Okay, let’s get real for a sec. 👋 Two years ago, I nearly canceled my solo trip to Lisbon because my friend bailed last minute. “You’re crazy to go alone,” my aunt warned. “What if you get kidnapped?” 😅 Spoiler: I didn’t. Instead, I ate pasteis de nata alone at 11 PM, got lost in Alfama’s cobblestone maze, and accidentally joined a fado singing session with four Portuguese grandmothers. Best. Night. Ever.
Here’s the tea: Solo travel isn’t just about Instagrammable sunsets (though Lisbon’s golden hour had me in a chokehold 🌇). It’s about rewriting the narrative that women need protection from… existing. Studies show 72% of solo female travelers report increased self-confidence—but let’s talk about the messy, unglamorous magic behind that statistic.
Take “The Incident.” 🚂 On day three, I missed my train to Porto. Stranded at a tiny station, I panicked—until a local artist named Marta (who spoke zero English) gestured me into her rusty Citroën. We communicated through Spotify playlists and wild hand gestures. She showed me hidden azulejo art in backstreet chapels, and by sunset, we were laughing over vinho verde like old friends. Was it risky? Maybe. But here’s my hot take: Fear keeps us from the 97% of kind humans who aren’t serial killers.
The real glow-up happened during “The Dinner Test.” 🍷 I challenged myself to eat alone at a proper restaurant—no books or phones as armor. First five minutes? Pure agony. Then something shifted. I noticed the couple arguing over bacalhau, the waiter’s tattoo of a sardine, the way the olive oil pooled like liquid gold. By dessert, I’d written three poem ideas on a napkin. Solo dining isn’t sad—it’s sensory immersion without distractions.
Now, let’s address the elephant in the hostel dorm: SAFETY. 🚨 Yes, I carried a doorstop alarm and shared my location with Mom. But empowerment isn’t about paranoia—it’s preparation. I learned to:
– Book “female only” dorms via apps like Hostelworld (game-changer for midnight bathroom runs)
– Use Google Maps’ offline mode when Wi-Fi dies (RIP my data plan in Sintra’s forests)
– Master the “I have a boyfriend in this city” lie with Oscar-worthy conviction
The most radical part? Discovering my “untethered self.” 🌱 At home, I’m “Sarah the overthinker.” In Portugal? I became the girl who said “sim” to everything—including a 6 AM surf lesson that left me choking on seawater and ego. But guess what? I stood up on that damn board by noon.
If you’re still skeptical, consider this: Neuroscientists found novel environments literally rewire our brains. My proof? I used to apologize for existing (“Sorry, is this seat taken?”). Now? I stride into cafés like I own the espresso machine. That’s not confidence—that’s cellular level change.
So here’s my pitch: Book that ticket. Not to “find yourself,” but to meet the version of you that’s been waiting to burst free. Will there be meltdowns? Oh honey, I ugly-cried in a Porto laundromat over lost socks. But here’s the secret they don’t tell you: Getting comfortable with discomfort is the ultimate feminist act. 💥