LEARNING CURVE
Did I know then that such a foolish and naive experience would stick with me? That it would push me to become the brave but cautious, confident yet deliberate woman I am today? No. And therein lies one of the many benefits of going at it alone: the surprises; the what ifs; the you-never-knows. They are small moments that became big moments (and great stories), etching themselves into your consciousness to be recalled the next time you’re faced with uncertainty, which inevitably turns to wonderment, usually because you figured it out on your own.
I’ll never forget arriving in the tiny town of Vernazza in Italy’s Cinque Terre in July 2012. I’d been told it was the most charming of Italy’s five villages built into the coastal cliffs along the Ligurian Sea and was expecting the meets But much to my surprise the town was a mess. Cobblestone alleyways were busted open, electrical wires hung precariously from doorways and I awoke to the sound of drilling every morning.
I spent two days trying to appreciate the rest of my surroundings—the sparkling turquoise sea as I hiked along the trail between the towns, the sleepy cats I saw slumbering on the aluminium rooftops, and the sweet, ripe scent of plums that squished beneath my shoes as I trekked— but then I’d get back to Vernazza and face the imperfections like the noisy construction and the closed-forbusiness signs. Shamefully, it wasn’t until my last night in Cinque Terre that I learned what had happened: just nine months earlier, Vernazza had been devastated by a deadly mudslide. It washed away much of the city’s livelihood, let alone any “charming” hospitality that might impress unsuspecting tourists.
I felt so foolish for my ignorance—for not having known or asked questions sooner and for craving something better than what remained. What could be better than a culture and a community rebuilding itself? Suddenly, I saw the miscellaneous nails and cinder blocks in a new, hopeful light. All the other constants that had endured were doubly delightful: the church bells that rang on the half-hour, the bobbing boats in the harbour, the anchovies soaked and served in lemon, the ricotta pastries dusted with powdered sugar and the painted pottery for tourists to buy as a reminder of their stay. As for me, I didn’t need a memento to keep this trip front of mind. I had my humility to account for that.
Not every solo journey brings such profound selfrealisation. Sometimes it’s just as simple as being the maker of your own destiny—picking one bistro over another or deciding what time to wake in the morning or go to bed at night. Choosing the destination and airline or taking 30 minutes (or three hours) to pack and opting for the audio guide over the group tour to view an art exhibit at your own pace. These little freedoms can amount to so much.
There are downsides too, of course: not getting to wit
ness a super moon rise or a striking sunset with someone or being able to share the tasting-menu-for-two at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Getting lost. Going overbudget. Being approached by hagglers looking to take advantage. Arriving at your destination only to be clueless about what to do there. But instinct takes over and you rely on your own wits and the occasional assistance from a stranger—two things that, if travelling with someone, you might not experience, which is a shame because they remind you the world is small and people can be kind.
For every fail, there’s a lesson learned. For every success, there’s an electric rush of endurance to go at it again or further or higher or longer. Maybe you’ll rent a car to ride up the California coast even though you don’t drive that often, or maybe you’ll hike in Israel without proper footwear or a map. If you’re careful and confident, such risks only make the rewards that much more fulfilling. No points or companions required for redemption.