Okay ladies, let’s get real – who else has sat through 47 group chat debates about vacation dates just to end up canceling plans? 🙋♀️ That was me last year, staring at my third abandoned Airbnb booking, when I realized: maybe the best travel partner is… me.
I took my first solo trip to Lisbon on a whim after my BFF bailed (love her, but predictable). The moment I stepped into that tiled courtyard Airbnb alone, panic hit: “Wait… who’ll take my Instagram pics? What if I get lost? Is this how serial killer documentaries start?” Cut to me 72 hours later, devouring pasteis de nata with Portuguese grandmothers at 11pm, laughing with a Brazilian tattoo artist about my terrible map skills. Magic.
Here’s the tea – solo travel isn’t just about destinations. It’s about rewriting your personal rulebook. A 2023 Women Who Travel survey found 68% of solo female travelers reported higher self-trust post-trip. I became part of that statistic when I navigated Seville’s winding alleys using only my terrible Spanish and a local abuela’s hand-drawn map.
Safety first? Absolutely. I never share my accommodation location on socials in real-time (that sunset pic gets posted AFTER checkout), always carry a portable door lock (game-changer for sketchy Airbnbs), and adopt the “resting local face” in crowded areas. Pro tip: Fake phone calls work wonders – my imaginary boyfriend “Mark” has helped me ditch creeps from Barcelona to Bangkok.
But here’s the juicy part no one talks about – the glorious solitude. There’s power in eating alone at that Michelin-starred restaurant (yes, they give you the good table when you’re solo!), taking spontaneous train rides to nowhere, and crying over a perfect croissant because you made this moment happen. My most profound travel memory? Getting caught in a Paris downpour, buying €5 H&M leggings, and dancing in the Trocadéro fountains with German backpackers. Zero Instagram evidence, 100% core memory.
The transformation sneaks up on you. That same girl who panicked over solo dinner? Just booked a one-way ticket to Colombia. My newfound superpower? Trusting that I’ll figure it out – missed buses, language barriers, questionable street food – because I already have.