The Art of Solo Travel

“I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone.” - Daphne du Maurier

I took my first solo trip this month. I hopped on a plane to Portland, knowing that when I arrived I wouldn’t know a soul. Knowing that I would be completely anonymous in a new place. It was a strangely peaceful feeling, landing in Portland under gloomy skies, buying a train ticket, and riding into the city where no one knew my name.

I had forgotten what true travel felt like. Travel runs in my blood. In fact, I’m pretty sure you can trace my affinity for exploration through my matriarchal genealogy. I watched my grandmother and mother before me explore new worlds from the moment I was born. The need to explore, to see and experience new places, to know that the world is so much bigger and grander and more magical than we can ever imagine… It’s what I’ve been taught since the beginning of my lifetime.

When I decided I would take a solo trip for my 27th birthday, I decided on Portland because it felt relatively safe, it was a short plane ride away, and I was dying to visit Powell’s City of Books. I did some research, asked for recommendations, but for the most part, I wanted to let the city decide where I went and what I did.

I bought a ticket to the symphony, I bought expensively delicious lattes, I ate incredible food, and yes, I visited Powell’s every day of my visit. I wandered with open eyes and listened to my body when it wanted some rest and pushed myself to sit confidently alone at a table while curious eyes would wander over to me.

But I also remembered why travel stirs me in the way that it does. As I walked along the river, I saw the famous stag sign, gloriously welcoming you to the city. They don’t tell you that it sits atop an abandoned building and that the sidewalk below it is lined with the tent homes of unhoused individuals while tourists wander through the Saturday market just yards away. It was a stark reminder of how tourism uplifts economies but can push the wealth disparity even further.

I wrestled with the anxiety of not being fully confident in my safety. I didn’t see many Ubers on the streets, and saw even fewer female drivers, so I felt limited in my ability to travel throughout the city. I did a lot of walking, but took advantage of the Light Rail system in the daylight. I also noticed that the downtown area still did not feel recovered from the last two years. There were a lot of shuttered businesses and abandoned streets and unhoused people who clearly needed support that they were not getting. If I ever go back to Portland, I would rent a car and not stay downtown. But these are the lessons you learn when you go somewhere you don’t know.

I also learned that I enjoy exploring on my own. I’ve held myself back from a lot of joy because I didn’t want to go alone or I wanted to wait to do something with a partner. If I’ve learned anything in the last two years, it’s that you can’t wait on anyone or anything to live the life you dream about.

I felt calm joy writing in coffee shops at small tables by myself as the scent of locally roasted beans wafted around me. I could have spent the entire day wandering the stacks at Powell’s, reading staff picks and author recommendations as I filled my basket with the wisdom and stories of those who explored before me. I felt empowered sitting at brunch alone, sipping a delightful mimosa and eavesdropping on the conversations of the strangers around me. I filled my lungs with crisp, PNW air as I marveled at the river and marveled at my own bravery for being there.

It was a challenging experience to explore alone. I had to push myself to wander and work through anxieties I wasn’t expecting (Shoutout to a snowstorm for canceling my flight at the last minute). But it was a stunning reminder of all that I have yet to see and explore, of all the wonder that is still left out there despite all the darkness we have witnessed.

I’ll travel alone again, hopefully soon. I learned a lot about myself, about the thoughts that wandered through my head in my aloneness. And as I was reminded of the beauty of exploring new places, I felt that missing piece of my soul fall back into place.