
Life-on-the-road strategies for women traveling alone
Since the 1990s, I’ve been a journalist whose beat is out-of-the-way places. I’ve reported stories in India, Nepal, Bhutan, Colombia, Tasmania, Brazil, the Marquesas Islands, and the Falkland Islands, to name a few. While most of these trips have been mind-expanding in the best possible way, I’ve occasionally found myself alone in some interesting situations. The partial list includes jumping out of a truck as the driver stopped at a village intersection in northern Patagonia, because the four men inside it freaked me out, and running daily down a lonely road lined by land mines while waiting for the once-per-week flight out of the Falkland Islands.
I’m lucky that I’ve returned home with nothing more than a few scares and some stitches. I still maintain, however, that it’s a good thing to go it alone on occasion, whether camping in the wilderness, road-tripping cross-country, or flying across the world.
The reasons to go almost always outweigh the reasons to stay home. For one, the freedom is intoxicating, and the majority of people you meet are good human beings, as witnessed by one of my many overly enthusiastic journal entries, this one from a solitary run while in New Zealand in 2003:
Wellington! Botanic gardens, pastel cottages, and a steep climb into 61 acres of dwarf conifers. A muddy path took me to a forest full of chirping birds and a bench that overlooked the sailboats on the bay. I got lost on the way back into the city, but when I finally hit pavement a few hours later, I passed a gentleman walking two terriers. “Good morning, Lovey,” he said. What stranger in the U.S. greets you with the “L” word?
Traveling solo also trains you to hypertune your intuition. Any woman who has traveled alone knows that primal chest-tightening, stomach-churning, bodily red alert when something is not quite right. By now I’ve learned to trust those instincts. Most importantly, when I’m alone, there’s no one else to carry my pack when it’s heavy, find a hotel or campsite when I’m tired, find me food when I’m hungry, or consult with on the wisest path forward when I’m lost—physically or emotionally. That has taught me two important things: to take responsibility for my own actions—a good lesson to learn early, because it applies to everything in life—and that when there is someone else to help carry the load, ease the hardships of travel, and share the joys, it makes me appreciate that person exponentially more.
It’s tricky to find the right balance between safety and freedom while on the road, but my formula includes the following: