When I was ten years old, my brother, who is ten years older than me, made a year-long excursion around the world. He picked up work here and there to make a few bucks along the way, he slept in graveyards, and on beaches, wherever he found a spot. He hitchhiked through the Australian outback. He worked for a few months at a bar in South Africa during Apartheid. It was an odyssey for him and I’m sure in some ways it was a coming-of-age experience. If memory serves, the trip ended when he was in London England, sheltered in a doorway from the pouring rain, broke, miserable, and probably a little homesick. Someone approached him and asked if he’d like to buy a plane ticket to Canada; “I sure do.”

As his younger sister, listening to the bits and pieces of his adventures, I was envious. I wanted to do all those things but I thought I never could because I was a girl.

Fast forward a few decades. I was still thinking like that ten year old girl. I wanted to travel but the thought of travelling alone was unnerving to me. I asked a friend to join me, but she could not commit the time. Another friend said, sure… next year.

My choice was to go alone, or not at all. I chose to go and had a wonderful time.

The benefits to travelling solo are obvious. You can do whatever you want and nothing you don’t want. Rest when you please, eat when you are hungry. You can cater to your own interests, needs, budget and energy level. For a woman, the downsides are, …the same as they are at home. Be aware of your surroundings, avoid certain neighbourhoods, be wary of late night strolls… the usual safety common sense applications. And that’s about it.

I had always wanted to go to Marseilles. I stayed at an Airbnb located on a busy street, ‘Au coeur de Marseilles’ as the hostess described it. To get to the Old Port the quickest route included a walk down a crowded, busy, pedestrian-only street through an ethnic immigrant neighbourhood. I felt as if I’d been temporarily transported to Morocco. There were all manner of stalls and stands, selling everything from fruit to kitchen tools to incense. There were hole-in-the-wall shops and even smaller hole-in-the-wall restaurants. People, adults, kids, were flying past me on scooters, bicycles and skateboards, sometimes balancing a passenger along for the ride. ‘Pedestrian-only’ meant pick a lane, stay in it, and look twice before you change direction. The first time I walked down that street I felt very out of place and slightly intimidated.

By my third day and final day in Marseilles I was poking in and out of those shops and stalls. I chatted with the owners to the best of my abilities. I stopped to eat at one of those hole-in-the-wall restaurants. I felt very Anthony Bourdain.

For me, the most stressful part of travelling alone was making sure I was in the right place at the right time and headed in the right direction as I boarded trains, buses, and in one instance a car. (There’s more to that story.) If nothing else, it would have been a comfort to have someone else to suffer my doubts with whilst standing in a nondescript parking lot; “Seriously? Is this the right place?” Funnily enough, on my last day in France, as I stood in what had become a familiar nondescript parking lot, another woman approached me to check if this was, in fact, where the bus comes. It was immensely pleasing to be the one to confirm that for her. 

Confidence, experience, and trust is chiefly what is needed. I did not sleep in a graveyard, or on a beach, but the trip was my own odyssey to find my will and my feet to travel where I want to, as I want to.

Next week there will be no post for the long weekend–Happy Canadian Thanksgiving everyone!

Keep your joy.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger, unless it’s a holiday weekend. Or summertime. Facebook or sign up for delivery to your email.