Florence, Italy
01/03/23
Shortly after I wrote these tips for solo travelers last year, I learned another important piece of travel advice for those going it alone: Know when to call it quits.
Last summer, my three-week live-work stint in Sicily was supposed to culminate in a 9-day vacation/whiplash tour of Italy with stops in Naples, Positano, Florence and Rome. But relationship trouble had been brewing back home all summer and by the time I headed to Italy’s mainland, I was nursing a badly broken heart.
I had gone out of my way to pack light for that month-plus in Europe. I was so proud that I’d brought nothing but a carry-on containing “5 easy pieces,” as a friend of mine had dubbed the capsule wardrobe I created for myself. I’d move through my total of 5 stops unencumbered, with such ease!
But by that third week in July, checked bag or not, I was physically heavy. Movement at all felt insurmountable.
I made it to Naples, where I dragged myself through a day trip to Pompeii, only to fight tears all day and not care one lick what the tour guide was saying. I didn’t want to cast that veil of sadness over all my would-be memories of Florence and Rome, too. I imagined that every time I saw an image of Florence or Rome in the future, I’d only remember how broken I’d felt when I was in those places. So I packed it in. Changed my ticket. And went home.
And I am so glad that I did.
It would have been completely within my nature to have said, No, Sonya. Be strong. You can do this. Don’t let a man ruin your trip. But, in fact, by going home, I didn’t let him ruin my trip.
I didn’t have any room in my heart for the expansive joy that travel brings me.
Now, five months later, I am back in Italy to complete that leg of the trip that I didn’t do back in July. And the first source of travel joy for me was the simple feeling of empowerment I got from coming back here to do this.
When I travel, the most joyful moments are usually small, unremarkable ones. The ones I can’t photograph. Sure, standing face to face (or more like face to kneecap) with Michaelangelo’s David was a weighty moment, but the one I’ll remember most will be this one: striding across the Piazza del Duomo at 8am, before it filled with tourists, precisely when the church bells started to ring. At this moment, the bells weren’t a spectacle for outsiders (except for me), but just the sound of the start of another day in Florence. All around me, individuals (not families on vacation or tour groups following a flag-carrying guide) moved in different directions across the piazza to start each of their days — untold different days, many of them probably mundane like my own days often are back home.
And I had been allowed a window into it. I was somehow (miraculously, it seemed!) permitted to observe a few bits of their morning routines. They drink tiny espressos quickly and standing at café counters rather than carrying large lidded paper cups with cardboard sleeves through their entire commute; drivers maneuver cars through tiny passages with no apparent rage at the pedestrians who choose to walk in the middle of the street rather than along sidewalks that are barely wider than an American curb; street peddlers glance up at the cross atop the basilica and make the sign of it across themselves, kissing a thumbnail before they set up their mobile souvenir shops for the day. All of this is backed by the church bells.
I can’t say why this moment — more than the Botticelli paintings, the Colosseum, David, and the Vatican — moved me so much, but it was here on the piazza that I was overcome with that expansive joy. And gratitude. To be alive, to have been given a life at all, to live in this world, and to get to see so much of it.
Showing posts with label Sicily. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sicily. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 10, 2023
Tuesday, July 19, 2022
How to Be Alone Without (*Always*) Being Lonely: Tips for Solo Digital Nomads
Catania, Sicily
07/19/22
I don’t travel alone because I just want to be alone. But since I was very little, I have wanted to see this whole world. That’s not as important to everyone as it is to me. And not everyone has the freedom that I have (unmarried, no kids, 100% remote working freelancer) to make it happen. So if I’m going to do it (and not wait till my friends are retired and risk never doing it at all), I’m at least going to have to do some traveling alone.
About once a year, I leave Atlanta and travel somewhere (usually abroad) for roughly a month, work for about three weeks of that time, and then take a week or so off to do some tourism. So far, I’ve done this in Morocco, Malta, Miami, Mexico City (not sure why I chose to knock out all those M’s first), Santa Fé, and Sicily.
