High above the famous Shibuya crossing I stand pressed against the windows of a media store, looking down at all the people coming and going alone on what is probably Tokyo’s most crowded intersection. I wonder if any of the tiny people scurrying around on the street below are as lonely as I feel. They probably are, because being alone is just a normal condition of being human.
I did not go to Tokyo alone, but it was – like almost all of my trips – planned as a solo trip. At the last minute, a couple of my friends joined me because one of them couldn’t believe that I was attempting to travel to Tokyo all alone. Immediately, I instituted a “rule” that we had to have our own rooms. I love them, but the thought of sharing a hotel room as well as all of the hours of the day with people is an invitation for my social anxiety. Some of us just need to hibernate alone for periods of time in order to be our best selves, and that’s ok.
I suppose for most normal people the fear would be the other way around; induced by the prospect of traveling alone to a new place. But, for me, the buzzwordy concept of “solo travel” has always been my default choice when planning a trip. I go alone. I have gone alone to many places – almost every place I have ever visited.
But, before we get into the why, let me tell you how:
I pack very light. I think it might be a combination of my natural aversion to physical labor and knowing that the heavier my bag the higher the likelihood of needing help from another person. Whatever the reason, I never check in a bag unless I’m going for several weeks or I have packed too many liquids for a carry-on (this is almost always the case when returning home from Paris).
Before my flight, I download shows and movies that I know will make me happy – that means, I don’t consume new content on the plane. I stick to the tried and true pleasers. This is because, for me, the hardest part of the journey is almost always the plane ride. I feel scared and alone and my brain forces me to imagine the look on my parents’ faces when they learn that I died in a plane crash on my way to spend a few days alone in Paris. Although I don’t pray regularly, I never take off without saying the most earnest and heartfelt prayer of my life. I beg God and the Universe to let me survive even though I am committing the sin again - the sin of choosing to be alone and far from home.
I do not make a schedule for how to spend my days at my destination. I love the freedom of wasting an entire morning, afternoon, maybe even whole day doing nothing but reading in one spot. Because the time belongs completely to me, there is no time guilt, no need to wrestle with anyone’s expectations of what the trip should involve. I see what I want to see, sometimes (often) spending hours doing things like chasing down a specific coffee shop or bar instead of finding the landmarks I “should” be seeing.
I find a bookstore and buy a book. My souvenirs are almost always books and bookstore tote bags. These transactions give me a chance to talk to someone for whom that city is home, where they clerk in a bookstore and (if they’re lucky) go home to a warm meal at night. It helps me connect deeply with complete strangers.
As much as possible, I take the public transportation. It’s an efficient way to really, truly get to know a city.
I try to stay in a central, residential neighborhood rather than trying to be close to major landmarks. The residential neighborhoods are likely more affordable and safe because I can blend in with the locals rather than looking like a vulnerable tourist. This is important not only for safety but for my own experience.
Once I realized that getting lost does not mean losing time but finding yourself and the city you are eager to see, all fear of “what if I don’t know how to get around” disappeared. With the exception of Paris, I almost never know how to get around.
I do not tell everyone I meet that I’m new in town, visiting for a few days, etc. I often overhear conversations where well-meaning American tourists are (loudly) asking a friendly local about what’s cool to see/do in that city, and almost always it makes me cringe. Imagine if you were a waiter in a café in your home town and had to entertain this exact request form 10 tourists that day? Unless that person shares your interests and you know that you’ll both like the same things, what makes them qualified to tell you where to go and what to do? Nothing. Go your own way. Do some research, and go your own way.
So, why?
I travel alone because it’s less about the travel and more about myself. When I am traveling alone, I can’t ignore my hopes and fears. I know who I am, yes, but traveling solo is like a crash course into the person I hide from others.
There’s a theory that says the person we present to the world is not the person we actually are and, even worse, the person people perceive us to be is not the person we are projecting to them. So, basically, we’re lying to ourselves about who we say we are and people don’t even see the lie we present to them because they see someone else entirely. Traveling alone helps me bridge the gap between these two selves in a simple, unavoidable way.
When I am traveling alone, I feel open to possibilities and more willing to see the good in people than I am in my own city. I need others to help me get through the day; show me how to get around their city and teach me how to behave like I belong. In turn, I find that I have more patience for myself and others. I am more forgiving of mistakes I keep making because if I shut down after every imperfect interaction I’d probably never eat until I went home. By the end of my trip, I’ve experienced that heightened, aspirational version of aloneness: solitude. I return home calmer and more self-assured. There are no post-trip tiffs with friends who were only trying to have the time they imagined.
And, the best thing about traveling alone is that it makes my non-solo trips truly special. When I book a trip with friends or family, I know I’m doing it because I truly want to spend that time with them. The place doesn’t matter, what we see or do doesn’t matter, all I want is to bask in their presence. Isn’t that nice?