The Good, The Bad, The Ugly Cries
I stumbled out of the club in Athens, a friend on both arms. We walked as one down the cobblestone street until the smell of crepes pulled us into a late-night market. As we leaned against the counter, laughing through the events of the night, the cashier snickered and asked how long we’d been friends.
“Oh, we just met tonight,” I replied.
The man was flabbergasted. “You only just met? You seem like you’ve been friends for years.”
We parted ways that night, off on our own adventures the next morning. While I only knew those girls for about 5 hours, the memory of that night still feels surreal. It felt like what solo travel is commonly advertised as on social media. You’ll never be alone! It’s so easy to make friends. Anyone can make friends in a hostel.
These were the thoughts and expectations haunting my mind just a few days earlier on the Greek island of Corfu, off the country’s Northwestern Coast.
Talk about island fever. I never felt so isolated.
Dozens of hostel rooms sprinkled down the hillside to the beachfront. The sheer magnitude of my hostel actually made it harder to meet people. Friends and couples made their way through the property, leaving only sand and me in their wake. I began questioning everything. Why did I come here? Can I really do this? Why is this so easy for everyone else?
Social media often oversimplifies solo travel. It is made to seem easy and freeing; the world at your fingertips with no one to hold you back. What they don’t tell you? There’s also no one to push you forward. No shoulder to cry on when you feel homesick. I don’t say this to dissuade anyone from solo traveling. I actually encourage everyone to solo travel at least once in their life. I merely wish to portray the true experience. While I experienced lows, nothing compares to the highs. Nights like the one in Athens made up for the lonely days in Corfu and gave me the energy to keep going.
After Greece, I traveled to Croatia for a week-long boat trip with TruTravels. Standing on the bow of the ship on the Adriatic Sea made me feel on top of the world—or king of the world if you’re a Titanic fan. Friendships were formed among my fellow boatmates, even though we spanned different ages and backgrounds. We sunbathed on the boat's rooftop, danced at a nightclub on a private island, and explored beautiful Croatian towns.
But once the week came to an end, I found myself alone, anxious, and sick in Split, Croatia.
It was as if my mind and body were still on board, moving like tides in a storm, unable to find their sea legs. As a naturally anxious person, being sick and alone in a foreign country was extremely overwhelming.
I started searching for flights home to Los Angeles. I truly considered going home after almost 6 weeks of traveling (cutting my trip short by over a month). I had to fight the urge to press “book flight.” Fight the urge to confuse routine for contentment. I knew I would be comfortable returning to my daily life, but as P.T. Barnum once said, “Comfort is the enemy of progress,” so I summoned my strength to keep moving.
In doing so, I allowed myself to create 7 more weeks of memories across 10 countries. I watched the sunset from a castle in Slovenia, laughed my ass off in Budapest with new friends, adorned a dirndl at Oktoberfest, and so much more. Some of my fondest travel memories came in those weeks that almost never happened.
So, when people ask me how my three-month solo trip through Europe was, I reply with, “It was the best decision I ever made.” It’s a lot easier than giving them the spiel I just gave you. Regardless, I never answer with “It was great!” or “It was so fun!” because, as we know by now, that is not the whole story.