I’m not sure why this post is written in the second-person, but it wanted to be and so I obliged. I hope readers might be equally indulgent. I’m nestling back into my home, bit of a funny old mood. . .
You go out into the world, on your own, 70, almost 71. You travel solo through crowded airports and chaotic train stations, checking luggage at self-service kiosks where you worry about wrapping long, looping adhesive strips correctly, hope that you’ve stuck the right little bar-coded label in the correct spot for ensuring that your luggage meets you at your destination.
In one of the cities you visit, you speak the language fairly well; in another you read enough to follow signage (with the help of Google translate), to exchange polite greetings in hotel and restaurants, to ask O (a) senhor(a) Pode falar inglês (Does the gentleman/lady speak English?); in a third city, you wish you’d had time to review what you learned of the language fifty years ago, in 1st and 2nd-year university courses. The locals working in the service industry speak a functional English, but often so heavily accented that, with the added complication of your compromised hearing, you are constantly either trying to fake an understanding based on context (we all know how very wrong this can go) OR calculating how many times you can request slow repetition, calibrating the point at which to desist. to let your poor blank face speak its wordless eloquence (Help!). . .
You stand in long lines to have tickets scanned, passport examined, the crowd ahead of you sharing their anxiety and impatience about whether the line will move quickly enough for some, any, maybe even all of you to get to the correct boarding gate or train platform on time.
One example: thirty minutes’ transfer time between trains had seemed ample when you bought the ticket online weeks earlier, but in a station (Barcelona) whose layout and rules and language are opaque and where you stand without anyone to speak your worries to, no one to reduce the weight of those worries with a joke or a reminder or a “worst case scenario” . . . Luckily, you can always “come back to the breath” as your Inner Yogini intones. . . And, panic subsiding, a gate is marvellously opened, and you surge with the crowd toward the platform, focused on a new goal now, finding your coach.
Each day, for lunch and dinner and, in one city, for breakfast as well, you have to find somewhere to eat. Even if you’re comfortable with solo dining in public, generally relish it in fact, you nonetheless find your shy teenaged self surfacing. You sympathize for a moment but overrule her, pushing the door open at the chosen café , taking a moment inside to reconnoitre, figure protocols, rehearse the words (or gestures) which indicate that “yes, Just one for table service, please.” Unless you’ve decided to be bold and sit at the counter, eavesdropping. . .
And in between the more stressful travel points, there are so many rich moments, so many that connect you with the world in new ways. With people, strangers, in reassuring, if ephemeral, pulses. You capture some with your camera; sketch a record of others in the gorgeous little leporello sketchbook tucked into the welcome gift at the workshop you’re attending; jot notes in your Moleskine journal each evening or when waiting for your meal to arrive, solo at your table. . .
Other moments surface unexpectedly to surprise you, these first days back home; you suddenly remember, for example, the lovely young man, an airline employee who chatted with (and calmed) you as you navigated the self-service check-in and baggage drop-off at your home airport. Right from the start, you weren’t as alone as it seemed. I’m trying to grab these wisps of memory before the everyday bustle erases them. . .
As I say, you take yourself out into the world, believing that this is still good — and necessary — for you to do, at 70, almost 71. Believing — knowing, even — that you can do this, that you have done this. That, having still the requisite fitness and competence, you feel compelled to travel while you can. You worry, absolutely, the day and night before each of the travel days (from Home to Lisbon (via Paris); from Lisbon to Madrid; Madrid to Paris; and then from Paris back home), and there are small mishaps or frustrations that justify some of your concerns. It’s not so easy. But you do manage, each time. You get to Point B, and you find the way to the bed that is waiting for you, and you know this is all an immense privilege.
And then you’re back home. And home is different and you are, as well. In small ways; perhaps in a few more significant ways as well. Quietly.
