Is Solo Travel Really As Empowering For Women As People Say? (Part 1)

Or it is just scary and lonely?

It was 2015. The same year Jeremy Clarkson punched his producer in the face over a steak sandwich - how outrageous! But actually, I wasn't interested in what was happening in the news; I had other more important things on my mind. I had nobody to go on holiday with.

My daughter told me she wouldn't be joining me for our regular city/beach holiday over the summer; she was attending music festivals with her friends instead.

I was hurt, but I'm a realist. I'd long since given up the notion that I was a 'cool mum' who she'd prefer to hang out with over her peers. As she'd grown increasingly independent, she slowly started moving away from me, and this was just one more step along that road. Plus, I'd always encouraged her to make her own decisions (and take responsibility for them), so it seemed hypocritical to force her to come with me.

This might seem like a minor problem. You might be thinking - why was a holiday abroad so important and why couldn't you go on your own?

Back then, I lived for regular holidays in the sunshine. The Yorkshire winters are dark and deathly (as can be spring and autumn), and holidaying abroad was my saving grace. It gave me something to look forward to and staved off depression. Additionally, when you live in a tiny northern town with nothing going on but the rain, these mini adventures soaking up new cultures are nourishing for the soul.

It quickly began to dawn on me that if I wanted to go on holiday, I'd have to go alone. This terrified me beyond belief. While you may know me as a confident woman who regularly travels alone, at that point, I'd never been anywhere by myself. I'm not just talking about abroad; I'm talking anywhere. 

I'd been single for a few years, but my past romantic relationships weren't healthy. They were often co-dependent, although that word wasn't yet in my vocabulary. Even though my last relationship had only lasted four years, my confidence was in tatters by the time I left. In the immediate aftermath, I struggled to go to the local Coop to buy a loaf of granary on my own, no joke. So, I had a choice to make. Would I forsake my biggest passion due to fear? 

I decided I would not. I'd recently come across my now favourite Mary Oliver quote: 'Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?'

Never has a quote stirred and empowered me so. When I read those words, my body and brain lit up, as they still do now, and I wanted to move mountains and cartwheel across the earth. 

I started following various female solo travel bloggers much younger than me, and I thought, well, if they can do it, there is no reason I can't. However, I say this with more confidence than I felt.

Before deciding where to go, my friend invited me to her wedding in Udine, northern Italy. But I'd already explored Italy multiple times, so I wasn't tempted for this to be my first solo travel destination. If I was doing this, I wanted to go all out. I checked the map and saw that Slovenia (a country I'd never heard of before) was near the Italian border. So I decided to go on a solo hiking trip up in the Slovenian mountains for four days and then catch the train to Italy to join my friends for the wedding.

I booked a room in a gorgeous-looking mountain lodge I found on AirBnB in Kranjska Gora, an alpine resort great for hiking over the summer months. I enjoy researching an area and planning a trip as much as I enjoy experiencing it, and so even though I was still nervous, I was starting to get excited.

One thing to know about my state of mind back then, and I haven't necessarily changed too much (although I'm more accepting now when things don't go as arranged), is that I'm a meticulous planner. I micro-manage every aspect of my life, from the food I eat to the time I exercise, and this trip was no different. Routines help me to feel comfortable and safe, and in the absence of this (when travelling), a well-planned timetable helps me to feel better when I'm on the road. 

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get a direct flight to Slovenia. I booked a flight to Venice - as Ljubljana, Slovenia's capital, is only three hours away by bus or car. But after some investigations, I realised I had a problem. I'd need to go into Venice city centre to get a bus to Ljubljana and then a further bus up into the mountains. My neurodivergent brain didn't like this - too many risky variables. I have a fear of unfamiliar public transport. I can't explain why exactly, but it fills me with anxiety and dread. It wasn't going to happen.

Instead, I paid 100 euros for a seat in a shared taxi to drop me off at Ljubljana bus station. Yes, it was a lot of money, but it offered me a sense of safety.

The sun was shining when I landed at Marco Polo Airport in Venice. I was wearing a new polka dot summer dress I'd bought the week before from a vintage shop, had my nails manicured in my favourite fire-engine red, and felt fantastic and exhilarated.

