by Thanks for Joanna Moorhead’s great article on solo travel (Long lunches, casual friendships, no one to worry about: solo vacations are great for older women like me, March 5). I am on my first solo holiday ever, after 52 years of marriage. When I arrived in Vietnam, the guide I met asked: “Why are you traveling alone?” I felt apprehensive, but gather that this kind of direct question is a cultural norm.
Traveled a lot but always with family, I was afraid I would feel melancholy. Far from it. Apart from my itinerary, which was planned with a travel agent, I felt free to do what I wanted, without worrying about everyone else.
Vietnam is a fascinating country with a turbulent history to spice things up. The sightseeing was extremely varied. Visits to a series of mausoleums may seem grim, but far from it. These various ornate complexes near Hue reflect the unique personality of each emperor. My only problem is the cannibalism – on long haul flights and in restaurants.
Why am I alone? My husband has severe frontotemporal dementia. Of course, my thoughts go to our wonderful holidays together, but those days are gone and I am lucky that, for me, still working hard and earning, carer’s relief can be exotic. I look forward to coming back to see it. In the meantime, don’t hesitate, sisters – go travel!
Rosalind Duhs
London
• I recently spent a month traveling solo in Italy and it was one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done. Women over 50 have a greater ability to deal with behavioral issues, meet new people and take on new challenges. They have a lot of self-doubt and worry about being lonely, but there’s a wonderful world out there waiting to be explored.
With translation apps, some basic phrases and a dose of common sense, you can travel easily, and when you’ve traveled with partners, family and friends, it’s a joy to do things like this yourself.
I never felt alone and I found Deborah Ives’ Facebook group, Solo in Style, mentioned in your article, so helpful – always supportive, with great practical advice and a good kick up the backside when needed (when I lost a bag and felt very sorry for myself).
You meet amazing people when you travel alone and you can change your plans on the fly. You also learn to dig deep and realize you have resilience and abilities you never thought you had.
Janice Falconer
Falkirk, Stirlingshire
• In my late 20s, I traveled solo around Brazil by bus. I bought a one-way ticket, and returned three years later. When I tell people this, no one bats an eye. But now, in my 50s with a grown son and the same sense of wanderlust I had three decades ago, if I mention that I’m going to Mexico for a month, or that I’ve just returned from a trip to Cuba , it seems I am. get a response from women my age who are horrified or horrified: “What, alone?”
Yes, always – my time, my itinerary. A last minute ticket to the theatre, people watching at pavement cafes, a book and a picnic in the park, eating what I want when I want, an impromptu evening of live music and beer, galleries and museums, and a flea market – a flea market in always. No pleasantries, no negotiations. When I want company, what could be better than chatting in a cafe or gallery, or booking myself on a local cookery course or mini-trip? I travel alone, but I’m never lonely.
I was once in a restaurant at lunch with my mother, where a woman was sitting alone – a traveler, engrossed in a book, with a few glasses of wine, a main course and dessert, and some chitchat with the waiter. . I have to admit I was a little jealous. I wonder what she was planning one evening in London.
Later that day, my mother, who hated being alone, said: “Did you notice that poor woman alone at lunch? I felt so sorry for her.” I think it’s all about attitude.
Sam Menezes
Newington Green, London
• Age need not be a barrier to travel if you can get around. In February 2020, I went on a trip to Morocco when I was 92. I use a walker for fractures in my back, but I can walk pretty fast and had no problem keeping up with the tour group. On the first morning in Marrakech, I overslept to find that the tour had already left, so I got a taxi and followed their journey in the hope that I could catch up with them. In fact, they had missed their planned visit to one of the most impressive palaces. I went around it (for free, when they saw my walker) and then I walked alone to a shopping street, to be dazzled by the mounds of colorful spices and the gorgeous silks in the clothing stores.
It was useful to speak a little French to ask for directions, but I had no trouble finding a taxi back to the hotel, where our kind and competent tour guide invited me to lunch because he felt bad about leaving he followed me. Trips to the Marjorelle Gardens, the Atlas mountains and Essaouira were no problems. I was worried that no one would want to date someone my age, but I was lucky enough to find an interesting group of 50 to 75 year olds who would meet for drinks before and after dinner , and was happy enough to chat.
I was even saved from the final holiday disaster of losing my wallet by the quick-thinking tour guide. I didn’t notice it falling out of my bag while I was photographing a stream in a Bedouin village. A little boy selling beads picked it up and gave it to our guide.
It was only a six-day trip, but we sadly parted ways. Morocco is a fascinating country with many landscapes to look at, a tradition of masterpieces and both Arabic and French cuisine: tagines and patisserie. A coach trip was a wonderful and perfect experience possible at 92.
Jennifer Wells
Lewes, East Sussex
• I’m reading the solo vacation feature on a rare day when my kid is in daycare and I’m not snowed in at work (or rather, I probably am, but I’m just ignoring it). The article feels like a dreamy promise of a very distant future that may never happen. For those parents who, like me, can only dream of a day off, I might suggest skipping work from time to time for a solo lunch (me, just now – toast with mayonnaise and tomato – good enough to pass for tapas), solo. a walk, a solo trip to the cinema? If you half close your eyes and put your phone away, it almost feels like freedom.
The ironic thing is that I went on the odd solo adventure in a past life and had to fight hard to overcome the loneliness that was there. Oh, how I want to love my loneliness back. It reminds me of a line from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet: “Love of solitude”.
Name and address given
• I’m married to a non-flyer, so I took up solo travel almost 20 years ago and never looked back. Argentina, Antarctica and Iguazu Falls were ticked off my bucket list. The horror of just eating in Buenos Aires was done away with when you took a book – no mobile phones in those days.
Wherever I travel in the world, there are helpful and friendly people, so don’t be afraid to ask them. The Galápagos Islands were much better on a small boat than on a cruise, and it was incredible to see Machu Picchu from the Sun Gate, after walking the last part of the trail.
At the age of 77, I will leave next week to tick the Atacama desert of Chile and Easter Island. So I say, go for it – what have you got to lose?
Andrea Stow
ExerciseWest Yorkshire
• I liked Joanna Moorhead’s article. Unable to travel alone when I was a young student, I started traveling within Europe in my 60s – single again and with grown children and grandchildren.
I deliberately chose smaller cities with art galleries and museums that drew me, e.g. Porto for the Serralves museum, Málaga for the Picasso museum etc. Below is a poem I wrote in situ that perhaps speaks to this issue.
Gillie Harries
Bristol
Avero Restaurant, Porto
14.03.2018
I eat alone
Are you alone?
asks the charming maitre.
Yes, still, alone
I answer.
I sit, Giselle is slammed
Anger at the city,
Next to the glass plate window
A bowl of fava soup warms up
My cold constitution
I look at the garden
Of Virtues
Lovely quiet
exciting
Lunch for one:
Clean vinho verdhe
Olive bread oil
Painted with the ombre
From balsamic
A single woman
In peace,
Maybe
like the American
Or a French woman
sitting
in front of me
Says his back
She is enjoying it
This feast too
Bom God.
Nacreous light
Fades up from the
Atlantic coast
Along the Douro rifle.
A yellow tree
His burden moves
A moment, safely
As we women are
Approved now
Individual movement.
The change, the change;
Carefully, slowly
Safe.
Appropriately, looking up
In this gallery,
The outline painted black
Of a bold woman, faces
Down the room
The competition of their eyes
The space
And tree branches
Clear from his cranium
Knowledge, and solidarity
The saint of single women
dinners,
We have come of age.
Don’t pray for us anymore.
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