Going It Alone

For many, solo long-haul luxury travel is the ultimate indulgence. So why would you ever contemplate bringing a toddler? TRACEY WITHERS explains the method behind her madness

- Tracey Withers

THERE IS A certain kind of face one makes when ticking off an item from the champagne-bucket list. Let’s call it Very Smug Face. I was high-fiving myself with a glass of chenin blanc at Italy’s iconic Villa d’Este; my skin twinkling, still wet from the jewel-blue pool that floats on Lake Como. This was a highlight during a month of travelling alone around France and Italy with my then 19-month-old son, Benjamin, who was at that moment sleeping in his shady stroller. Yeah, I had that face going on when the older lady next to us sparked conversation.

“Is your husband holidaying with you?” she asked. Breezily, I told her he wasn’t able to make it to the lake, obscuring that me and the kiddo were in Europe on our own (it’s my solo-travel security thing). “Well, lucky you! I wish I could have holidayed [like this] with my children while my husband was at home happily working,” she said. And my wine went vinegary in my throat. Suddenly, I felt embarrassed by the gold Prada badge glinting on my sandals, lurid in my oversized earrings. I started babbling: “I work. Well, I’m a freelancer, so I can take time off, but I work all the time, really hard, and I’m paying for this holiday. I make money. Not as much as before, but enough. I could do more ...” Good God, why did nobody tranquiliser-dart me? I don’t know who was more exasperated by the time I stopped talking.