The life of a solo traveller is filled with misadventure. Photo / Toa Heftiba, Unsplash
The life of a solo traveller is filled with misadventure. Photo / Toa Heftiba, Unsplash
The life of a solo traveller is filled with misadventure but what you won’t find is any sign of regret, writes Anna Sarjeant.
I spent much of my 20s travelling solo. A distinct lack of boyfriends and a selfish disposition left me to globetrot alone. I’ve experienced my fair share of mishaps. This is how I dealt with the best of the worst.
Ripped off
I’ve been known to overpay taxi drivers, by $100 on three occasions. You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson the first time a driver wheel-spun out of the vicinity in five seconds flat, but I blame a combination of flight fatigue and self-diagnosed dyscalculia. When you can’t subtract 12,000 Vietnamese dong from 250,000 using your fingers alone, you’re in trouble. The last time I spent large on an airport transfer, it was December 22 in Cebu, Philippines. I got my zeros wrong again and off he went with a hundy-dollar tip. You can let it ruin your trip or you can tell yourself that you just paid for the best Christmas presents his children have ever had.
Overpaying taxi drivers is a common problem when you're not familiar with the currency. Photo / Getty Images
I bought an Interrail pass to travel across Europe in the summer of 2007, aged 22. I went alone because I booked it on a whim just days before and none of my friends had a few thousand euros to spare. I did. It’s called a student loan and when you’re 22 it’s called free money. By day five, I hadn’t made one friend. I sat in a Nice cafe pretending to read Le Monde and cried to my mum. Trudging back to the hostel to get my bag, give up and train it back to London, I found a bloke from New York in the bunk below. He’s now my husband. That’s a lie but he was my best friend for three solid days before I left for Italy. In Rome, I booked into every 12-person hostel going. I know I said I’m innumerate but it’s basically a game of numbers – the more people, the greater probability you’ll find mates.
Making friends is not always easy when you're travelling alone. Photo / Getty Images
The poo con
Controversial sentence alert. I am not a fan of Buenos Aires. Not only did the deviant locals keep stealing Evita Peron from her grave (as told on a local walking tour), they pelted me with poo. It’s a con as old as time. I was walking down the street behind an elderly couple reading a map (“tourists” of course) when a torrent of foul-smelling sludge hit me from above. If it was a bird, it was an albatross. On cue, the elderly lady turned to help and promptly tried to take my bag. I thwarted her roughhousing. Then she got angry and spun me around on the spot, poo substance now running into my eyes, and over my brand-new camera. I took it off and wrapped the strap around my foot. Old lady, now possessing the strength of Thor, aggressively wiped my face with a tissue and when I opened my eyes – ta-da, the camera had gone. The solution to this? None. There’s only resentment. Bathe in it.
Solo travel in Buenos Aires is not without its pitfalls. Photo / Nicolás Flor, Unsplash
Unwanted attention
I’m sorry to say but as a female travelling alone you are going to be approached by men who think you’re wifey material. Or worse. You simply cannot sit on the steps of a piazza in Barcelona and eat a Magnum, trust me. Or in the days preceding smartphones, in an internet cafe, or most disconcerting, a deserted train platform at 10pm. Try to not put yourself in situations such as the latter; an odd man approached for a chat and I nearly vomited my own heart, it was pounding that hard in my throat. For the unavoidable day-to-day happenings, hang out in densely populated areas, be polite but not overly engaging, wrap bags and possessions around your legs and wrists and not loosely over a chair (in case they’re swindling Lotharios) and trust your gut but not your imagination. That’s where irrational fear lives.
Loner’s shame
Eating dinner alone is hard. When waitstaff remove a place setting the hopelessness feels on par with a lonely-hearts column. The good news is, it’s only hard the first time; a hurdle that once jumped is liberating. I worked my way up to it accidentally; as a lone teaching assistant in China, they had no idea what to do with me on my day off so they shoved me in the cinema and made me watch Chinese anime for hours. Alone. Years later, and as a travel writer, I’ve been sent on several trips that require solo dining. You can either sit there and presume diners think you’re a loser, or you can forgo the soul-destroying dart into McDonalds and enjoy a nice meal while chatting to staff – they’re also the best travel guides for local tips.
Dining alone is a liberating experience once you get over the hurdle. Photo / Olena Sergienko, Unsplash
