Like many of you, I’m sure, I love traveling alone. Where others see a solo leap into the void without a safety net or a deep enough river at the end, I see a roll of tape. Thick yellow tape, the kind you can write on. So I set off, once again, with nothing but a roll of tape (in a backpack) for luggage . The route wasn’t set at the start, except for the wedding in the Czech Republic . Didn’t know then that I’d be going to Budapest. Or Munich. Or that I’d return to the Czech Republic twice after the wedding, catching my feet at a music festival in Ostrava and stopping by to say hello to a friend in Děčin. I stuck my tape onto my map as I went along, as opportunities arose and ideas came up – and as illogical as it may seem, it turned out like this.
1. I realized how strong I was,
physically, mentally, and emotionally. Before I left, I was carrying the accumulated fatigue of a winter semester at a new college, followed shortly after by a summer course. In the six months before my departure, in addition to this new job, I had experienced a breakup and a move into an apartment I paid for on my own. Work distracted me from the sadness but at the cost of even more intense stress. Unable to dive into the emotion, I seriously needed a change of scenery. I felt overwhelmed by my daily life, but the very idea of leaving into a great void that I would fill with what makes me feel good made me feel lighter. I boarded the plane with the excitement that little Aimée had felt when she was four years old and went to Disney World with her family.
Armed with this newfound youth and newfound ease of breathing, I’ve accomplished much more than I ever thought possible. At 28 (that’s not old, you might say, but hey), I’ve proven to myself that I’m still capable of:
- walking like an astronaut for six hours under the sun with two backpacks (okay, I didn’t just take tape ), including a “gentle” one-hour climb;
- sleeping in a train bunk with 20-year-old backpackers (once after spending the previous night on a plane);
- party for a few days in a row in Budapest and then in Prague… and even meet someone in a bar;
- having the reflex to laugh when someone suspects fraud on my credit card;
- speaking Spanish with the lady at the reception,e ven though I don’t speak Spanish;
- sleep in couchsurf with eight other people;
- chat with so many people with openness and transparency.
Every day brought its lesson in humility, but also its little pride. I felt strong, empowered . I walked with my head held high because, hey!, I’m here despite the fear, despite the comfort I had at home.
2. I also saw my limits and learned to set them (as I do on each of my trips to Paris!). No, I can’t spend twelve hours a day visiting tourist attractions during a six-week trip. No, I can’t always sleep, little. No, I don’t want to queue in the sun for four hours “just” to see the inside of the Sagrada Famili. No, I no longer want to experience the lack of respect for my privacy. No, I don’t always want to talk or listen to others talk.
This all sounds negative, but there is indeed a flip side (or rather, a side) to every limit: a need. Yes, I need to rest. Yes, I need to take moments alone each day to write, have a cup of tea or a drink, or observe people. Yes, I need to walk aimlessly. Yes, I need to be respected and to respect myself. Yes, I need lots of silence… and music that brings me closer to my heart.
3. I realized how connected we are to others – how generosity and openness have no nationality or limits. I was welcomed with open arms by friends of friends (even, in two cases, by the parents of a friend of a friend), by couchsurfers , by waiters, but also by friends I hadn’t seen for a long time who did everything to make my stay as pleasant as possible.
I’ve met amazing people with whom I’ve had profound discussions on the lawn of a music festival, in a cute garden… and in a single bed in a boat hotel. I jumped into the arms of a Californian in Prague because we had met in Budapest. I connected on a deep level with a sommelier from Barcelona. All of this, because I had the travel attitude, I’m convinced of it. The travel attitude is that lightness that allows you to be yourself and take risks because you don’t care about other people’s opinions. It’s the one that allows you to dance alone, to approach people you like, to have peripheral vision instead of the blinders you usually wear. The good news is that the travel mindset isn’t just for traveling. It can be applied at home, too, but practicing it in a foreign country helps. But why connected”? In fact, as strange as it may seem, going alone allows you to get out of yourself. Yes, there are many moments of introspection (sometimes forced); thus, the rare moments of communication with others (other than to order a coffee or pay for entry to the baths) take on meaning like never before. Because I wanted to see everything, experience everything (but also escape my mind sometimes, I admit), I was 100% present in these conversations. Instead of seeing the differences, I saw the similarities in the human experience. I felt close to the Czechs. I blended into the landscape on the Barcelona metro with my little bag. I would go see the bartender at the little bistro in Paris to ask him how he was doing. I felt like I belonged everywhere I went.
Leave a Reply