The Romance Of Solo Travel

MY FIRST SOLO trip was in Australia. I was 17. I told my uncle who lived in Sydney that I was taking off on my own.

He almost had a heart attack. “Don’t go to Byron Bay, promise me,” he yelled as he put me on the bus, wondering how my parents had agreed to this.

I was a little nervous, very excited. Thirty days in Australia by myself. I stayed in hostels, with my purse tied to my foot. Once, a couple had sex in the bunk bed under mine; I was wobbling on the top, holding on for dear life.

I was still a virgin and a little shocked and disturbed at first. But then I laughed, thinking about what my uncle’s face would be like if he knew this.

I was free. I was by myself. Alone in the world.

I went for a swim in the Gold Coast, which has some of the biggest waves in the world. Almost drowned, and had nobody to talk about that experience with after. But, I was still okay.

I was taking care of myself. I was an adult, finding my way in the world on my own with no social safety net. And, this exploration through unknown terrain is what turned me from a shy girl from Bandra (Mumbai) into a global adult who can speak to anybody and do anything I set my mind to. They call it confidence.

For Christmas, I was on Bondi beach by myself. I met Renaud from Amsterdam. We walked around Sydney together. He told me about his girlfriend, we shared our stories and then parted ways.

I spent New Year’s Eve in Sydney by myself, watching the fireworks seated on a little mat with a picnic basket that I made myself.

No, I did not go to Byron Bay. I still have not. Why did I listen to uncle!