I have found these trips to be positively exhilarating in the way they make me feel empowered, independent, and capable. (Read more about that here.) But yes, 1,000 times yes, I absolutely do get lonely! Every time I do another one of these digital nomad (DN) trips, I learn new ways to stave off loneliness, which helps keep my energy up (loneliness is a real energy sucker!) so I can see and do all that I planned.
Here’s my tips. Note: These tips are for DNs who plan extended stays in a single spot, during which they’ll work and have some semblance of a normal day-to-day life. These don’t necessarily apply to solo vacations.
1 - Stay in a coliving house. These are communal living situations that tend to draw other DNs (i.e. people who are working while they travel rather than backpackers and other travelers). They are typically higher end than hostels and, in my estimation, draw a crowd that skews a little older and a little more established than the hostel set – grownups. Any coliving house that I have looked at offers private rooms; most but not all offer private bathrooms; and you share a kitchen, a coworking space, and other living spaces. They are as livable and well-equipped as an AirBnB, but they come with one thing that an AirBnB doesn’t: friends!
In a coliving space, you will find an instant community of other solo travelers who are open to new friendships, having company on their adventures, and accompanying you on yours. In these spaces, I find that I can always participate as much or as little as I want without fear that if I decline an invitation to hang out with someone they won’t invite me the next time. I often choose which city I’m going to visit next because it has a coliving house that I’d like to stay in. That’s how I ended up in Catania, Sicily, where I am right now, staying at Cummari, a coliving for solo female travelers.
(Pictured above left, my housemates and I on a daytrip to Ortigia, Sicily, on Saturday. Two yogis from Madison, WI, and a fashion professional turned English-teaching DN from NYC.)
If you want to know more about my experiences in coliving houses, a post on that is coming soon, and I will link to it here.
2 - Join a coworking space. This one is especially important if you are in a city that doesn’t have a coliving house. At a coworking space, you might meet people who want to hang out. (Though not always, since the members at a coworking space are usually locals with their own lives. They are not traveling and “up for anything” like you are.)
But, even if you don’t make new friends, there’s still so much value in going somewhere every day where people look at you with recognition, greet you when you come in, and ask if they will see you tomorrow. I mean come on, here at the coworking space in Sicily, there’s a silver fox who gives me a flirty smile every time he walks past my table, greets me in the morning when he comes in and bids me adieu each evening when he leaves. Now if that doesn’t take the blues away, I don’t know what will.
Seriously though, being a foreigner traveling solo can sometimes draw a lot of unwanted attention, but just as often it can make you feel invisible because you’re not “one of us.” When you join a coworking space, at least in that space, during your working hours, you are someone who belongs. You’re “one of us.”
In most coworking spaces I’ve used, the staff have been friendly and chatty. In major international cities, you also tend to find other expats at coworking spaces, with whom you’ll have a lot in common if you just chat them up.
In Mexico City, at a gorgeous expat-filled space called Coffice, I always chatted with Annie from Greenville, SC.
If you can’t find a coworking space in your area, go to the same cafe to work every day in order to try to get the same effect. But, beware, it’s not quite the same. At a coworking space, the business model is to let you come in with your laptop and stay all day. At some coffee shops, they might hate customers who do this – unless you want to get another $5 latte every hour or so.
If you are concerned about the cost of a coworking space, the day rate is usually less than you would spend buying lattes all day to secure your table in a coffee shop. In fact, many coworking spaces, though not all of them, include coffee.
Even if you are at a coliving house that has a workspace, you might still prefer to leave during the day to go to a coworking space. I’ve been at coliving houses where the workspace situation was ideal for me and some where it wasn’t.
In Malta, the coliving house was big and could house probably 20 people at full capacity. As such, the coworking room was big, too, and there were always people in there working quietly. For me, the mix of company and quiet made the perfect working environment.
So, I’ve been going to a coworking space in order to have a place to go during the day, see more people than just the handful of guests at the house, and to have a routine (more on that below).
Also, if you’re a digital nomad, you’ve traveled all this way on your own presumably to get a slice of life. You’ll get a bigger slice in a local coworking space than you would by working from your local home.