You will have realized (perhaps with some exasperation) from the outset, that the “you” of whom I write is actually “I.” At home, now, wanting to capture some of this experience, to find words for the quicksilver, shape-shifting memories and impressions before they’re lost in the current of quotidian activity. Trying to measure the distance between the fears and anxieties I had, before and throughout my 17 solo days, and the benefits and pleasure I took from displacing myself (displacement as a privilege, mind you, and I do know this very well). What kind of equations can I make involving (dis)comfort and change, and how significant is age as a variable in those equations?
I’ve written before about the liminality of those first days or weeks back home after a trip. It’s an odd space, especially coming back from solo travel to living with others, because the alone-ness of the travel continues in the impossibility of conveying certain key experiences. Perhaps you’ve felt this yourself. Or not. We’re all different travelers, aren’t we?
I’m making bread today, always a good way to ground myself, to re-home myself. As soon as all the stretch-and-folds are done and the boules have proofed, Pater and I are walking to a favourite lunch date spot where we’ll do our best to catch each other up on what we’ve done over the past few weeks. I know that some moments I describe will resonate immediately with him — sometimes they’ll involve places we’ve visited together or trigger memories of similar or parallel instances that we’ve shared. Some, however, will lose their shimmer as I try to find words. The few seconds’ connection with a stranger, exchanging smiles as a child dances with abandon to a busker’s tunes. . . magic in the moment, but turned banal or sentimental in the telling. . .
So I pick and choose and refine my anecdotes and vignettes — some for sharing and some, in the end, I hoard for myself. Which is equal parts lonely and precious.
For now, having gone out into the world and come back home, I send these words and images out, hoping they may find resonance. If so, perhaps you’ll leave me a comment and we can chat. . .
xo,
f
I have more travel day anxiety as I get older. Navigating self service airports and large train stations is hard work. The uncertainty is taxing for my 72 year old mind. I love solo travel but I think that in the near future, I will be considering organized tours.
Author
There is a plethora of good travel options for our demographic now — even ones that make some accomodations for those of us with introvert tendencies 😉
I am so impressed by your intrepid solo traveling! I have traveled a number of times solo, but only domestically, and even those make me a wee nervous. Well, to be honest, travel even with my dear husband makes me anxious (mostly in preparation, not in execution.) I hope you will be sharing more about your workshop, and your photos and drawings during your travel. I do so love those! You have a knack of capturing the beauty of the”everyday” part of your surroundings, like windows and beds and neighborhood street scenes, and I adore seeing those. Thank you for sharing!
This year, we are traveling more than we ever have, with our next trip coming up in a week and a half. (I am sure I shared this earlier–we are going to Italy for a tandem biking tour based in (or near) Grosseta, and then doing some sightseeing on our own in the “Hill Country”. I will be recording all these with journaling and drawing too. . .
Author
Thanks for the kind words — I will share more about the workshop and a page or two from my journal.
So exciting about your biking trip! So pleased to know you’re committed to journaling and drawing along the way — I’m sure it will enhance your experience
My goodness, Frances. I am so impressed. I’m now 77 and I have severe hearing loss. Although I know HOH and deaf people travel (and travel alone!) I don’t feel that able. Your sweet hotel room in Lisbon is so charming and romantic looking. This must have been a wonderful trip for you. How did you like the Prado? My husband is dying to get me there. Thank you for sharing photos and thoughts and anxieties with us. I salute you!
Author
The hearing impairment definitely makes a difference, especially when operating in a different language, and I completely understand you needing to have another traveller with you. Those with fully functioning hearing have no idea how impatient people can be. Impatient, dismissive, etc. And so much of our safety depends on being able to hear instructions or information about our environment. . .
As for the Prado, I’ll write a post about my days in Madrid, mostly focused on the Prado, but short answer: it’s overwhelming to the point of underwhelming, if that makes any sense. Curation and consideration of the visitor’s experience is not an evident priority. If you do go (and there are paintings there absolutely worth thr trip), I’d take a few days just for the Prado and I’d pre-book online for the earliest opening each day. . . There was NO front-of-line opportunity the day I was there. . . and there was a very long line.
