When I tell people that I travelled alone in India for almost half a year, they often ask similar questions, and I’ve gotten used to giving the same answers.
“Wow,” they say, “weren’t you scared?”
“Yes, petrified.” I reply. “But I got the hang of it. Indian men, for example, aren’t nearly as ‘bad’ as the Western world thinks they are!”
“What was it like?”
“It’s difficult to sum the trip up in a sentence — it was almost half a year of my life — but I’m so glad I did it; it’s such a special country.”
“Why didn’t anyone come with you?” is usually next.
— and for that one, I still haven’t come up with a good answer.
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The answer is that, as far as I knew, no one wanted to. My friends were either still at university or had just graduated, and wanted to get jobs and move away. Not only did I not know anyone that I thought would be into it, but at the time I wasn’t very confident and to be honest, I was scared even to ask. What’s more, I was incredibly lucky to have enough money to go, because I had worked in a bar for a year during uni to finance it. The trip was special and important to me, and I had planned and looked forward to it for years.
So off I went. I learnt a lot about the country, a lot about myself, and when I came back I felt I was seeing things with new eyes. But by and large, I did all of them alone. And that made a huge difference.
When you’re travelling alone, the number of variables is drastically reduced. Although your life changes every day, you get into a routine. You always see the same things: the things that interest you; you always stay in the same places: the places you want to stay in; and you always see things the same way. I saw and did a lot of things (the number of stories I’ve posted on here is evidence of that, and I’m barely getting started), but I saw most of them through the same pair of eyes.
Don’t get me wrong: I was lonely as hell. I can’t count the number of times I lay on my bed in my hotel room, bored out of my mind, longing for someone to talk to. Just the act of being able to comment on your experiences is incredibly important. If you can’t turn to someone and say, “What the hell just happened?” when something strange happens, it’s like it never happened at all. If I had gone out there with someone else, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into travel writing to such a degree, because that’s the only way I found to process what I was seeing.
I made lots of friends, of course, both Indians and tourists, and we travelled together a few times. Many times, when I felt low, I met a ‘travelling angel’ — someone who you may only spend a day or an evening with, but who understands you, and whose presence cheers you up. I remember when I was in the Tamil town of Udhagamandalam (Ooty), depressed, bored and exhausted. Then I met a Texan lawyer called Bill in the train station. He bought me dinner that evening, and by talking to someone with whom I had things in common, I felt ten times better.
But when I went to India with Jess in 2015, it was different. Now I had two sets of eyes through which to see things. Things I loved, like museums, old ruins, and basic hotels, were out; street photography, culinary adventures, and taxis were in. We made a fabulous team, and we had a lot of fun, but at times it was uncomfortable to give up the careful routine that I had preserved the previous time I was in the country, and I’m sure she noticed this.
What I’m trying to say is that solo travel can be the most empowering thing you’ll do. I went to India in 2013 because it was something I’d planned to do since I was about 12, and being alone meant that I could tailor my experience to give me the most enjoyment possible. But the other side of that coin is that being alone is challenging, exhausting, and importantly, seeing the world exactly as you want to makes you arrogant.
The Unexpected Effects of Solo Travel
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