3 - Develop a routine. This is sort of the same idea as the coworking space. Find your spot where you’ll get coffee every morning on the way to work (even if work is back at the coliving house), become a regular at a restaurant or bar (no, you don’t want to go to the same restaurant every night in this far-off place where you want to see and do as much as possible, but if you are a DN, you are probably staying in one place for more than a week or so, and you can spare the time to eat at the same place more than once). The routine will help you become a familiar face, rather than feeling invisible. It will help keep you focused when you do get a little lonely or homesick and feel unmotivated to work or sightsee. And, again, it will show you a slice of life that you won’t get if you’re never in the same place twice.
Here’s a post about my routine in Barcelona, which included working from a laundromat cafe.
4 - Schedule stuff. Of course, you’re not working all the time. You came here to see and enjoy this place. Some wide open free time is a wonderful thing, but don’t leave all your off time open if you are prone to loneliness. Don’t wait till Saturday morning, for example, to decide how you’re going to spend the day. If you’re feeling a little lonely or unmotivated, come Saturday morning, you might just stay in bed all day and later regret it. So, if you decide you’re going to check out that village about an hour away, go ahead and buy the train tickets in advance. Or get yourself tickets to a show, reservations at a restaurant, or a spot on a tour. Putting down a little money in advance will keep you accountable and, as you know, once you go do the thing you planned to do, you’re almost always glad you did.
5 - Give yourself permission to do nothing. That is, don’t schedule everything. If you chose to stay a while in this far-off place so that you could get a taste of real life, don’t forget that real life includes crashing in the evening after work some nights and binging a show. You don’t have to post that part on Instagram if you don’t want to. (I think you should though! Normalize it.) When I was in Mexico City, I took amazing day trips every weekend, but almost every weeknight, I came home from the coworking space, got into bed with a chocolate bar, and watched Casa de Las Flores on Mexican Netflix. And I loved it!
Just this weekend, here in Sicily, I had a full-on weekend. I spent all day Saturday touring a nearby town with my 3 housemates and all day Sunday on the beach with 1 of my housemates. You want to know what I did last night? I ordered a pizza from the place on the corner (but of course since I’m in Sicily, even ordering a pizza to eat alone at home is still pretty freaking cool) and we got in bed together – me and the pizza – where I watched Together Together on Netflix. And that’s ok! (Together Together was also just “ok.”) You can’t just go, go, go all the time. Even if you’re in the most beautiful and exotic city in the world, you still need time to just veg out. It makes the go-go-go time even better.
6 - Talk to strangers. Some of my best solo travel memories happened because I talk to strangers when I travel on my own. Obviously, you still have to use your judgment – especially if you’re a solo female traveler – but I have met people and had conversations that I never would have (A) If I were traveling with friends and (B) If I were afraid to talk to strangers.
Strike up a conversation with that other solo person at a restaurant, bar or tourist attraction. Ask someone for a light, for that extra napkin on their table, or directions even if you don’t need them in a play to start a conversation with a potentially interesting stranger.
If you want to know more about some of the times I’ve talked to strangers (and how it got me free desserts and a mini-tour of Paris at breakneck speed), a blog post on that is coming up soon. I’ll link to it here.
7 - Consider the time zone. My previous solo trips to Europe and similar time zones have not been quite as long as this current month in Sicily. I’ve done long stints in the Americas, where I’m in the same time zone as back home or at least within an hour or so of it. I had never considered how much that mattered. In time zones closer to home, I could pick up the phone and call my family, friends or my boyfriend just like I would at home – without thinking about it and without scheduling it.
Sicily is six hours ahead of Atlanta. It didn’t seem like a big deal when I planned this trip, but it has been. There’s been almost no spontaneous calling friends when I need to hear a familiar voice or talk to someone who knows me. Whenever the urge to talk to someone at home has struck, it’s been at a time that they’d be asleep or at work.
