat racing, not worth panic, not worht discomfort. Paying for a taxi to get me to the airport on time, is worth it. Getting to bed early is worth it. Booking a nice place ahead of time is worth it. Waking up before the rest of the city is worth it. The kind of traveller I am values these things. The quiet, the parks, the museums, the cafes, the beauty of the wild thing that is Europe. But, most of all, the kind of traveller that I am is safe.
Reading this again after 7 years and it makes me smile so much. You are an excellent writer, N. I'm feeling very thankful that I got to travel with you (and that you put up with me when I was still such a travel-amateur!). Also feeling extremely thankful that I got to experience some different places and cultures before all this Covid business. I think if I never got to travel again, I would be okay with it.
ReplyDeleteMuch love,
F