A Domino Effect

This post is a little late in coming (as in, like, I’ve been home for a month, what the heck have I been doing late) but I remember in the hazily distant days of early June promising you guys some of my thoughts on travelling alone.  Well, without further ado, delay or pause…

Let me make one thing absolutely clear: travelling alone was wonderful, but it was definitely not the most fun I’ve ever had in my life.  It made me feel more independent, it toughened me up a bit and it’s given me a new perspective on the things I think I’m capable of (short answer: a lot more than I previously thought).  What it certainly didn’t do, however, was have me giggling every thirty seconds about its own ridiculous amazingness.

And honestly?  Neither did I expect it to have such an effect.  Because the truth is, travelling – whether alone or in company – is a never-ending series of ups and downs.  ”Holy hell the world is about to implode” disasters, interspersed with “I’ve never felt so alive in my life” periods of elation.

Let me illustrate.  On the very first day of my Italy trip I had a shamefully public breakdown at the airport in Edinburgh before I left.  There were tears, there was a shortage of breath, there were gasps of “Oh my God I can’t do this”.  Then, once my boyfriend had persuaded me that I could do this, and I was on the plane, there was a serene sense of calm, and several reassuring repetitions of “Oh my God I AM doing this”.  Then, as soon as I stepped off the plane in Milan, I got myself stuck in a toilet cubicle in the airport.  Cue second panic attack of the day, lots more bursts of “OH MY GOD HE WAS LYING I REALLY CAN’T DO THIS”, followed by a very red face on my part (when I eventually managed to bust myself out after banging on the door and wailing for help, I realised that the bathroom was full of people waiting quietly in line.  All from my flight, of course, which meant I then had to stand next to them for 15 minutes while we waited for our luggage).  But by the end of the day, I was drinking wine and eating pizza at a table outside a little backstreet trattoria, watching the Italians go about their Thursday evening business and feeling happier than I had in a long time.  I opened up my travel journal and wrote “I am proud of myself” in big letters on the first page.  I felt like I was sitting on top of the world.

So I’m not going to don any rose-tinted spectacles and recount my experiences in Italy as the best time of my life.  Because the truth is that at times it was bloody difficult.  In addition to panic attacks and locking myself in bathrooms, I got lost innumerable times in Venice, I had an unnerving encounter with a strange man in Milan, I got on a bus going in the wrong direction in Florence and I got eaten alive by bed bugs in Rome.  All of that was before I missed my flight back to the UK and had to pay £200 extra just to get home to my own bed and a hot shower.

But regardless of all of that, I’m still inordinately glad that I went.  In case you’re sitting there wondering why after reading the last paragraph, here are a few lessons I learned along the way:

Solo travel is normal! Before I went to Italy, several people I told about my trip expressed reservations about my ambition to go away alone.  In fact, a couple went a lot further than that, making it pretty clear that they thought I was barking mad.  Well, I can now tell you (and them) that travelling alone is a completely normal thing to do, and that every second person you meet in a hostel is probably doing, or will have done at some point, the same thing.  The moral of the story?  Trust your own instincts and take any advice offered by naysayers with a hefty dose of salt.

Sometimes?  Things are your fault. One of the most refreshing things I discovered while travelling alone was that there’s absolutely no one else around to argue with.  And the result?  You don’t have any arguments!  If things go wrong, it’s your fault, end of.  No “You should have done X!”, “Why didn’t you suggest Y?”, “Who’s stupid bloody idea was this?” Solo travel encourages the taking of responsibilities and the acceptance of fault.  Both good things.

There is Power in the Now. It sounds ridiculously basic, but travelling on my own taught me to stop fretting about what’s ahead, and focus simply on putting one foot in front of another.  Instead of freaking myself out of my mind at the prospect of getting from airport to hostel, or city A to city B, I learned to simply focus on one step at a time.  Collecting my baggage; finding the bus stop; paying for my ticket; getting hold of a map… Put one foot in front of the other and repeat until you get somewhere.  Don’t worry about anything else.

Not every friend need be a friend for life. It might seem a little harsh, but you don’t have to become best friends for life with the people you meet when you’re travelling.  Smile, say hello, perhaps have dinner, but don’t worry if it doesn’t go any further than that.  Part of the travel experience is the meeting of new people, not necessarily the befriending of those people for life.  I’m glad I know that now.

You can do things when you really have to. Travelling alone will force situations upon you that you have no option but to deal with.  If you don’t know which train to get on, you’re going to have to find someone to ask, and ask them, even if, as in my case, your language skills are verging on the non-existent and you need to pull off some pretty involved gesturing to make yourself understood.  Unless you’re comfortable with the idea of ending up halfway across the continent, you’ve got no choice.  And having no choice means you’ll do it.  And doing it means you’ll have achieved something.

