This summer, many travelers are finally taking the big trip, sometimes adventures that were rescheduled several times.  We’re back on the road but we’ve changed in noticeable and subtle ways. What will be different for you?

Becoming an experienced solo traveler is about more than carry ons, ferry schedules, rail strike management, and driving on the left.  It’s a graduate course in self-management. On the road, you embrace that you alone are making choices about your fears, your curiosity, and your next steps. You are in charge of managing your energy and caring for your safety.

The good news is that you also learn in solo travel to ask for help, sort out good advice, weigh risk and seek community in unusual places. The things you learned about yourself in the long shutdown – self management, self-autonomy, knowing how to come back when its only you – are great skills for traveling alone, especially when you face the unexpected.

As I’m planning my next adventure, after this hiatus, I’m thinking back to the basics:

1. If it’s been a while, start with a trip that has a lot of help built in, opportunities for group experiences or staying at a resort or hotel with good amenities and support.
2. Choose a trip with purpose — a specific experience or site, learning something new, accomplishing a goal, a bucket list moment.
3. Are you just beginning traveling on your own or a pro. I worked through a progression from organized experiences like a yoga retreat, then a single city adventure, a resort, or if it’s your style, get your travel legs in an easy destination and then train hop across the map!
4. Leave your baggage, of every kind, behind.

The most freeing thing about a trip on your own is that it belongs entirely to you—your tastes, your list, your speed, and your mode of transportation. Sleep late or hit the early morning market. Travel by train or walk a new city. Spend every day in a different museum and nights in the theatre or hike your stress away. It’s yours.

Returning to favorite spots brings an anticipation of that memorable experience, but I’ve learned my lesson.  Like rereading a book that you love or watching a great movie 10 years later, it will be different because you are different. It’s even more complex than that because the place you love will be different as well.

Like most travelers in 2021, I’m here at home and, with you, hoping that we’ll be travelling more freely soon. I can’t quite get up the gumption to plan the next big trip. Is it fear of disappointment or pandemic-stoked indecision?

In any case, I make lists of favorite destinations to stitch together for the perfect trip. Even more intoxicating is adding in the unfinished visits, those places where you had just enough time to realize you needed much more time to explore.

Do you find that, against all logic and world awareness, you expect an iconic place you visited to remain like a museum wrapped in dust clothes, waiting for you return? Even the actual museums don’t stay the same.  You’re walking down ‘that street with the fantastic sandwich kiosk and the old men playing dominoes near the quay’ and it’s not there. The neighborhood has changed, the people are younger or older, and no sandwiches because they’ve all gone keto.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m definitely going back. My wish is to get back to the Scottish Highlands and the islands as soon as possible.  But this time, I will go with a spirit of curiosity about change itself, an openness to a new experience with a fond memory.  I will adamantly expect a new experience not a repeat.

Practical Thoughts

• How will you as a traveler be different? What new travel skills and experience do you have now?
• Has the pandemic left you with different sensibilities? You may actually be better at self-management and tackling problems on your own but do you feel differently about crowds now? Maybe you have a heightened concern about hygiene? (I, for one, am not giving up street food.)
• And last, you may not have the same sense of surprising wonder. There is a little sadness in this. Experience is a benefit and a damper.  You may have to raise the bar to have that sense of wonder and accomplishment.

A last story on revisiting your dream spots. On my last trip before Covid, I returned to a gorgeous glamping spot on a Scottish island. I couldn’t wait. On the first visit, this gorgeous remote spot was my respite after arriving exhausted, learning to drive on the left, board ferries, survive roundabouts, and avoid sheep in the road. I marveled at the tiny perfection and luxury of my little hut. On my return, though, I was more experienced. So many things were easier, and I was at full speed. Without that novelty, I found I was actually lonely there. It was a great visit, but I found I had to revamp my daily itinerary with this lovely place as my accommodation but not my activity. 

Of course, this was also where I stepped off a ledge in the dark, landed on a wheelbarrow, upside down in my PJs, and have the scars to prove it, so there was some novelty after all.

