All you need is you - Embarking on the first big solo trip!

In the spring of 2013, through personal and professional experiences, I had the idea to travel overseas alone.

I wanted to see ancient geographical formations and visit mosques and cross the waters that seperated Europe and Asia by boat. I wanted to visit Turkey. Not having any friends or a significant other willing or able to accompany me, I knew from the first moment that if I was to go, I would go alone. Once the idea entered my mind, it hung there, like a beautiful new dress I had felt compelled to buy but had never worn.  l knew that I had to go. I couldn't live with myself knowing I lived in fear.

I believe the most difficult part of travel (or anything, really) is the initial leap of faith. My friends thought I was insane. Growing up poor in rural Canada, I didn't even discuss it with my family. I had already been living abroad for several years, but travelling alone is different. Making the decision to go alone is as daunting (or perhaps even more so) than the actual act of embarking alone. 

Was I scared? Thinking back, the safety measures I took on my first solo trip might seem a bit extreme, although I still follow most of them when travelling alone, several solo later. I researched the best money belt to keep my passport and money under my clothes. I distinctly remember coming across an article titled something anxiety-inducing like 'how to avoid getting raped in hostels' (the take-away - mentally prepare yourself so you can react quickly, calmly, and aggresssively if it happens). As recommended by various blogs, I packed a doorstop in case I ended up having to sleep in a room without a lock (which happened to me years later in Taiwan - doorstop-less, I quietly crept out late at night and found a new hostel). In an effort to fill the booming silence of the tight lipped disdain and disbelief that was all around me, I read as many blogs by women travelling alone I could find. Deep down, humans are not solitary creatures, in both our most challenging endeavours or our mundane daily lives. I needed to know someone had done the same, survived, and thrived. 

In the end, I went. Every day was a spinning, colourful kaleidoscope of triumph and loneliness and joy and fear. Travelling alone, particularly as a woman, is a bittersweet balance between the contrasting opposit feelings of fragility and power, triumphant accomplishment and the breathless relief of avoided disaster.

If you're like me (either planning your own first solo trip, or suffer from anxiety) your screaming, whispered question is - "Were you okay?! Did anything bad happen?!?!?"

I was safe. Bad and good things, and everything on the wide spectrum between them, happened. But I wasn't harmed.

My first night, I met a girl in my hostel dorm from the Gobi desert in China who insisted on slipping onto boats in the grand canal of Istanbul to 'get the perfect sunset photo'. I'll never forget how a strange Turkish man pulled that girl from the pier and onto his boat and I, my location known to no one, not knowing if I would end up with a nice view of the mystical sunset or murdered at the bottom of the Bosphorus strait, followed her. In ancient Cappadocia, I hiked alone along a dusty path to a seldom visited church. The cranky-turned-creepy caretaker flirted with the line of 'too friendly' and then offered me 'the key to the secret church'. Thankfully, the secret church' wasn't in his pants but promised at the end of a faded, dusty path that ascended The mountain. With only the lizards for company, I eventually reached steps cut into the cliff as promised. I climbed down to a ledge and remember shining my phone's flashlight through the rusted metal door hinged to a small natural cave. Would someone inside kidnap me and sell my liver? (Or worse) or was it really an abandoned, almost untouched, ancient church hidden in the mountain by tenth century Christians avoiding persecution?

And so on.  Too many stories to recount here, from that trip, and all those that followed.

Reading these moments in the screen in their black and white simplicity, I can't help but worry those reading it may feel I took some risks. Looking back, some of the decisions I made were not prudent and instead of incredible experiences, I could have been harmed. In no way am I encouraging reckless behaviour. Instead, I implore you to take that calculated yet compelling risk that whispers to you from the back of your mind and the bottom of your heart. Research. Think of - then plan for - the worst case scenarios. Reflect on the times you were lucky, what you did right, and what you won't do again. Be scared, but trust yourself. Caution protects us, not fear. Your experiences in this life are shaped by your perception of yourself in relation to your own destiny.

Years later, alone in a tiny hotel room in Rome late at night, I stumbled across the perfect quote in Cheryl Strayed's inspiring book 'Wild' - 

"I knew that if I allowed fear to overtake me, my journey was doomed. Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told. I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brace. Nothing could vanquish me."