Last night/this morning, in Sicily, I happened to wake up in the middle of the night. I reached for my phone to see what time it was (4am here, 10pm back home) and saw that I had gotten a text from my boyfriend just a few minutes earlier. “Are you awake?” (Yes, I know that's usually the opening line to a booty call, but when you are in a far-off time zone and you get a text that asks if you're awake, well, sometimes a rose is just a rose.) I was awake now, so I turned on my lamp and FaceTimed him, knowing that if I waited till I was awake for real in a couple hours, he’d be asleep for another 6 to 8 hours and then off to start his busy day. It’s catch as catch can.
This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t travel solo to a far-off time zone because you’ll die of loneliness. I just suggest you think about it. The time difference isn’t nothing. And it does have consequences for the solo traveler who might (read: will definitely) get lonely sometimes.
Of course, there are workarounds. You can schedule a standing phone date with your significant other or your bestie at a time that’s mutually convenient. But when that unexpected rush of loneliness or homesickness catches you unaware, there’s a lot to be said for picking up the phone and calling a friend right then. If that’s not possible, you’ll need to have another coping mechanism at the ready.
In Sicily, a glass of rosé has often done the trick.
07/19/22
I don’t travel alone because I just want to be alone. But since I was very little, I have wanted to see this whole world. That’s not as important to everyone as it is to me. And not everyone has the freedom that I have (unmarried, no kids, 100% remote working freelancer) to make it happen. So if I’m going to do it (and not wait till my friends are retired and risk never doing it at all), I’m at least going to have to do some traveling alone.
About once a year, I leave Atlanta and travel somewhere (usually abroad) for roughly a month, work for about three weeks of that time, and then take a week or so off to do some tourism. So far, I’ve done this in Morocco, Malta, Miami, Mexico City (not sure why I chose to knock out all those M’s first), Santa Fé, and Sicily.
I have found these trips to be positively exhilarating in the way they make me feel empowered, independent, and capable. (Read more about that here.) But yes, 1,000 times yes, I absolutely do get lonely! Every time I do another one of these digital nomad (DN) trips, I learn new ways to stave off loneliness, which helps keep my energy up (loneliness is a real energy sucker!) so I can see and do all that I planned.
Here’s my tips. Note: These tips are for DNs who plan extended stays in a single spot, during which they’ll work and have some semblance of a normal day-to-day life. These don’t necessarily apply to solo vacations.
1 - Stay in a coliving house. These are communal living situations that tend to draw other DNs (i.e. people who are working while they travel rather than backpackers and other travelers). They are typically higher end than hostels and, in my estimation, draw a crowd that skews a little older and a little more established than the hostel set – grownups. Any coliving house that I have looked at offers private rooms; most but not all offer private bathrooms; and you share a kitchen, a coworking space, and other living spaces. They are as livable and well-equipped as an AirBnB, but they come with one thing that an AirBnB doesn’t: friends!
In a coliving space, you will find an instant community of other solo travelers who are open to new friendships, having company on their adventures, and accompanying you on yours. In these spaces, I find that I can always participate as much or as little as I want without fear that if I decline an invitation to hang out with someone they won’t invite me the next time. I often choose which city I’m going to visit next because it has a coliving house that I’d like to stay in. That’s how I ended up in Catania, Sicily, where I am right now, staying at Cummari, a coliving for solo female travelers.
(Pictured above left, my housemates and I on a daytrip to Ortigia, Sicily, on Saturday. Two yogis from Madison, WI, and a fashion professional turned English-teaching DN from NYC.)
If you want to know more about my experiences in coliving houses, a post on that is coming soon, and I will link to it here.
2 - Join a coworking space. This one is especially important if you are in a city that doesn’t have a coliving house. At a coworking space, you might meet people who want to hang out. (Though not always, since the members at a coworking space are usually locals with their own lives. They are not traveling and “up for anything” like you are.)
But, even if you don’t make new friends, there’s still so much value in going somewhere every day where people look at you with recognition, greet you when you come in, and ask if they will see you tomorrow. I mean come on, here at the coworking space in Sicily, there’s a silver fox who gives me a flirty smile every time he walks past my table, greets me in the morning when he comes in and bids me adieu each evening when he leaves. Now if that doesn’t take the blues away, I don’t know what will.
