The Magic of Solo Trips

Eriko YamakumA

During an afternoon stroll around the city of Copenhagen this summer, my friend and I were discussing whether we might go on solo trips around the country or not. After a minute of silence, she posed an interesting question: "What's the point of traveling solo though? How can you enjoy the sights and sounds by yourself?"

Though I have enjoyed multiple solo trips, and as much as I wanted to convince my friend how valuable they are, I couldn't find a satisfactory explanation. 

After the end of my summer school program in Copenhagen this year, I decided to set out on a solo trip to find an answer. I was on a train looking out at the endless trees and grass fields of green — I was headed to Lund, a city in southern Sweden, a two-hour ride from the city of Copenhagen. When I looked to the opposite seat, there sat my travel mate: my backpack. Since my friend was working that day, I decided to go on a solo trip — a half-day just for myself. 

Lund is a beautiful university town filled with cobblestones and old buildings. Wandering around the center of town, the smell of fresh pastries drew me to the bakery. Hearing my stomach rumble, I decided to have breakfast—a signature Swedish cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee. Though at first I felt self-conscious about sitting alone, seeing an elderly man in front of me sipping coffee while reading the newspaper and a college student intently listening to a lecture on her computer, I felt I wasn't the only one alone. Besides, I had a little pink flower on my table as company. While savoring my breakfast, I looked out to the cloudy sky through the window. 

Soon my mind wandered in an interesting direction. Rather than reminiscing about fun memories in Copenhagen from the week prior, my thoughts lingered on painful memories from earlier this year—memories that I had long suppressed, ignored, and tried to overcome: my first breakup and the end of a friendship. Those days when I soaked through my pillow with tears, hurt by someone who was so dear to me, and stung by feelings of deep regret for my poor decisions—all these flashbacks came to me vaguely, flickering in and out like a lantern light. When I finally came back to myself—I didn't know how long after—my coffee was cold and my pastry dry. When I looked at my reflection on my blank iPhone screen, I saw small tears in my eyes. I looked around in embarrassment, although everyone was busy with themselves, not caring about a stranger like myself. Besides, the elderly man's table in front of me had already been cleared and cleaned. 

Not knowing how to make sense of the strange experience, I ran to the small stationery shop to get a notepad and pen. I intended it as a shortstop, but when I looked up at the clock,  hours had passed. Feeling bad for only getting two pens and a mini notebook, I said 'tack,' —'thank you' in Swedish—and the man at the counter greeted me back with a crooked smile. 

After taking pictures of beautiful flowers in the park, I sat on a bench and started scribbling about that strange experience—starting with different events of the trip to my fluctuating emotional state like a rollercoaster. While I was waiting for the train back at the station, my foot was blistered from walking around all day in sandals, and my right hand was tired from writing. But, I felt strangely lighter. 

In retrospect, I had absolute freedom on that day—no obligation to school or meetings like during the semester, and no one to care for but myself. I was alone and a stranger in a new place, not having to worry about eating alone or crying at a cafe even—no one would know but my notebook. 

Since then, every time I go on a solo trip, I make a habit of bringing my notebook and a pen. It is to record my embarrassing, cathartic, and sometimes heartwarming moments. 

Reading those entries back, it is surprisingly very comical. Those solo trips are always eventful—falling down from the bicycle in the middle of the driveway in Denmark, receiving a compliment on my new cardigan from a stranger in Seattle, or having a long, awkward conversation about life with an elderly man on the ferry to Goto Island. 

What solo trips can offer is significant—this out-of-context-ness and the time devoted just for yourself without being surveilled by familiar surroundings. This sense of freedom, and blank space, is what makes solo trips liberating. 

Without a narrative intention, life gives you various twists to your plot. A random bus you took could bring you to something beautiful, or talking to a stranger can bring you a new perspective in life. Facing the consequences of your decisions and luck, your experience is always different from the one you imagine. 

With no audience but your notebook, you are free to be as clumsy, clingy, and amazing as you want. Why not take a secret getaway from your familiar world, putting all these strange memories into the treasure box of your tiny notebook?