Photographed by Patrik Kapetan
As solo travel goes mainstream, has it lost its transformative edge? Veteran traveler and writer Ani Payumo reflects on how the journey has changed, and what that means.
This morning, while scrolling through my phone, I came across these posts on social media:
“I am a solo traveler who just returned from Australia. I love hiking, music, and history. I’d welcome like-minded travel buddies on my next trip.” – in a FB group chat for solo travelers
“Eager to see the world but nervous to travel alone? Come with me. We plan epic trips with a diverse group of solo travelers. We’ll meet as strangers but quickly become friends.” – an IG travel influencer
“I am traveling solo in Amsterdam. Any good recommendations?” – another IG influencer
Every day, I see similar posts that give me pause. They hint at a significant shift in solo travel, one that, for an old hand like me, is making me go “hmmm.” I started solo traveling at the turn of the century, when after a solo trip to Madrid with the goal of learning Spanish, I learned, not Spanish, but a love for the solo flight. Since then, I promised myself a solo birthday trip every year. Most years, I gifted myself more than one. I never bothered keeping count, but doing the rough math and thinking back on my journeys, I must have at least 30 solo trips to my name.
When I first started, solo travel was considered strange and dangerous behavior. Solo travelers were an anomaly. Restaurants didn’t know what to do with us so they seated us at the back tables. Other travelers threw us pitying looks. Apps like Uber, Google Maps, and Google Translate did not exist. Neither did Opentable and Tripadvisor. I lugged around at least two guide books to every destination. I had to learn to speak, at the very minimum, the essentials of the language; and I had to learn to read physical road and public transportation maps. I also had to learn to strike up conversations with strangers, to eat in silence (I never learned to eat with a book), and to make do with the limited restaurant choices in travel guides or take risks. In short, solo travel meant preparing hard, and if the hard preparations didn’t work, learning to flow.
I watched the solo travel landscape transform through the decades. From an “odd hobby” pursued by an intrepid few, it started to bloom after the publication of Liz Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love in the 2000s. I found myself fighting for slots in yoga retreats against a wave of women doing their own “Eat Pray Love” tours.
In the 2010s, Instagrammers and Youtubers shared their travel experiences in real time, further normalizing solo travel. And very recently since the pandemic, with remote work permitting freedom of location, solo travel has exploded. The 500-billion-dollar industry continues to grow at 15 percent annually and is expected to reach one trillion dollars in a mere five years.
Solo travel is a fundamental part of who I am. I might even dare say that I am who I am because of it. It has taught me to trust my inner chatter, to stay with discomfort, and to dance through rhythm interruptions. I once found myself stranded at sunset in the small town of Poggibonsi, in the middle of the Tuscan vineyards. I had missed the last connecting bus to San Gimignano from Florence. Hotel and transportation apps were non-existent at that time. Before I could enter a full meltdown, a rickety old car sputtered into the scene and stopped in front of the bus stop where I was stranded. An equally rickety old man stepped out, lit a cigarette and stretched his legs. I knew he was my only hope. After a few puffs, barely enough time for me to gather my courage and my Italian, he extinguished the rest of his cigarette and made his way to his car. I jumped at him, threw him my story in unconjugated verbs, and a minute later, found myself hitchhiking to San Gimignano. From that moment, I was invincible.
This is the beauty of solo travel. It is meant to yank us from our routines, make us uncomfortable, and shift our inner terrain. These events stir ripples of thought and emotion that typically go unnoticed in the presence of friends: nostalgia, anxiety, loneliness, fear, excitement, curiosity. It is these moments of raw experience that rouse latent aspects of ourselves, and give us the chance to witness them clearly without the bias of our companions. If we pay attention to these natural inclinations and take the time to understand what they reveal, we go home from our journeys having made an even more valuable inner journey. These could lead to profound life transformations, which for me, is the real gift of solo travel.
Which brings me back to my morning musings.
The benefits of solo travel are now universally recognized. Solo travel has become mainstream, and solo travelers are everywhere: in cafes, in hotels. They journey separately, but side-by-side, enjoying safety in numbers. They no longer need to suffer pitying looks; they’ve become the cool kids. Through their phones, they are connected at any moment to the worlds they left behind. The travel industry caters to them, offering highly curated itineraries, meeting their existing tastes, and ensuring that they are comfortable, happy, safe, and mingling with like-minded travelers. In short, the rough edges of solo travel have been softened. The valuable ripples of new thought that are borne out of hard, non-quotidian, solitary moments have been muted. The success of solo travel has diluted the very essence that makes solo travel a transformative force.
I confess I have benefited from this softening; Hotel and restaurant reviews help me make my choices, apps tell me how to get from point A to point B with exact time schedules, group chats with friends and family at home keep me from loneliness. Traveling solo has become so effortless, so comfortable, and so… un-solo. In fact, tethered to our phones, true solo travel (in the turn-of-the-century sense) is quickly becoming a thing of the past. For first-time solo travelers, this is a marvelous thing. There is no reason to be afraid. For the old-timers, however, will we need to travel further and wider to find life-changing discomfort and solitude, or will we need to find other avenues of self-reflection in a more interconnected world?