Seriously though, being a foreigner traveling solo can sometimes draw a lot of unwanted attention, but just as often it can make you feel invisible because you’re not “one of us.” When you join a coworking space, at least in that space, during your working hours, you are someone who belongs. You’re “one of us.”
In most coworking spaces I’ve used, the staff have been friendly and chatty. In major international cities, you also tend to find other expats at coworking spaces, with whom you’ll have a lot in common if you just chat them up.
In Mexico City, at a gorgeous expat-filled space called Coffice, I always chatted with Annie from Greenville, SC.
Yesterday, at Isola in Sicily (a coworking space inside a palace!), I met a woman from Brazil.
If you can’t find a coworking space in your area, go to the same cafe to work every day in order to try to get the same effect. But, beware, it’s not quite the same. At a coworking space, the business model is to let you come in with your laptop and stay all day. At some coffee shops, they might hate customers who do this – unless you want to get another $5 latte every hour or so.
If you are concerned about the cost of a coworking space, the day rate is usually less than you would spend buying lattes all day to secure your table in a coffee shop. In fact, many coworking spaces, though not all of them, include coffee.
Even if you are at a coliving house that has a workspace, you might still prefer to leave during the day to go to a coworking space. I’ve been at coliving houses where the workspace situation was ideal for me and some where it wasn’t.
In Malta, the coliving house was big and could house probably 20 people at full capacity. As such, the coworking room was big, too, and there were always people in there working quietly. For me, the mix of company and quiet made the perfect working environment.
Cummari, the coliving house here in Sicily, only houses 4 people max. This is a great number of people for sharing a living space and a workspace for that matter. But, since I’ve been here, only 1 of the guests has been working, and she works in her room with the door closed (because she teaches online and has to talk all day). The other people who have come through the house since I have been here have been on vacation and have not been working. So, while the coworking room at Cummari is stunningly beautiful, I've had it all to myself!
So, I’ve been going to a coworking space in order to have a place to go during the day, see more people than just the handful of guests at the house, and to have a routine (more on that below).
Also, if you’re a digital nomad, you’ve traveled all this way on your own presumably to get a slice of life. You’ll get a bigger slice in a local coworking space than you would by working from your local home.
3 - Develop a routine. This is sort of the same idea as the coworking space. Find your spot where you’ll get coffee every morning on the way to work (even if work is back at the coliving house), become a regular at a restaurant or bar (no, you don’t want to go to the same restaurant every night in this far-off place where you want to see and do as much as possible, but if you are a DN, you are probably staying in one place for more than a week or so, and you can spare the time to eat at the same place more than once). The routine will help you become a familiar face, rather than feeling invisible. It will help keep you focused when you do get a little lonely or homesick and feel unmotivated to work or sightsee. And, again, it will show you a slice of life that you won’t get if you’re never in the same place twice.
Here’s a post about my routine in Barcelona, which included working from a laundromat cafe.
4 - Schedule stuff. Of course, you’re not working all the time. You came here to see and enjoy this place. Some wide open free time is a wonderful thing, but don’t leave all your off time open if you are prone to loneliness. Don’t wait till Saturday morning, for example, to decide how you’re going to spend the day. If you’re feeling a little lonely or unmotivated, come Saturday morning, you might just stay in bed all day and later regret it. So, if you decide you’re going to check out that village about an hour away, go ahead and buy the train tickets in advance. Or get yourself tickets to a show, reservations at a restaurant, or a spot on a tour. Putting down a little money in advance will keep you accountable and, as you know, once you go do the thing you planned to do, you’re almost always glad you did.
5 - Give yourself permission to do nothing. That is, don’t schedule everything. If you chose to stay a while in this far-off place so that you could get a taste of real life, don’t forget that real life includes crashing in the evening after work some nights and binging a show. You don’t have to post that part on Instagram if you don’t want to. (I think you should though! Normalize it.) When I was in Mexico City, I took amazing day trips every weekend, but almost every weeknight, I came home from the coworking space, got into bed with a chocolate bar, and watched Casa de Las Flores on Mexican Netflix. And I loved it!
