By the time you read this, I’ll be snuggled up in a strange, new bed — replete with uncomfortable pillows, a thin dusty quilted comforter, and a mattress that’s so firm it screams “cultural difference.”
I arrived in Rome, Italy this afternoon on a delayed red-eye flight. I’ve slept approximately 2.5 hours in the past 24 hours. The dribble of .5 shut-eye happened when I collapsed on my foreign bed out of post grocery-shopping exhaustion, only to wake up to the sound of an apparent roommate: a scurrying critter who must have snuck in through the slightly-ajar screen-less bedroom window. Too tired to investigate, I let my new roommate roam around until it probably sought life (and crumbs) in another apartment. Meaning … I think it left for finer Italian meals when it noticed that all I had was a ball of fior di latte, bottle of airport water, and a cold slice of supermarket pizzetta.
Months ago when I planned this 2.5-month long trip, I knew I was potentially signing up for travel hiccups, comedic language barrier mishaps, and loneliness. (I’ve known all of this, all too well.) Because when it comes to a longish solo sojourn, it’s never going to be ALL spirited adventures and delight. What I didn’t expect was a hard bed, nonna’s blanket, and a Roman mouse-mate.
There’s a lot of things we can’t plan in advance when we travel. After all, you don’t go into a trip expecting the downsides. And especially not when books, movies, t.v. shows, and social media feeds give us the gratuitous greatest hits collection of vacation. For example, no one is going to post a photo of oneself and their Uber Eats takeout, surrounded by plasticware—eating in underpants at the Airbnb on a Saturday night. No movie is going to be spun from a script that depicts the everyday mundaneness of one’s life — eating, sleeping, walking, shitting — even if it’s all taking place in an exciting metropolis like Rome. I know this because I live in New York. And the city that never sleep can be a snooze too.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gone abroad alone. I prefer traveling by myself the older I get. As an only child, I’m conditioned to feel the most liberated when not answering to anyone else’s vacation whims. I’m also pretty adept at keeping myself entertained — whether it’s making every commute a stroll to catch the local vibe OR just putzing around the house in PJs. But, even as an independent self-sufficient loner, I crave intimacy that foreign places can’t give me. I don’t just mean friendships. I mean, even those knowing nods with your local deli person or barista. I tried to “nod” at the PAM supermarket cashier today, and I could tell by his blank stare, we weren’t at that level yet. I’ll stick with “ciao” for now.
OK, I’m rambling (because I’m delirious right now) but this is all to say—spending months abroad (alone) sounds romantic, but it can also debilitate if one goes in with idealized Hollywood-esque expectations. So here’s my take on the pros and cons traveling alone.
CONS (first).
Loneliness. I addressed this already. But I think there are varying levels of feeling alone that have to do with one’s age. I’m 37 years old — and even though I’m taking language classes, I’m not exactly here in Rome for college study abroad. That means, meeting new friends (in my age group or younger even) is going to be harder. When I lived in Mexico City for work, I had a deeper web of connections through my employers and colleagues. As a remote worker in Rome however, what colleagues?
Am I going to go hit up the local bar every night and pick-up unsuspecting new friends? Probably not, especially since I don’t really drink.
Also, I have the most wonderful community of pals in NYC, who I see almost daily. Being in my 30s, community becomes a crucial tentpole. Here in Rome, I have one major thing working against me, even though I’m fearlessly and shamelessly sociable: my issue is the language barrier. Without Italian fluency, it’s really hard to make local friends. (That’s why I’m studying Italian. In part to learn a new language. But also, to converse about more than just the pasta and weather.)
Today, I met my middle-aged Roman hipster Airbnb host. Through our brief conversation about bands and hobbies (in English), I could tell he’d be fun to hang with. It’s hard to not give off desperate day-one “be my friend” energy. So when he said that at some point he and his girlfriend will join me for aperitivo, I may have accidentally and embarrassingly screamed “SI!”
Unwanted detours. Ever got on the wrong bus in Rome? I did the last time I was here. I’ve gotten on all the wrong buses in Mexico City too. And in Berlin. In Yunan. In … the list goes on. Thankfully with Google Maps, we can pretty much get ourselves out of any city maze. But I’ve learned that no commute is going to immediately be swift or simple. It’s taught me to add buffers to scheduled appointments. And to be ready to blow a ton of money on a taxi or Uber when it’s 2am and the next bus arrives at 3:30 am — especially as a solo woman.