Hello, fellow travelers.  I am writing from the Outer Hebrides, the Isle of Harris and Lewis, on my dream trip.  On the way over, I learned (again) an important truth.

It could happen.

You just might make that flight, you should run for the train you think you have already missed, and definitely check just one more time on that impossible reservation.  How can good luck find you if you have already given up?

In planning my flights from Nashville to Edinburgh, I felt so inept that I forgo that not booking my trans Atlantic flight on the same ticket with my continuing connection to Edinburgh would have consequences.  The BA agent told me that unfortunately I wouldn’t make the connection for my 11:40 flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh.  That would be my non-refundable 11:40 ticket.  I dutifully booked a later flight, losing two hours of my afternoon in Edinburgh.  But, I didn’t release that earlier ticket.

With the bravado of the jet-lagged, I decided to go for it.  The question always to ask is, ‘what do In have to lose?’  The agent that said I could never make it was right except last Thursday morning.  It appears that everyone had to do a quick run through security before connecting.  This time, no one was in line but our flight, it was efficient and speedy.  On a chance, I ran to the gate, presented my ticket without a boarding pass and, though online checking had passed, the gate agent was up for honoring the booking and seat assignment.

With fifteen minutes to spare, I made the original plan.  That meant feeling less tired on arrival and getting to have a classic afternoon tea at The Balmoral.  (There was a harpist.  Do this if you have a chance. The haggis puff pastry was delicious.)

This good luck has found me with train connections that were supposed to be lost causes and a wonderful fully booked dinner with a Scottish author.

The question really is about risk.  I certainly booked the back up ticket to insure getting into Edinburgh and if I hadn’t made it, nothing would have been lost but something was gained. It was a treat and a confidence boost!

Learnings

1.  If you can, book through on one ticket.  I did have a struggle with a connection through Barcelona that made it hard to get a boarding pass until I arrived. Not worth my indecision!
2. When the flight doesn’t appear to be full on the seating chart, you might want to bypass premium economy and pick a good aisle seat toward the back.  After all the upgrade offers, the small premium coach section was elbow to elbow, but I had a row to myself in the far back.
3. Run for it in travel and in life. Luck may find you.

As I dive deeply into the planning of my spring trip, I wanted to share this post with you again.  What starts as an idea, gets put on paper as a spreadsheet of possibles, is inked in with travel times, ultimately becomes the dream and adventure!  I hope you find something here helpful as you plan your next big getaway.

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It usually starts on a rainy afternoon for me – that moment when I know it’s time.  All the ideas that have flitted through my mind, all the reviews from the travel section, all the Pinterest posts, begin to swim to the surface and demand attention.

Wrinkle-free clothes look chic (add a scarf and the right jewelry and you could wear it 7 times…)

Travel-size products are everywhere.

Luggage stores are fascinating.

But, once you decide to take the trip, to just do it, how do you start to put it all together?  For me, it all starts with a spreadsheet. Really.

In business school, we would start a financial model for an idea with a blank spreadsheet.  This was tough for some folks to do.  You’d hear the question, “But, aren’t you just making it up?”  Well, yes.   In the end, we all learned to take that empty spreadsheet, create some basic assumptions, identify some facts and decide the desired outcomes.  Then, we began building a picture.

It was never “right” at the beginning but by creating a rough picture we could start changing the pieces, shifting the variables. Pretty soon, we had a working model whose outcomes would change as we turned the dials a bit.  It was just getting started that felt hard.

This idea that I learned in school doing case studies of imaginary widget factories (with decreasing utility for said widgets while widget raw materials costs increased) actually works for me for trip planning. For you, it might be a dream board, a flow chart or a set of post-its.

What matters is asking the question: What are the basic blocks?  This is a great way to distill your your big technicolor travel dream into parts and start to prioritize the pieces.  The center of your dream could be a place, an event, or a season. I wanted to see the spring flowers bloom along the Seine in Paris, preferably from a boat, admittedly wearing my new yellow trench coat.  There just isn’t much opportunity for a yellow trench in Tennessee, but in Paris?