Just this weekend, here in Sicily, I had a full-on weekend. I spent all day Saturday touring a nearby town with my 3 housemates and all day Sunday on the beach with 1 of my housemates. You want to know what I did last night? I ordered a pizza from the place on the corner (but of course since I’m in Sicily, even ordering a pizza to eat alone at home is still pretty freaking cool) and we got in bed together – me and the pizza – where I watched Together Together on Netflix. And that’s ok! (Together Together was also just “ok.”) You can’t just go, go, go all the time. Even if you’re in the most beautiful and exotic city in the world, you still need time to just veg out. It makes the go-go-go time even better.
6 - Talk to strangers. Some of my best solo travel memories happened because I talk to strangers when I travel on my own. Obviously, you still have to use your judgment – especially if you’re a solo female traveler – but I have met people and had conversations that I never would have (A) If I were traveling with friends and (B) If I were afraid to talk to strangers.
Strike up a conversation with that other solo person at a restaurant, bar or tourist attraction. Ask someone for a light, for that extra napkin on their table, or directions even if you don’t need them in a play to start a conversation with a potentially interesting stranger.
If you want to know more about some of the times I’ve talked to strangers (and how it got me free desserts and a mini-tour of Paris at breakneck speed), a blog post on that is coming up soon. I’ll link to it here.
7 - Consider the time zone. My previous solo trips to Europe and similar time zones have not been quite as long as this current month in Sicily. I’ve done long stints in the Americas, where I’m in the same time zone as back home or at least within an hour or so of it. I had never considered how much that mattered. In time zones closer to home, I could pick up the phone and call my family, friends or my boyfriend just like I would at home – without thinking about it and without scheduling it.
Sicily is six hours ahead of Atlanta. It didn’t seem like a big deal when I planned this trip, but it has been. There’s been almost no spontaneous calling friends when I need to hear a familiar voice or talk to someone who knows me. Whenever the urge to talk to someone at home has struck, it’s been at a time that they’d be asleep or at work.
Last night/this morning, in Sicily, I happened to wake up in the middle of the night. I reached for my phone to see what time it was (4am here, 10pm back home) and saw that I had gotten a text from my boyfriend just a few minutes earlier. “Are you awake?” (Yes, I know that's usually the opening line to a booty call, but when you are in a far-off time zone and you get a text that asks if you're awake, well, sometimes a rose is just a rose.) I was awake now, so I turned on my lamp and FaceTimed him, knowing that if I waited till I was awake for real in a couple hours, he’d be asleep for another 6 to 8 hours and then off to start his busy day. It’s catch as catch can.
This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t travel solo to a far-off time zone because you’ll die of loneliness. I just suggest you think about it. The time difference isn’t nothing. And it does have consequences for the solo traveler who might (read: will definitely) get lonely sometimes.
Of course, there are workarounds. You can schedule a standing phone date with your significant other or your bestie at a time that’s mutually convenient. But when that unexpected rush of loneliness or homesickness catches you unaware, there’s a lot to be said for picking up the phone and calling a friend right then. If that’s not possible, you’ll need to have another coping mechanism at the ready.
In Sicily, a glass of rosé has often done the trick.
Labels:
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coliving,
coworking,
digital nomad,
Malta,
Mexico City,
Miami,
Morocco,
Sicily,
Solo travel
Wednesday, July 6, 2022
Solo travel -- because someone tried to tell me I couldn't
Cummari House, Catania, Sicily.
07/06/22
When I travel solo, I’m going after a very specific feeling. It’s a particular brand of triumph that I don’t get from doing anything else. When I drove from Atlanta to Santa Fe in 3 days; when I landed in Mexico City; when I took a boat to Comino off the coast of Malta, I was overcome by an “I did this!” and “All by myself!”
At the New Mexico state line, on the border of Texas, I had to resist the urge to get out of the car and throw my arms up in the air as if I had just dismounted the uneven bars at the Olympics. I’m starting to figure out where that came from. I was once married to a man who made it his job to take the wind out of my sails, to make me feel weak and small, to make me feel that what mattered to me was stupid and unimportant, to make me feel that I somehow lacked the same savvy and know-how to get through day-to-day life that he and the rest of the world had.