I walked to the taxi pickup point and waited. And waited and waited. No taxi. I phoned the taxi company who told me they'd already set off as there hadn't been enough room for me. I would need to wait five hours for the driver to return. Yes, five hours. Tears welled, and I got a lump in my throat, but I pulled myself together. I would not admit failure so early on. 

Do you know what I did for all those hours? Nothing. I sat there on a wall at the taxi pickup, frozen. Not from the temperature, I was utterly flummoxed about what to do. Because this wasn't in my set plan, I just sat there people-watching, trying to remain calm and not think about whether I'd even be able to get a bus up into the mountains so late. FOR FIVE HOURS. 

Five hours later, a handsome taxi driver wearing Gucci aviators and an Armani shirt (love Italy) arrived. I sat in the back on a sticky cream leather seat next to a young man with headphones blaring Eurotrash. Even though we sat only a few inches apart, he didn't once acknowledge me or say a word. What did I care? I was in my taxi - whoop whoop. 

We drove out of the city and onto the highway, whizzing past ruined castles and farmhouses with the late afternoon sun casting a romantic glow over the world. I sat back and revelled in my good fortune to be alive on such a wonderful day. After about forty minutes, the driver received a phone call. He'd forgotten to pick up another passenger. We drove all the way back to Venice. By this point, I could have either cried or smashed him in the face, but I chose to stay silent and take deep breaths. Plus, one of my back teeth had started hurting, so I was now focusing on worrying about that.

By the time we arrived in the capital, it was getting dark. I went straight to the ticket office, worried that I was stranded. I was in luck. A woman with a scraped back bun, severe eyeliner tick, and ruby lips smiled and told me I'd made it in time to catch the last bus, and I had 30 minutes until it departed.

Opposite the bus station, I spotted a bar with wooden tables outside. I heaved my luggage over the zebra crossing, sat in a comfy chair and ordered a glass of red wine from a waiter. I do love Europe for its no-questions-asked table service. As the wine entered my bloodstream, my body breathed a sigh of relief, and I began to defrost. It was all okay. I was going to make my bus. I'd made it this far, nearly there now.

I sat there on the warm August evening, assessing my surroundings. The twinkly lights of a city I knew nothing about. Faded billboards in a language I didn't recognise. But friendly faces and brands I knew - McDonald's, Rizzla, Fanta. I felt a new feeling come over me, something novel pricking at my consciousness that I couldn't remember ever feeling. I didn't attempt to decipher what it was; I just knew it felt good and basked in it.

After a while, I started to realise what the feeling was. It was the first time I'd ever sat by myself in a bar or a cafe. And I was 38 years old, which was unfathomable when I think about that now. No children, no partner. I was completely alone in a foreign country. It was independence. It was autonomy. It was freedom. It was absolutely thrilling.

I boarded the bus in the dark. We climbed higher and higher into the mountains. The higher we went, the darker it got as the buildings disappeared and the street lights vanished. The temperature dropped. All was silent apart from the bus engine. I looked outside to see where we were headed, but it was just a black void. 

I checked my phone and saw it was on 6% battery. Damn. I was using Google Maps to work out where to get off. I prayed it would last the journey. It didn't. I asked the driver if he knew where I should get off, but he didn't speak English. I started to panic. There was nothing else for it; I had to guess and get off. 

As the bus roared off into the distance, taking its headlights with it, I found myself in pitch black. I could only make out the road in the middle of the mountains surrounded by thick spruce forest. There were no people, no lights, no buildings. There was nothing at all. I could barely see in front of my face. I have always been scared of the dark and unknown; I still sometimes use a nightlight. It was freezing. I started to shiver. Fear crept into my bones. Oh my god, what have I done? I heard a rustling in the woods behind me. I wondered if it was a bear. Was I gonna die up here? My teeth started to chatter, and finally, for the third time, since I felt the lump in my throat that day, I allowed the tears to flow…  

Read part 2 here…

Is Solo Travel Really As Empowering For Women As People Say? (Part 2)

I’d love to know if there are any other solo travellers out there…

I hope you have a restful and warm week,

Love Hannah xoxo