After scouring web sites to define the range for “spring”, I thought about what I wanted to trip to be like.  I’d love to see the full moon on the Seine so which weeks during  March, April or May would have a full moon?  Then during those weeks, was there a concert, festival or other event I’d like to see?  Any major events going on whose crowds I’d like to avoid?

This gives my trip a shape — once I put in the date range that gets me where I want to be,  but still with wiggle room, it’s a great time to look for good airfares. Can I leave 2 days earlier or come back a day later?  Then, I decide the top three or four experiences that the keys to my big technicolor dream trip.   Sometimes this causes a shift within the trip …if I only have a week, the days the  museums are closed in one city or the night tickets are available for an opera in another can shift the days within the master plan but no problem.  It’s all in context.

Once I have an arrival and a departure, and a few major activities, I start to have fun. There is enough structure to see the trip as “real” and start working on the details and extras.  Then I begin to write the travel brochure for my big adventure.

Here’s one thing I quit doing. Until recently, I planned out every day charting out what I would see, where I would go, how I would get there. Every morning I pulled out my marching orders from home and struck out.

Then it hit me.  Travelling on my own demanded more. I wanted to learn to choose what I wanted to do each day, on that day, to intentionally listen to my own heart and to take opportunities and to be brave.

My “home self”, the self sitting in PJ’s months earlier surrounded by travel books was as stern a taskmaster as a professional tour director insisting I only had 15 minutes for the Louvre. I had become my own dictator. I wasn’t really living in that moment.

Now I just have the non-negotiables charted (and this gives me a bit of confidence) and work from a list of possibilities that I pull out from time to time.  Doing what you most want to do on any particular day is more difficult than you might think but worth the experience. Shuffling off the coils of what I should do, what friends suggested, what Rick Steves would do, to follow my own path is the goal for me.

What I Learned

1. Just start. Create a spreadsheet or chart for the number of days you have and start filling in the blocks. (Remember to check travel times and train schedules).
2. Pay special attention to the three or four things that are key to your trip – check exhibits, opening times, holiday effects and availability for these most important plans.
3. If you don’t feel like going to the museum, at all, no one has to know.  One brochure from the hotel lobby and your secret is safe.

Hotel Nelligan, 106 rue Saint-Paul Ouest, Montreal QC H2Y 1Z3

A hotel can become your favorite because of the history, the location, the staff, or just the experience of being there.   Hotel Nelligan, in the old town area of the city, opens onto a street first paved in the 17th century.  Walking out the front door, we were immediately in the dream I had of Christmas in Montreal.

We landed as the biggest snowstorm in years was ending.  Drifts of snow, three feet high, banked the sidewalks. The neighborhood streets were strung with lights and decorations.  The hotel had a cozy lobby bar with a fireplace and tree, just right for coming from the cold. And cocoa.

While I wasn’t travelling alone, my evenings were free. The Nelligan is the best example of why location can make a trip.   My first evening, bundled up to my ears, I was at loose ends. I turned to the right and then onto Saint-Suplice and walked toward the Basilica of Notre Dame just a few blocks away. The square was brilliant with lights on the trees around its edges. The snow had blanketed all the sound even though many of us were walking in the streets. As I turned back toward the hotel, I realized that I was just a couple of blocks from the waterfront. As I looked toward the water, the sky lit up with light and sound. I had happened upon the holiday fireworks display.

Snow, silence, a basilica, the mystery of urban stillness and then the surprise gift of a magnificent light display.

For more information, check out:

http://hotelnelligan.com/en/

http://www.basiliquenddm.org/en/basilica/

Early in my independent, on-my-own travel, I rediscovered choice. Traveling with others, I made lists and agendas for the day. These were good-looking, comprehensive creations with travel times, alternate bus schedules, open and closing times, and restaurant options. It helped keep us out of the morass of starting with a blank slate and sorting everyone’s preference every morning.

On my first trip alone, I did the same thing.  Standing in the middle of a sidewalk in Paris, I realized I was being driven by what the “me” of months ago planned, before I got there, before I experienced what Paris was like on this day, at this time.  What did I want to do today – not what I thought I’d do or what was expected of a week in Paris – but what did I want to do? No one was watching or evaluating. I changed everything on that page.