One way he made me feel weak and small was to try to convince me, in various ways at different times, that I was clumsy and accident-prone and didn’t know how to navigate new situations on my own. To put it simply, that I couldn't do anything without quite literally falling on my ass. This was never an impression I had of myself before being in a relationship with him, but over time, he worked at it, and eventually I saw how it might be true (It was not true).
When we split up, when I was 30, I took my first international solo trip. Ironically, my first such trip was supposed to have been to Brazil 7 years earlier when I was 23. I planned the trip before I met him, but by the time the trip rolled around, he and I had been dating in New York for several months, and he (a Brazilian) went with me. Over the course of that year in Brazil, he worked hard to convince me that I could never have done it without him.
When we split up in 2006, I spent 5 weeks in Europe (Portugal [pictured below], Spain and France) on my own.
In Portugal, during a 2-day stay in a beach town called Albufeira, I took a walk down to the beach, and in my red Havaiana flip flops, I ventured out on a large bed of boulders that stretched a ways out into the water.
And then I started to hear his voice.
Had I been with him at this moment, he’d have been repeating over and over, in a tone that clearly communicated an utter absence of faith in me, “Ó! Cuidado pá não cair!” (“Hey! Be careful not to fall” but the tone said “I just know you’re going to fall and ruin everything,”) as he’d hop blithely from rock to rock while I tiptoed slowly behind him, carefully choosing the spot to place my foot for each and every step, lest I fall and prove him right. As you might imagine, the fall hazards were not objects in my path. What put me at risk of falling was the way he made me a nervous wreck.
He often used the purported fact that I was clumsy, accident-prone, and lacked international savvy as an excuse not to bring me on trips with him so he could go on his own. I had dreamt of being a world traveler ever since I understood what a country was; of being a polyglot ever since I knew that there were other languages to be spoken! It was after reading The Sun Also Rises in high school that I decided I'd spend a year abroad when I finished college. (That's what the year in Brazil was about.) I had always been attracted to relationships with foreign people. My friendships in New York and my job teaching English as a second language had facilitated that. And though it wasn't the reason I married him, I had made an assumption that being married to someone of another nationality than my own came with the keys to the world. It didn't. I didn't know I held the keys all along.
On the beach in Albufeira, Portugal, that day in 2006, though I heard his taunting voice in my head, I wasn’t at any risk of falling. I didn’t teeter, wobble or flap my arms as I stepped from rock to rock, sure-footed and further out into the ocean, nor as I raised my camera (a real camera, not a phone!) at an angle above my face to take a picture of this triumphant moment.
Since then, the triumphs have come at a much lower cost. I haven’t had to venture alone across a bed of boulders (in flip flops!) as waves crashed against them in order to chase that high. In Morocco (pictured below), it was successfully acquiring a carton of milk all by myself from a corner store that wasn’t really a store but more like the kitchen window of a private home. In Malta, it was finding myself on that boat with a group in the middle of what is easily one of the most beautiful places on earth as I thought, “I did this. I got myself all the way to the middle of the Mediterranean.” (Sure, I wasn’t the captain of that ship, but you know what I mean.) In Barcelona, it was making myself perfectly understood in Spanish so that the person with whom I was talking didn’t default to English. In Sicily, it was about language, too. I felt the rush when I walked out of my first Italian lesson on Monday and immediately used what I'd learned to buy gum at the shop next door.
It’s been 16 years since my walk on the rocks in Portugal. As time goes on, I feel the need less and less to find new ways to prove that I can do things all by myself. And never again did I feel the need to spend time with people who tried to tell me that I couldn’t.
07/06/22
When I travel solo, I’m going after a very specific feeling. It’s a particular brand of triumph that I don’t get from doing anything else. When I drove from Atlanta to Santa Fe in 3 days; when I landed in Mexico City; when I took a boat to Comino off the coast of Malta, I was overcome by an “I did this!” and “All by myself!”
