Traveling solo

I recently spent a week in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic by myself. I wanted to get away from NYC and work and that was a greatly needed escape.

I had a wonderful time, beach, sun, reading, scuba diving… and met some great people whom I hope to keep in touch with, from young Brazilian newlyweds on their honeymoon, to a recent American expat (my dive master) enjoying the adventure and freedom of making that piece of paradise his “reality” (as opposed to those of us on a brief break from it), and enjoyed an occasional card game with some strangers.

In fact, some of my most interesting encounters have been from solo traveling, whether in Thailand where I met my South African friend Claire, a most beautiful person, to Laos where I befriended some young Laotian monks, one of which, Khamsouk, I’m still in touch with, despite our limited conversations. Some encounters last just the time of a train ride or a few days rest, like people encountered at the Tibetan monastery I stayed at in Dharamsala (home of the Dalai Lama whom I got to briefly see before being stumbled over by those dear Tibetan monks running to the free food! ;) but are just as enjoyable and sometimes make a lasting impression.

Forgetting about those previous great experiences, I have to admit to having moments of doubt when preparing to leave for DR. You’d think that after spending time in war-torn countries or refugee camps, I’d be prepared for a week at the beach, yet I had to defend myself so much in the weeks preceding my trip as to why I was taking this trip solo, that it started getting to me. I ended up taking 6 books with me, thinking I’d be so miserable I would just go through one a day (needless to say I did not make it through even 1/3rd).

While no one seems to question spending months in the Congo for work, it’s a whole other story when it comes to spending one week of holiday at the beach (ie: with no real purpose but far niente). The first question I inevitably got when mentioning my upcoming trip was “who are you going with?”. Then would come the “look “: wide eyes going through various emotions from fear for me to pity, to the “why would anyone do that?” stare.

Let me tell you, why. There is no more peaceful a holiday than going by yourself. No one to take into account but me, myself and I. No one to coordinate dates with or debate location, no one to compromise with on activities, or to consult when hungry or tired, no one to make you feel obligated holding a conversation with when you just want to read, or simply enjoy the silence.
I honestly never got bored, though of course I welcome the new friends I made and they definitely made my trip more fun, but I am pretty sure I would not have gone past small talk had I not been by myself.

I do think that being able to share a travel adventure with a loved one is amazing and I have at times wished I could share a sunset or a beautiful encounter with someone I cared for. But there was nothing cultural or mind-blowing about my week at the beach that I felt needed to be shared (though would have happily brought back the weather and warm sea with me).

Reinforced in my convictions that a solo trip is nothing to fear, I now feel sorry for those who don’t get it. What are they so scared about?? Having to spend time with themselves?