Knowing what you most want to do isn’t as easy as it sounds. Some of the choices begin when you are first planning where and when you travel. You have decisions on the fly and these are exciting.

I’ve learned three things about choice when I am on the road – and sometimes this helps me at home.

1. What is your style? Are you someone who is more likely to feel tense if the details aren’t nailed down or do you need your freedom? I do like having that spreadsheet…I still choose every day, I’m just very informed…
2. Build it ‘free’ days. On a solo adventure, every day is kind of a free day but between travel days and big experiences, how about a truly free day to wander the city or walk the byways>
3. Assess the unexpected. In your carefully crafted trip, you’ll have unexpected possibilities. Do you stick with the plan or grab the new idea and run? My mantra now is ‘what is the best and the worst about this new possibility’? Where is the uncertainty? What will I regret if I give up my plan? How could this story become part of my trip story?

What you don’t want to do is find yourself frozen on the sidewalk, unable to either continue the plan or change it. A couple of years ago, I was in the Highlands on a driving trip. On my single full day on Mull, I would drive the coast and take the ferry to island of Iona. It was my only opportunity and it would take the day.

Then I saw a newsletter in my room at the B&B. One of my favorite authors, Alexander McCall Smith, was signing his new book, set in Tobermory, at noon in the local bookshop. These events in newsletters are never on the day you are actually in town, but this event was.

What to do? I could ditch the Iona trip and chance a good experience with this beloved author or I could follow my plan.  I thought about what I’d regret if I went to Iona and missed out seeing the author.  Then I thought about not seeing Iona. What would I feel like once back home? In the end, I stuck with my excursion. For me, there was more certainty achieving a great experience taking the ferry to Iona. I didn’t want to go home having given up that part of my trip story.

In the end, I made the right choice and I had a new opportunity. At the end of that very good day, I just stopped at the bookshop to see if any signed copies of that book were still available.  Maybe there was a new possibility to add to my story.

So, this part of the story is really cheating because, in a rare stroke of luck, I had the best of everything – the store was sponsoring a dinner with the author that night and there had been a cancellation. They were frantic to find someone to fill the seat and offered it to me.

The important thing is that I was perfectly happy with the day when I walked in the store expecting a book.

What will you choose?

That night, sitting in the library of a skilled care center, I marked six weeks since I began the adventure. Nothing could have prepared me more completely than traveling alone in foreign countries – unknown languages, new cultures, obscure rules, and constant self-management.

In one lunchtime decision, this traveler went from a quick run to the taco truck to a life-changing ride in an ambulance, from planning to cook Blue Apron tonight to not seeing the inside of my house for seven weeks. From a fast walker to a broken femur.

I’ve written about how the benefits of preparing a grand adventure can change your entire year.  Life is changed even before you even depart – and after your return, you have new skills and confidence.

Traveling on your own, facing challenges, learning about yourself, and testing your boundaries can prepare you for very unexpected adventures – those you make without reservations or luggage. I am grateful for every lesson. There are five lessons from the road that saved my soul.

1. Stop, listen, and build relationships.  What’s happening, who is in charge, who can help me, who can I help, what do I need, and what options are available? In a health emergency, you are dropped into a country for which your passport has not been stamped. The people I met first in the hospital ER and later in rehab were my guides and saviors. Night nurses and techs were the most important people for my welfare. I couldn’t survive if they were just staff – we had to be in it together.
2. How to come back from a bad day matters. Can you start over? What can you do? Would timing yourself wheeling down the dark hall at least give you a goal? (By the way – yes.) Anything can turn it around. Is there someone you can help? The day isn’t over until you say it’s over.
3. Connect and disconnect. When you travel, there is a balance between the reassuring connections with your real life at home and the ability to experience and attend to the present moment. Rehab is not Paris but it requires your whole heart. Holding on too tightly to the old normal brings pain and frustration. I can be involved with my work but I can’t full engage. I must fully engage here.
4. Use all your resources to solve the problem as if it were not your own.   The ability to be alone and problem solve, as if you were an advocate for another person, has reworked a lot of hotel mishaps and delayed flights. Learning to acknowledge your emotions while working with perspective for yourself is like having a team mate. For the middle weeks of this journey, I cried once every day – big gulping, “I want to go home”, hauls. But I scheduled them. Therapy first, conversations with the doctor and the nurses, then lose it before your mom comes.
5. Lonely is lonely. Once you have sat with a deep sense of isolation and distance, you know its face and its moods. It can be expected alone in a foreign place – even if being there was your heart’s dream. I didn’t expect to feel that same sense of extreme distance in my own town, with family and friends ready to help, but this is a foreign country. Familiarity with the face of lonely helps.

