Stop reading those “eat pray love” listicles written by people who got their trips sponsored by a tourism board. They’re lying to you. Solo travel isn’t always a montage of you wearing a flowing linen dress while staring pensively at a sunset. Sometimes it’s just being lonely in a different timezone and realizing you don’t know how to say “where is the pharmacy” in a language that sounds like someone dropping a tray of silverware.
I’ve been doing this for eight years. I have a 9-to-5 in logistics, I save my pennies, and I go. I’ve been to 24 countries alone. Some were life-changing. Some were absolute dumpster fires. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. Safety is a vibe, not a statistic. You can feel perfectly safe in a “dangerous” city and totally hunted in a “safe” one if the energy is off.
The part about Tokyo that nobody mentions
Everyone says Tokyo is safe. They’re right, but for the wrong reasons. It’s not just the low crime; it’s the fact that the entire culture is built for people who want to be left the hell alone. I spent eleven days there in 2022. I tracked my walking—average 18,400 steps a day—and my blister count reached 4 by Tuesday. I didn’t speak to a single soul for three days straight and it was the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.
- Ichiran Ramen: You sit in a literal cubicle. No eye contact. Just noodles.
- The Trains: I once waited 22 minutes for a late-night connection in Shinjuku and didn’t look over my shoulder once.
- The Combini: Lawson’s egg sandwiches are better than a $50 steak in New York.
If you’re an introvert, Tokyo is your motherland. If you want to make friends? Go somewhere else. People will be polite, but they won’t be your bestie. It’s a lonely kind of safety. I love it.
I’m going to say it: Bali is a trap
I know people will disagree, but I think Bali is a miserable place for a solo woman now. I used to think it was the pinnacle of soul-searching. I was completely wrong. It has become a digital nomad theme park. I spent three weeks in Ubud in 2019 and I’ve never felt more like a walking ATM. The “spiritual journey” there is now mostly just influencers filming themselves doing yoga while locals struggle to get through traffic.
I actively tell my friends to avoid it. The humidity is like being hugged by a wet wool blanket, and the aggressive catcalling from taxi drivers is exhausting. I don’t care if the villas are cheap. It’s soul-crushing. Never again.
The “failure” that changed how I travel
Let’s talk about Rome. October 2016. 4:15 PM. I was trying to be that girl—the one who doesn’t use Google Maps and just “finds her way.” I ended up dropping my iPhone 6 into a public toilet at Termini station. I stood there, looking at my phone submerged in… well, you know… and I just started sobbing. I had no paper map, no Italian, and no way to find my hostel. I felt like the biggest loser on the planet. I ended up paying a taxi driver 40 Euros (I got ripped off, I know) to drive me four blocks because I was too panicked to think.
That moment taught me that being “brave” is stupid. Being prepared is brave. Now I carry a physical backup of every address and a portable charger that could jumpstart a truck. Precision creates freedom.
Slovenia is the answer to a question you haven’t asked
Ljubljana is the best city in Europe. Period. It’s tiny. It’s green. It’s cheap. I might be wrong about this, but I think it’s the only place in the world where you can walk through a dark park at 11 PM and the only thing you’ll be afraid of is a rogue duck. I stayed at a place called Hostel Celica—it’s an old military prison converted into a hostel. I spent $32 a night for a private cell (ironic, right?).
The thing about Slovenia is that it doesn’t try too hard. You go to Lake Bled, you eat the cream cake (Kremna rezina), you walk around the water. Anyway, my point is that it’s a destination that doesn’t demand anything from you. You don’t have to be “on.” You can just exist.
Solo travel isn’t a test of your grit; it’s a test of how much you actually like your own company.
A quick word on gear (and why I hate Away)
I refuse to buy Away suitcases. I don’t care if everyone loves them. They are overpriced plastic boxes for people who want to look like they have a curated life. I’ve bought the same $120 Osprey Fairview 40-liter backpack four times. I don’t care if something better exists. It fits in the overhead bin, it doesn’t break, and it doesn’t make me look like a target.
I tested 6 different pairs of “travel sneakers” over 3 winters and tracked sole wear weekly. The only ones that didn’t make me want to amputate my feet after 10 miles were basic New Balance 574s. They aren’t chic. They are functional. That’s the whole trick.
People ask me if I get scared. Of course I do. I got scared last month in a well-lit cafe in Copenhagen for no reason at all. The fear doesn’t go away; you just get better at ignoring it while you order your coffee. Is it worth the stress? I honestly don’t know some days. But then I think about that morning in Ljubljana, watching the fog lift off the river with a 2-Euro coffee in my hand, and I realize I’d rather be scared in Slovenia than bored in my office cubicle.
Go to Tokyo if you’re tired. Go to Slovenia if you’re lonely. Avoid Bali like the plague.