Morning Frances,
SO evocative- and beautiful. I “felt” your travel. Long may you roam on your own; that is a true path to self-knowledge, in my humble opinion. It makes a good change, keeps me fresh, and strengthens those tendons and ligaments of independence.
I am in the middle of a long weekend of work with a couple of able and willing! helpers, so briefly can say, “YES”, am fully aware of my sensations and adjustments moving from work ( home), to home ( work), as I do so often in 2 countries. Have come to prefer solo travel, mostly, and have my husband join me later. Landing in one place, or the other, gives me many things I need, but adjustments are real. They help me know any rut I might feel I am heading into can be within my power to change or avoid. Even if the change is only a change of perspective or attitude.
Typing on a very small screen with my driving, not reading glasses on, so hope this does not say £$&#@!
A.inLondon
Author
You have much experience with solo travel< I know. And with adjustments that must be made. Your reminder is a powerful one, that we can make those necessary adjustments even if only through "a change of perspective or attitude."
The shutters. The comfort of the ritual of the opening and closing as you say, and, if they’re on the outside, the morning testing of the air.
Spanish and the beautiful but intense accent. Imagine the scenario you described but you’re both trying to speak Italian lol.
Travel. I love travelling on my own. Long may it continue. (Oh! A parcel is ariving at my door. It’s my new backpack/personal item. And I stopped to open and measure it and indeed it meets Air Canada specs {aka teeny tiny compared to others}. Fits my laptop. Because as much as I love swanning around the airports with nothing but a large handbag, I need to make every item count if I’m taking a train anywhere. To avoid the pack mule effect.) My ideal situation is to spend part (read much) of a trip alone and part with another person I guess. But the absolute thrill of establishing a domestic ritual somewhere besides home doesn’t require company, for me. You’re right, it’s displacement as a privilege, but the sense of connection is so intense and impactful. You do come back changed. More so when you travel alone I think.
Your essay resonated with me because, at 79 and widowed for 6 months, I made a solo trip to Paris last fall. People were so kind and friendly as I visited places my husband and I had enjoyed together and explored new ones. Those memories made me happy, as did the new memories created — delicious solo meals, concerts in beautiful churches, the Rothko show, seeing the amazing work of restoring Notre Dame…. Although I had moments of trepidation while I imagined making this trip, I’m SO glad I did this while I could. “If not now,” I said to myself, “when?”
Frances…I enjoyed reading of your solo adventures. I’m hesitant to leave my husband alone to solo travel at this point in our life. Hopefully when the time comes that I can travel I will have the resources, health and courage to do so. It sounds like you received small shots of courage from others along the way.
Brava Frances! You did so well!
Love that breakfast room window!
I loved to travel alone once,from time to time,exploring museums,exibitions,restaurants…
Sometimes I feel the same now,but I don’t like crowded airports anymore
Dottoressa
Such a lovely recounting of the balance between the inevitable stress of being an older woman traveling alone and the richness and gifts then and now in remembrances. My last big trip was to Europe when I was 74. I know I won’t match a friend who did it when she was 80 which is what I am now. Some doors close forever but thankfully memories last remain.
Author
Yes! Your comment speaks (unintentionally, I know) to what Elizabeth Ferry and I say . . . “thankfully memories last remain” . . .
I totally understand your travel anxiety. Mine increases with age, both in the preparation and the act of traveling itself. I haven’t traveled solo in ages and was pretty intrepid when I was young but being carefree seems to be in the rear view mirror generally. So enjoyed your photos.
Author
There are real changes with age, much as some of the current attempts to broaden representation have the corollary effect of minimizing and sometimes denying the changes. I think it’s wise to attend to how those changes might affect safety, comfort, needs, etc. As the expression goes, “Your mileage may vary” . . .