So that night, I rolled down to a lovely spot, with its dark bookcases and lamplit corners, to try make something of the rest of my day, to find a way to be me in that place.

I put myself in the position to receive something different.

The best surprise came when my favorite nurse from my old unit came in. A friendly face drove away the feeling of being alone. We talked about new babies, family hopes, and faith. And we decided to start over tomorrow.

Travel, push yourself, move out of your comfort zone. You’ll be ready for the unexpected adventures to come.

Sunshine, gracious not glaring, a light breeze, the crunch of gravel under the blooming horse chestnut trees. The sound of distant chatter from a tour boat on the Seine.

Nowhere to be but here.

Shouldn’t every trip have at least one unplanned day to wander? An absolutely unscheduled day leaves room for adding something unexpected but that is just a side benefit. Keep the joy of the traveler. As a type-A traveler, I set challenges, have lists, and push to the next summit.  I can lose the joy before I realize it.

Once, with a whole week to spend in a beautiful city, full of places to be and sights to see, it struck me. This used to be more fun.  My travel lust started at fourteen on a fantastic 16-day trip from London to Lucerne. I still have whole sections of the brochure memorized.  Though I might not feel the same way today as I did then, walking out of the hotel, luggage whisked away and boarding the bus meant anything could happen. I just had to show up.  (The smell of bus fumes in a city still inspire a feeling of possibility and mystery – odd, but true.)

As I stood in the street that day, in that city, I changed my plan.  I had a list of three obscure museums that the average traveler would not find and an address for a great authentic lunch.  I ditched the plan. How could I reclaim that feeling of the naive traveler wandering through the day like a theme park of history and art?  When all else fails, go to the train station.

From the train station, a joyous line of day-trippers was pouring into the streets. Hawkers were selling souvenirs, ice cream and expensive Cokes. I got a $4 Coke Light and joined the crowd. I felt it edging back in – JOY! You could almost hear carnival music.

Wondering with the crowd, I landed in a neighborhood that had eluded me the day before with my map and my list.  There it was – a perfect accident.  I broke my rules and ate in a restaurant with a menu in four languages.  The food was adequate but the people-watching was stellar.

It was a day off amid a vacation.  So, back to Paris and the horse chestnut trees.

On this morning, I bought a pastry on the corner and started a slow ramble along the Champs de Mars. Following a bustle of activity, I watched with the crowd as three military helicopters landed like very dusty dragonflies. (We agreed, the crowd and I, that this was either very interesting or very bad.) Then, from far down the park, we heard the jingle of bridles and the most amazing equestrian parade appeared.

A visiting dignitary had apparently arrived and was whisked into L’Ecole Militaire. Soon after, they emerged once more, were bundled into a motorcade, and traveled down the boulevard with brilliantly uniformed riders before, after, and alongside the cars.

It was spectacular.

And then they were gone, and I continued my stroll. What next?

I like problem-solving and gain great gratification from jumping hurdles and finding myself on the train after a tricky connection or achieving that elusive sunset view at the very right moment.

It is, though, a balance to maintain – the combination of great feats and achieving a purpose and just strolling with a camera and ice cream.  That day in Paris I wore a dress that I almost gave away. “At my age,” I thought, “this dress would only work walking along the Seine in Paris with an ice cream cone.”  So I did and then left the dress for the next guest.