Image above from We Heart It.

Being outside of the throes of blogging for nearly a month has given me plenty of opportunity to take a step back and think about the whole thing.  Entertain no doubts: I love writing here, but I do sometimes ponder what it’s all about.  Is it brazen of me to publish my thoughts and then enjoy having people read them?  Do I sound vain, or smug?  Do I offend anyone?  And who am I doing it for?  All of these are questions that I’ve been taking the time to consider during my brief hiatus.  Which inevitably got me thinking about the nature of blogging generally, and my pet hate topic: statistics.

I love to write, but only when I find the subject matter interesting or when it’s relevant to, or about, my life.  I’m a fairweather writer, in other words.  I like to write about capsule wardrobes and planting seeds and reusing jam jars and how much I hate fashion magazines because those are all subjects that I enjoy thinking about myself.  And although I’m blessed to have a funny, articulate, super smart and genuinely lovely bunch of people reading the things I have to say (which, let it be said, undoubtedly makes my blogging experience significantly more enjoyable) I’m fairly convinced I would still be satisfied if no one else in the world read these little ramblings of mine.  In other words, and cliched as I’m sure it probably sounds, I’m primarily here for myself.

Which is the main reason why I become so confused when I see bloggers who I genuinely consider to be talented individuals with plenty of useful things to say whining about the fact that the whole world isn’t tuning in once a day to soak up their words of apparent wisdom (some people seem properly baffled by this).  Not only do I find this kind of behaviour abhorrently childish and irritating, but it actually also offends me.  It offends me because it implies that having even one devoted reader (me!) is not enough for them.  If the stats aren’t in the stratosphere, then it’s been a total disaster and is no longer worth carrying on with.  Wow, thanks for that – there’s nothing quite like feeling appreciated, is there?

And the irony is that as soon as a blogger begins to moan about low readership levels, it’s only a matter of time before I myself will stop reading.  One blog that I had been into for well over a year shut down altogether recently, the author citing lack of time and a desire to move on to pastures new.  That’s entirely fair enough, of course, but I couldn’t help but feel like the decision was tinged with resentment at the fact that his blog hadn’t taken the world by storm.  I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that what he was really saying was “Not enough people are reading what I have to say here, therefore I’m not going to say anything at all!”.  Classic toys out of the pram behaviour, right?  I didn’t just pull that interpretation from nowhere, by the way – several posts in the run up to the decision to quit had expressed frustration at the low readership and the lack of interest.  And to tell the absolute truth?  I had become bored pretty soon after the first of those, and was clinging on more through a sense of loyalty than a desire to read.  To tell the absolute truth, I was almost relieved when he finally gave up the ghost.

Lots of people seem to come to blogging with the intention of becoming the next big thing; of taking the literary world by storm and of having their first book published before year number one is out (a book dealing with the fascinating topic that is low readership by the looks of it, given that they rarely seem to talk of anything else).  And if those are the expectations, then sorry folks, but as far as I’m concerned the boat has been well and truly missed.  Because while it’s certainly possible to make a mint online, only a tiny fraction of the people who ever put fingers to keyboard actually get there.  And when someone does get there, sometimes it has more to do with luck and PR than it does brilliant writing.

And where is “there” anyway?  From my limited experience, pretty soon after a blog becomes big it morphs into a noticeboard for adverts, product reviews and plugs for books, online courses and countless other bits of paraphernalia that I’ve absolutely no interest in buying.  In other words, the things that drew me to the blog in the first place – the ideas and the writing usually – are no longer able to shine through.  Is that really what it means to have made it in blogging?  To have someone pay you to filter their own agenda through your brain and then your fingertips?  If that’s the case, then I NEVER want to visit that place.  Few things fill me with more dread than the thought of someone else paying me to spout forth their ideas onto a website that I claim is a representation of me as a person.

Of course there are some bloggers out there who enjoy great success at what they do and who still manage to refrain from entering through the gates of marketing hell.  These bloggers pull off the ultimate heist: retaining their original spark – even through the smog of product review – and getting paid for it.  And good for them!  I’m not against making money from blogging at all, indeed I’ve been lucky enough to make some myself over the couple of years I’ve been at it.  My objections only begin when a blog loses its identity – what drew me to it in the first place – because the author is more intent on dollar chasing than actually writing like I know they can.  And that’s fine too of course, but it does usually signal the end for me as a reader.