Solo travel necessitates the making of a multitude of connections across barriers, be they physical, cultural or related to communication. The solo traveller is challenged many, many times each day requiring them to utilise patience, energy, kindness and acceptance with others and themselves. It is inherently challenging and exhausting. It isn’t for everyone and the difficulties increase with age. You did extremely well and your photos are beautiful.
Author
Yes! Such a good description of what solo travel demands — and of course, these are “transferable skills,” revved up, with any luck, by our travels to use back home “on the daily”
Wouldn’t Mom and Dad have been so impressed and thrilled 🥰☺️🥰 to know that you embarked on this journey solo. Love you dearly xoxo
Author
I think they might — but then, they sent me off to England alone when I was 14 (albeit to visit the rellies — still, I took the train up to Glasgow from Middlesborough on my own, and then from Glasgow back to London, where there was no one waiting for me at the platform because I’d sent the info about my arrival to the wrong address!!).
Love you too! xoxo
Yes, that odd space we occupy as we transition from our traveling lives into our regular lives. On one hand anxious to settle in, on the other hand still floating in thoughts of new sites, sounds and changes that have occurred within. I admire that you cultivate your independence. I only occasionally eat out on my own, much less travel. Sounds like you had a successful and rewarding trip!
Author
Exactly, the need to settle back and also the reluctance to let go of where we’ve been!
Frances, you have captured so much with your words and images…so moving, honest and evocative.
I especially loved the way you have summed up that feeling of trying to describe small memories of particular moments and the way it never fully translates (‘magic in the moment, but turned banal or sentimental in the telling which is equal parts lonely and precious.’) I go back through the vignettes in my travel journals that are special to just me.
You are my travel hero! I travel solo but have never done so internationally. I can imagine the anxiety but also the rewards. Your post absolutely resonated with me! Thank you xx
Author
Thanks for your thoughtful response — I’m so pleased to know the post resonated with you. Honestly, I don’t feel at all heroic, except in that I “felt the fear and did it anyway” 🙂 But there’s such a strong selfish component in how much I enjoy being at the destination. . .
I will be 83 this month and I don’t think at this point I would travel by myself. At 73 I did a 6-7 hour drive by myself to a place that I was very familiar with when the family members I usually am with had other plans and I was determined not to miss out. And I really enjoy talking about mutual experiences with those I have traveled with. It brings back the good memories.
Author
We’re all so different, aren’t we?! It’s very unlikely that I would drive myself anywhere that took 6 or 7 hours’ driving, although as a younger woman I’ve done three-day drives with four kids in the car . . .
I have no idea whether I’ll travel alone at 83; if I still want to travel at that age, I hope I’ll have a companion — or adjust, as you certainly seem to have, to finding adventure and joy closer to home.
Such a beautiful post! Your words and photos (and even the second-person telling) truly captured the sense of place and the feeling of aloneness. Bravo!
Author
Aw, thanks so much, Elaine. xo
Thank you for that interesting read Frances . Beautifully written too . Despite having travelled to many countries in an independent way , I haven’t done much solo travel . I always did the research & planning of our trips plus I enjoyed finding my way & never minded approaching kind strangers for help when needed . I travelled to France by train & ferry alone to meet up with a sister , then another time by train & plane to South Africa to visit another sister . So I think I would have been comfortable with the logistics of solo travel , not now though . At 76 & having had a few health ‘hiccups’ , I don’t have the same confidence . I’m full of admiration at your solo travelling & very much enjoy your write ups .
Author
You seem to have been a very comfortable and competent traveller, and I have no doubt you’d have managed solo travel without a problem if necessary or desired. My mother loved visiting England, Europe, and managed a few trips of her own, in her 50s, with a sister and then with a group. Generally, though, she relied heavily on my dad and didn’t continue to develop or maintain skills that could have kept her travelling longer. My assessment, of course, and I might have it all wrong. But her choices and their consequences had me resolve to push myself past a certain reserve I share with her (although I’m a “social introvert” and she was both an introvert and socially anxious).
