Going alone, but not lonely
My recent column on the joys of traveling alone launched a steady flowof email from readers who shared their own stories of solo travel. Far more was submitted than can fit here, but this is a sampling. Submissionswere edited for space.
Iwent alone to KillarneyNational Park in southwest Ireland and developed quite a close relationship with both those atmy hostel and the forest itself. One afternoonIwoke up froma pleasant dream on a bed of moss, surrounded by moss-covered trees. I looked up at tree branches pointing to each other like a large cobweb, and the moss absorbed all noise to create an overwhelming stillness. I felt as if no one was there at all.
Most ofmy solo trips have involved an Amtrak train ride across the country to our national parks. Onmy most recent trip, I met three couples on a remote trail in southern Utah. We hiked together, then met the following day for dinner and spent the evening chatting at their rented cabin. Chances are I will never see these people again, but what an enriching experience.
At the age of 60, I traveled Route 66 bymyself. I decided to go solo so I could choose what to see, where to stay, what to take pictures of and to be able change plans if Iwanted to. Itwas awonderful trip.
I began solo travel at 21 and have fallen in love with traveling alone across South and Southeast Asia. My favorite by far is meeting people I’m not supposed to meet. Sounds strange? Well, our world is divided into borders and separations. Being from Israel, I can’t meet a person from Lebanon, Iran or Saudi Arabia even though they live just a few hours away. They are “the enemy.” Traveling alone, I was able to befriend people fromall of these countries. Now I can call “enemies” my friends all because I travel alone.
I split frommy group of friends in Rome, wanting to find locations from “RomanHoliday.” Gregory Peck’s flat in the film was not far from where I was staying, so I took the subway there. While peeking up the staircase and weighing whether I had the courage to trespass, two elderly gentlemen with zero English (but through gestures and smiles) offered to takemy photo and then wanted to showme an art gallery across the courtyard. I figured out that one of the men owned the gallery. I wandered through, waiting for the sales pitch like a cynical American, but realized they just wanted to share their art: stunning landscapes packed into a tiny gallery made of local stone.
At age 63, I tookmy first solo trip overseas. On a village bus in the Cotswolds district in England, a local woman commented onmy “trainers” (my Nike walking shoes). That conversation led to nine years of friendship, frequent emails andmy visit with her last summer when I returned to England. In 2011, I spent four weeks in Israel. In July I am headed to Iceland. I’m now 72, and if I stay healthy, I plan to continue traveling solo. I amnever lonely, and have met some spectacularly wonderful
people.
Sometimes the best thing about solo travel is that you can grab a lastminute space where they wouldn’t have room for two. I grabbed the last seat on a sightseeing submarine inMaui, got a place (without a reservation) at the luncheon table at MissMary Bobo’s BoardingHouse in Lynchburg, Tenn., a third row seat to a London show and a single seat on a plane to fly over the Nazca Lines in Peru.