So to return to my original point (my ability to rant my way off on a tangent never fails to amaze me), I missed you guys!  I missed blogging!  I missed this little corner of the internet!  And not because I have some ego-driven desire to conquer the world through the medium of my written word (I’m pretty sure that would take more than posts about reusing jam jars and planting seeds), but just because…

I love it here.

And if you love it also…

…then that’s just wonderful.

Image above via We Heart It.

My Rough Guide to Italy describes the country as possibly the greatest in the world.  In fact, most guide books seem to rate that tiny peninsula that sticks, thigh high boot-like out into the Mediterranean sea, as one of the most deeply fascinating places on earth.  And let’s be honest - it’s definitely a contender.  Repository of some of the world’s most famous works of art, teller of some of mankind’s most enrapturing historical tales and religious heartland of one billion Catholics, Italy has some pretty solid credentials.

Well, I didn’t go to Italy because of the history – wondrous as it undoubtedly is.  Neither did I go for the art, although thanks to this fantastic book and my art-mad sister I did pretty well on that front throughout my three weeks.  I’m also a borderline atheist, so I certainly didn’t go for religious reasons (I use the word ‘borderline’ as while atheism is almost certainly the correct way to describe most of my views, I’m still not 100% comfortable using it).  No, I chose Italy for two very simple reasons: language and food.  Sort of like Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love in a way, minus the horrific divorce, the manic depression and the quest for spiritual enlightenment.

So while I was plenty happy gazing at Milan’s magnificent Duomo, gallery hopping in Florence and circling Pisa’s leaning tower to find the jauntiest angle for a photo, I was always at my Italian happiest when I was either eating or speaking the language.  Very often I would speak the language in order to facilitate eating, as I got to grips with ordering in cafes and shops (this made me ridiculously happy, just for the record).  And because I had set out with only two modest hopes – improve my language skills and find some mind-boggling pizza – I came home not only with a cavalcade of happy memories, but also a set of well and truly exceeded aspirations.

Because that’s the thing about Italy.  People expect a lot of it.  And often, from snippets of conversation I’ve overheard in bars and discussions I’ve had with people in hostels, it fails to meet a lot of those expectations, the holders of which then return home disappointed and perhaps a little bitter.  Because while Italy is the home of some of the world’s most awe-inspiring architecture, beautiful paintings and iconic landscapes, it is also a modern, twenty-first century country.  A country trying to make its way in the world, and a country that, in so doing, is having to grapple seriously with all the attendant problems, flaws and hang-ups that such a status entails.

And that’s to ignore the fact that Italy is one of the most heavily touristed places on earth.  Fifteen thousand people visit the Sistine Chapel in Rome every single day.  Fifteen thousand!  Italy is most definitely not the place to go if you want to have a completely unique travel experience – I certainly know that my own personal itinerary was a carbon copy of a bunch of other travellers I met along the way.  Neither is Italy the place to go if you can’t abide erratic road traffic regulation, knock-off Louis Vuitton handbags and invasion of your personal space by over-friendly restauranteurs…

Nevertheless, to me, Italy is wonderful, and I spent three incredibly enjoyable weeks there.  I ate some of the most sublime food (and surprised myself by trying both octopus and tripe), I looked at some of the most wonderful buildings and I enjoyed myself in the most complete of ways.  I’ve got another post to come on my thoughts on travelling alone (which I could most probably sum up here with the word AWESOME), and a post on Italian food (again, AWESOME) but for now, I would just like to thank Italy for making my stay such an enjoyable one.  Arrivederci wonderful, wonderful country, I’ll be back.

Well my friends, the time has come.**  In 24 hours I’ll have landed in Milan and will be nervously shuffling striding confidently towards my first plate of risotto alla Milanese.  Excited?  Much (especially about the food).  Terrified?  Completely.

Despite my pre-trip nerves, and in complete contrast to the day before most of the other holidays I’ve been on, today has been rather stress-free.  I think it’s all down to the packing.  There’s no doubting that taking only one rucksack has forced me to consider only what’s really necessary.  And you know what?  It’s been liberating.  It pleased the minimalist in me for one thing, and the knowledge that my material life for the next three weeks fits in its entirety into that tiny little space has actually proved to be rather pleasing.  So now it’s just me, my backpack and my faulty sense of direction – what could possibly go wrong?!

I made the fatal mistake the other day of thinking I’d have time to schedule a few “here’s one I wrote earlier” blog posts before I go.  Needless to say I did not get round to this.  So I’ve decided instead to simply relax, de-internet and recharge my blogging batteries.  I’ll be back in a few weeks’ time, most likely with several additional pounds of pizza weight and an impressive smattering of sunburn!