At the New Mexico state line, on the border of Texas, I had to resist the urge to get out of the car and throw my arms up in the air as if I had just dismounted the uneven bars at the Olympics. I’m starting to figure out where that came from. I was once married to a man who made it his job to take the wind out of my sails, to make me feel weak and small, to make me feel that what mattered to me was stupid and unimportant, to make me feel that I somehow lacked the same savvy and know-how to get through day-to-day life that he and the rest of the world had.
One way he made me feel weak and small was to try to convince me, in various ways at different times, that I was clumsy and accident-prone and didn’t know how to navigate new situations on my own. To put it simply, that I couldn't do anything without quite literally falling on my ass. This was never an impression I had of myself before being in a relationship with him, but over time, he worked at it, and eventually I saw how it might be true (It was not true).
When we split up, when I was 30, I took my first international solo trip. Ironically, my first such trip was supposed to have been to Brazil 7 years earlier when I was 23. I planned the trip before I met him, but by the time the trip rolled around, he and I had been dating in New York for several months, and he (a Brazilian) went with me. Over the course of that year in Brazil, he worked hard to convince me that I could never have done it without him.
When we split up in 2006, I spent 5 weeks in Europe (Portugal [pictured below], Spain and France) on my own.
In Portugal, during a 2-day stay in a beach town called Albufeira, I took a walk down to the beach, and in my red Havaiana flip flops, I ventured out on a large bed of boulders that stretched a ways out into the water.
And then I started to hear his voice.
Had I been with him at this moment, he’d have been repeating over and over, in a tone that clearly communicated an utter absence of faith in me, “Ó! Cuidado pá não cair!” (“Hey! Be careful not to fall” but the tone said “I just know you’re going to fall and ruin everything,”) as he’d hop blithely from rock to rock while I tiptoed slowly behind him, carefully choosing the spot to place my foot for each and every step, lest I fall and prove him right. As you might imagine, the fall hazards were not objects in my path. What put me at risk of falling was the way he made me a nervous wreck.
He often used the purported fact that I was clumsy, accident-prone, and lacked international savvy as an excuse not to bring me on trips with him so he could go on his own. I had dreamt of being a world traveler ever since I understood what a country was; of being a polyglot ever since I knew that there were other languages to be spoken! It was after reading The Sun Also Rises in high school that I decided I'd spend a year abroad when I finished college. (That's what the year in Brazil was about.) I had always been attracted to relationships with foreign people. My friendships in New York and my job teaching English as a second language had facilitated that. And though it wasn't the reason I married him, I had made an assumption that being married to someone of another nationality than my own came with the keys to the world. It didn't. I didn't know I held the keys all along.
On the beach in Albufeira, Portugal, that day in 2006, though I heard his taunting voice in my head, I wasn’t at any risk of falling. I didn’t teeter, wobble or flap my arms as I stepped from rock to rock, sure-footed and further out into the ocean, nor as I raised my camera (a real camera, not a phone!) at an angle above my face to take a picture of this triumphant moment.
Since then, the triumphs have come at a much lower cost. I haven’t had to venture alone across a bed of boulders (in flip flops!) as waves crashed against them in order to chase that high. In Morocco (pictured below), it was successfully acquiring a carton of milk all by myself from a corner store that wasn’t really a store but more like the kitchen window of a private home. In Malta, it was finding myself on that boat with a group in the middle of what is easily one of the most beautiful places on earth as I thought, “I did this. I got myself all the way to the middle of the Mediterranean.” (Sure, I wasn’t the captain of that ship, but you know what I mean.) In Barcelona, it was making myself perfectly understood in Spanish so that the person with whom I was talking didn’t default to English. In Sicily, it was about language, too. I felt the rush when I walked out of my first Italian lesson on Monday and immediately used what I'd learned to buy gum at the shop next door.
It’s been 16 years since my walk on the rocks in Portugal. As time goes on, I feel the need less and less to find new ways to prove that I can do things all by myself. And never again did I feel the need to spend time with people who tried to tell me that I couldn’t.
Labels:
digital nomad,
Malta,
Morocco,
Portugal,
Sicily,
Solo travel
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