Study Abroad: Remarks on Solo Travel
An introspection on the life I once lived, as it fades into my past.
Recounting Study Abroad
Being alone is a fact that is often neglected in popular study-abroad media. The commercialized version of studying abroad is a class schedule, the idea of the city you are visiting, and the people who will be joining you. An idyllic scene. But other things account for your time, too. Things that can't be understood, not really, until you find yourself within them.
Behind the filtered photos and fifty-dollar flights is the person laying in bed, crying because they miss home so damn much. The person finding out, for the first time, just how far they can push their independence. Many of us reminisce and linger on those memories of solitude. Still, it is not popularly spoken about between students or on online platforms. In my experience, it was the overarching emotion over that semester.
I took that aspect of the experience and made the most of it. By being alone, I experienced independence and self-reliance. I told myself it was okay to be alone, that it was even okay to count down the days but to not let it stop me from spontaneity.
Solo travel was in the back of my mind during the preparation for study abroad. I was confident that I would find the courage to travel, even when doing so alone. I knew very little about traveling solo before I experienced it for myself. One day at a time, figuring it out as I went along. There were plenty of mistakes and learning moments along the way (fortunately nothing catastrophic) that helped me grow my knowledge. Without further ado, an introspection on the life I once lived, as it fades into my past.
Abridging Solo Travel
There are a great deal of contradictions in solo travel. There are the joys of following instinct, but also the decision fatigue. There is the annoyance of having no one to rely on, but also having trust in yourself. Then, there is the frustration of thinking literally no one would believe where I am right now.
Solo travel leaves a lot up to fate, making it difficult to define. One of the greatest joys and excitements of solo travel is never knowing where the day will take you. Solo travel is extremely specialized because it does not have to appease a large group. It’s just you. The individual human experience is hard to nail down, but I will attempt to share mine. At least how it looked for those few months last year.
When solo traveling, or more specifically, when wandering rather than checking off a list, truly remarkable things happen. It is those indescribable moments of being on top of the world, in some cases literally, that made me so excited to share my stories with friends and family.
Sometimes you feel those moments when you spend the night on an 8-hour bus ride to San Sebastian (which is still the most perfect place I have ever been) to witness the reflection of the sun rising on the beach. I suppose I shouldn't gloss over that story so nonchalantly.
I decided I was going to San Sebastian at about noon, booked a bus ticket and hostel, and then left at 10 pm. In hindsight, not the wisest decision. The memory of that city is so fresh and vibrant in my mind; I would give so much for one more moment in its presence.
That night, on the bus, I only got about 2 hours of consistantly interrupted sleep. When I finally arrived, I spent the morning walking around San Sebastian and its cold, ocean air. I watched the anti-solar sky from La Concha Bay, questioning why I was there, mesmerized.
That reason is why I believe solo travel is so tough to define. Seeing a photo or hearing about the best parts will never achieve the same things as feeling sleep deprivation or the burn in your legs from walking 35,000 steps. I can retell the same stories over and over again, adding to the detail, extravagance, and charisma, but it won’t change how things actually happened. I was alone for most of my experiences during study abroad. For that reason, every story I share is personal and that can't be taken away from me.
I can describe the scene and dialogue from a moment in time. I can emulate the miles I walked. I can divulge how long it took me to become an expert on Google Maps. But, still, it's impossible to grasp the full scope. These parts of my experience made it real, not something you see in a magazine. They aren't the parts people most want to hear about. To put it plainly, the belief is the photo, not the journey to capture it.
But it's more than just that.
How can I explain the come-to-Jesus type moment I had sitting on a concrete slab at Montserrat? When walking through the Gothic Quarter in Barcelona for the first time, how do I explain the feeling I had? The giddy feeling of seeing a dream actualized. How do I explain the awareness of being the only person I had to rely on, that no one was coming to help me out in those situations? How do I disclose the details of the slanted floors of Chawton House without having a picture to reference? How can I simulate the hostile winds of the Cliffs of Moher that knocked me off my feet and tied my hair in knots? How can I describe the sounds, tastes, and smells sufficiently in a world that is so sensory-dependent?
But even more so, who is going to stop me from lying about everything I did?
Or about things I wish would have happened?
Why shouldn't I say I had the best time ever when in reality, I spent many days worrying about leaving my apartment and being homesick? When I speak to my grandparents or an acquaintance from home, how do I entertain and hypnotize with pretty words– knowing all the ugly parts too? To hide the authenticity of my experience. To keep the rose-colored lenses on a stranger's view of European travel, of solo travel, of risking everything to be lost in a view.
Those are the stories you have to keep to yourself. Moments so personal that they can't be shared with a person who wasn't on the other end of the phone, consoling your fears and demons.
As a solo traveler, it is heavy to muster up the feelings I had while in those spaces. When you don't have a person sitting at your side to remark on the little things, all that is left is your journal entries and the silence. Although I am learning how to explain it all, I know I will never be able to capitalize on the whole truth. For the most part, because I will never be able to make the other person understand. Language and an iPhone camera simply won’t suffice.
Outlining the Morals
Many dates passed. One week. One Month. All of a sudden I had been home longer than I had been in Spain. Then, the anniversary of saying goodbye to my family passed. Now, a full rotation has almost been made. It still feels fresh, somehow. As if it happened yesterday. Or like I am going to wake up in that apartment at any moment.
How do you move on from something that had such a profound effect on you; Something that you are unlikely to experience again?
The world, as I found it during those months, is not as scary as we grew up to believe. Many people told me before I left not to go anywhere alone, and to always be safe. Little did they know just how far I would go on my own.
I can't help but smile recounting everything that happened, even the parts that were hard. I am better for it. I have more perspectives. I have more stories than I know what to do with. It makes me rethink how life could be and how I could enjoy it. It truly is the connections between people that bring about the most meaning.
It isn't the plane ride or the expensive museum ticket, it is the story that goes along with it. It is when you make an off-handed joke in the Orange store and make the entire staff die laughing, or the mother who helps you navigate the bus system after losing your way. Or the countless others I have in my head, just waiting for the space to share. It is those places, times, moments, stories, and lives that make up solo travel. Things that aren't present at the forefront of your mind, but then one day something happens, and you are reminded of a time you were on your own, alone, and utterly failed; but in the end, everything turned out alright.
I try to be light and energetic. But sometimes, you have to write like this. With the heavy things. I promise the next newsletter will be a complete pendulum swing. But this project wouldn’t be fulfilled and true without posts like this. I won’t apologize. I will, however, hope that someone will get something out of this post, even if it’s only me.