Arrivederci my lovelies, have wonderful weeks!

**(to raise the roof and have some fun)

Image above from Weheartit.

I know that there are plenty of free-spirited and ultra confident travellers out there for whom 14 days alone in a western European country would seem about as worrying a prospect as jaunting to the corner shop for a pint of milk.  For a solo travel neophyte like me, however, my upcoming trip to Italy is quite a big deal.

While I’m more content with my own company than lots of people I know, I can’t yet be certain that two weeks of travelling alone is something I’ll take to all that easily.  And while the logical, “it’s never as bad as you think” side of my brain is repeatedly telling me that I’m going to be back here in a month’s time, extolling the virtues of solo holidaying to anyone who will listen, right now, pre-trip, I have to admit to being pretty gosh darn nervous.

So in a bid to appease my pre-travel misgivings, and to focus instead on all the really great things that three weeks in Italy might bring (knocking back espresso alongside Milan’s suited and booted!  Attempting not to fall into the Grand Canal in Venice!  Pondering the myriad masterpieces in Florence’s Uffizi!) I’ve put together the following list of hints and tips to make the prospect of solo travel seem just a little bit less scary…

The whole point of a trip alone is that you don’t take your friends with you.  Real life friends, that is – no one said anything about your literary ones.  And seriously – what better way to stave off an attack of the blues than to bury your head in a book?  I’ll be making a specially planned trip to the library this week to stock up on holiday reads for all those cross-country train journeys I’ll be taking.  I’m also on the look-out for a beginner’s guide to Italian art, so if anyone has any ideas or recommendations, please leave a comment and save me from looking like the world’s biggest philistine.  Much obliged.

When I went to Rome two years ago, my friend and I took the wrong bus to our out of town hostel on the first night, only to find ourselves in a dark and all but deserted bus station on the outskirts of the city.  To us as a pair, this was little more than something to laugh about, and it made for a great story to recount when we got home.  If I’d been alone, however, this would have triggered supreme panic overdrive, possibly to the detriment of my entire holiday.  So this time around, to minimise my chances of getting lost and having a profoundly melodramatic public breakdown, I’ve booked my hostels in and around the central areas of the towns and cities I’m visiting, and I’m stocking up on easy-to-read maps.  While such an approach can be a little more costly than heading out to the suburbs and seeing where the wind takes you, as far as I’m concerned, sanity comes at no price.

When my boyfriend and I travelled round the States last year, we mostly stayed in private rooms in the hostels we went to.  Perfect for a little peace and quiet after long days of sightseeing, but not so great for getting to know the travellers around us.  While the dorm experience certainly isn’t for everyone (especially for those who simply can’t sleep without complete silence), the thought of being surrounded by people really appeals to me now, when I’m planning on doing everything else alone.  Having someone to chat to in the next bunk as opposed to returning to a quiet hotel room seems to me to be a pretty sensible choice for a solo traveller.  Earplugs at the ready!

It’s safe to say that the more I read about the places I’m visiting, the less apprehensive I feel about actually going.  While I’m not generally in favour of devouring absolutely every piece of information about a place before I actually get there (I like the element of discovery), a little bit of background research and perhaps a brief squint at Wikitravel can certainly help you familiarise yourself with a place before you go.  It also pays to know a bit about the transport system of a particular town or city prior to attempting to use it: if you at least know that there are four tram lines before you arrive at the station, you’re less likely to get yourself into a panic-stricken state of confusion when you do get there.

I’ve encountered a fair few “Oh my God you’re going ALONE”-type responses to the news of my travels.  Admittedly, these responses mainly came from people for whom a trip to a coffee shop without a companion would be totally out of the question.  But at the same time, unless you have rock steady confidence, and an unshakeable belief in your own plans (neither of which I always do) it can be difficult to ignore the naysayers around you.  I’ve found that the best antidote to someone expressing fear and horror at my plans is talking to someone supportive who is completely behind me.  It’s also worth remembering that while travelling alone probably isn’t for everyone, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it might not be for me.

Travelling alone has been on my list of things to do for years now.  I’m excited about the things I might learn about myself; I’m excited about where it’s going to take me; the people I might meet and the experiences I’ll have as a result of my decision to just do it, despite my hangups.  And besides, you only need to spend half an hour with some of the best travel blogs there are out there to realise that a) people travel alone and REALLY ENJOY IT (not just put up with it, REALLY ENJOY IT) all the time and b) I will never know if I might actually BE one of those people unless I go and give it a go.  Nothing more to say really!

What are your thoughts on travelling alone?

Image above from Flickr – Mamboman1.