I always find re-entry after travelling a bit discombobulating and I find it hard to pick up my routine activities. Often I’ll find I’ve caught a cold from the crowds at the airport or on the train (thank you young man who coughed over me the whole way from Barcelona to Paris on the train in March!) and that delays taking up every day activities for another week. But it is the mental shake up that is the main thing and on the whole it’s probably a good thing.
The physical aspects of travel, whether solo or not, as we get older are considerable because the whole experience at airports and large railway stations has become gruelling. When I travel with my husband he always has ‘assisted travel’ because of a health condition which is excellent and makes the journey so much easier. I see so many people suffering in airports who should opt for it but won’t, like some of my elderly relatives this often out of misplaced pride. In my mid sixties I still feel very confident travelling around Europe but I always find travelling in the US terrifying even though we allegedly speak the same language!
Author
Yes! Re-entry is tough for me as well, and has long been an issue in our marriage — during the many years in which my husband travelled regularly for work, we learned to anticipate and make allowances for it, guarding against expectations of happy reunions. . .
I think the “assisted travel” is such a smart option and I hope I’ll be willing to use it, gratefully, when the time comes. I once read a great piece by Diana Athill (which I have been unable to track down) on her getting over that stubborn independence and accepting assisted travel because it was the only way she could get to Toronto to meet and take part in an interview with Alice Munro, whom she greatly admired. She just decided it would be foolish to let “misplaced pride,” as you call it, deny her an opportunity so important to her.
Comforting and very empowering to read one’s own anxieties about solo travel articulated so well. The frustration is that at 20 I was unthinkingly travelling solo in France with no technology to assist, and at the vulnerable young woman stage rather than the older person likely to receive more considerate treatment stage. Or do you find on your solo European travels that you’re either annoyingly and unhelpfully invisible, or patronised, brushed aside….?
Spain is not on my travel horizon as strangely, Spanish is a language I have an active desire not to learn! Somehow I find the sound of it jarring to my ear, whereas I’m in auditory bliss with French, Italian, Swedish, Norwegian, German…
Author
So true! That difference between our anxiety levels and relative risk at 20 vs. where we are now. . .
Your question (“Or do you find. . . “) is a good one, and I’d like to answer it in a future post. Short answer now: I am beginning to see ways to “lean into” my older persona such that I trigger the considerate treatment. . . if that makes sense.
I would like to revive my Spanish, and I’m so intrigued that the sound of it jars you. And also impressed that you straddle those romantic and teutonic languages (I’m sure I’m over-simplifying the range, but perhaps you see what I mean).
Hi Frances,
I’m late popping over here to read your post. I’ve not travelled solo except within Canada when I actually revel in it. Not sure I’d be so brave if I faced 17 days alone in a foreign city. So many decisions, and nobody to “consult.”
Hope your re-entry to life back at home is going well. Sometimes when my mum was still living and I’d travelled to New Brunswick for a fraught and stressful visit, I’d be so happy to get home. Longing for it, actually, the last day or so. Then when I arrived, I’d find that Stu had only a limited amount of sympathy (what?!) because he’d been facing stresses of his own holding down the fort at home. My sweet homecoming existed, perhaps, only in my romantic mind. Ha.
xox
I have just stumble on your writing space and really enjoyed this post. Also loving your book sketches. I look forward to reading more.
Frances, you’ve passed these moments, these personal slivers of time to us so beautifully. I felt this post as I rarely feel travel writing. As people who write fiction say, wonderful internality. Thank you.
I sometimes remind myself that at 25 I travelled alone through India, so surely 45+ years later I can fly to Houston alone, rent a car, and drive to Austin to stay with a friend without finding myself mysteriously in Oklahoma. I did not wind up in Oklahoma;) I find traveling alone, testing my capabilities, both nerve-wracking and exhilarating!