Everyday chores made difficult. How about the time I bleached all of my clothes at my friend Romina’s apartment in Mexico City because I couldn’t read the entire label of what I thought was laundry detergent. Or when I kept throwing away the glass recycling into the wrong bin in Naples. Or when I spent hours trying to find instructions for an obscure French washing machine brand that supposedly had a dryer component. I ended up just accidentally washing my clothes 3 or 4 times, before deciding to hang dry everything during a particularly humid Parisian summer. (AKA nothing was ever quite dry.)
Doing fun things — alone. I’ve mastered dining alone. Posting up at a bar alone. But. But I’ve never gone to a concert alone even though concerts in far-flung cities is one of my favorite travel activities. I decided to face my fear finally and attend the Spring Attitude music festival here in Rome…alone. Once I make it inside the venue, I’ll feel better. Moving past crowds of friend gaggles always makes me feel particularly self-conscious. One is never too old for teenage anxiety. I’ll let you know how that goes.
PROS
Emotional courage. When your feelings have fluctuated all the way into solitude-derived melancholy, you’re already almost over the hump. I’ve learned that the lows are a necessary part of the whole solo experience. (And let’s be honest — it’s necessary for a well-rounded life, period.) Enough days hiding from strangers in sad girl/sad boy style, we’ll work up the necessary bravery to initiate conversations with neighbors.
When I toured Sicily by myself this past May, I booked a seat on boat tour in Siracusa where I made friends with another passenger from New York. We kept running into each other around town (the town is tiny), and decided by the fourth run-in to meet up for a drink. (We had already been dodging jelly fishes in the ocean together, so this felt apropos.)
I don’t remember the last time I had asked a stranger to hang out. At home in NYC, it’s always some mutual friend or fuck-boy on Tinder (no thanks). I’ve learned that strangers hardly ever say no to an invite if there’s already fun rapport bubbling. Just don’t give off homicidal vibes, and it’s all good.
Learning a new language. I think it’s damn near impossible to pick up local languages when traveling with friends who speak our native tongue (let’s assume it’s English.) Why would we bother if we can giggle and gossip obnoxiously-loud in English with them throughout the entire trip. (And let’s not fool ourselves — we all do this.)
The beauty of our human survival instincts is that they always kick in somehow. Learning how to say essential phrases in a new language gets easier when the gesturing gets old. Or when the stranger you want to hang out with only speaks their language and it’s not English. Or when you’re tired of talking to yourself.
We become sponges for … everything. It’s harder to turn down a spontaneous adventure when riding solo. There’s no one else’s opinion to mind, or another’s voice of disapproval. We become masters of our own schedules and not slaves to anyone else’s checklists.
The beauty of those unwanted detours I mentioned above is that they can delight us, too.
In Catania this year, sitting alone at a mom and pop restaurant away from the tourist-populated piazzas, I struck up a convo in broken Italian with a friendly older man after I offered him my carafe of wine. He ended up buying me lunch.
Or that time when I illegally smoked weed with my Airbnb hosts in Madrid at the Temple of Debod.
Or when I took a late-night bus from Brockley to Bethnal Green for a last-day-of-vacay hook-up with this Swedish photographer I danced with all night at a party. He was 23 years old and lived with six other people (as one does at that age). I was 27, in London alone, and “why not?” was my mantra. Roaming costs were insane at the time, so we relied on emails and good faith. He was at the bus station waiting for me — I was full of my friend’s homemade kedgeree. And we had a powerfully romantic night one can only have when everything unplanned goes as planned. (P.S. I just looked him up on Instagram and he hasn’t aged that well. Instagram ruins everything!)
Being alone. Being alone is not the same as feeling lonely. I think while we likely feel lonely as a result of self-isolation, it’s also true that we can feel lonely even if we’re surrounded by people who don’t see who we really are.
Solo voyages offer an opportunity to spend time alone. And inevitably reflect on our smallness on this planet, as well as our inherent connection to every stranger on the street — no matter our differing cultures. In Palermo, I had a lot of nights when I wasn’t been able to distract myself with a social gathering filled with wine and small talk. Instead, I’d fill up the sounds of cars blasting African music, cats purring, and glass bottles getting tossed on the street. I’d breathe in the moon’s glow. I’d let the breeze fill my voids. And then, I’d turn inward and let feelings simply pass.
Anyway, this is unedited word vomit that I am writing from the perspective of a seasoned traveler, but also, as a forever newb eternally fascinated with the depths of myself I discover when I’m traveling alone. I love the challenge of peeling back the layers of cities and their inhabitants. And embracing all soul-fortifying sides of solo sojourns — the good, the bumps, and importantly, the real. I love that I get to discover homes in other places but also appreciate the homes I already have.
I have friends for you in Rome!