Tag: solo travel

  • Yes, I’m Traveling Solo: Self-Defense as a Path to Freedom

    Yes, I’m Traveling Solo: Self-Defense as a Path to Freedom

    Ometepe, Nicaragua | January, 2023 | Photo: Thomas Blanc

    Safety is a human right. So is solitude.

    Solo female travel? That’s not possible. It’s too dangerous. Women shouldn’t do that. You should never travel alone. What if you get kidnapped? Aren’t you scared? Go with someone, a friend, a partner—ideally a man.

    As a woman, I have heard every argument in the book against going out into the big, bad world on my own. The fears and warnings above are just the tip of the iceberg.

    These questions/concerns do not intend to fear-monger. They come from friends, parents, uncles, lovers, and well-meaning readers—people who want to see me safe and well. Yet it seemed unfair from the outset that I had to bear the brunt of my family’s concern as I traveled solo, while my older brother had jetted off first without much ado. The double standard always chafed. Of course it all came from love, but that’s not the point. 

    Why did everyone worry so much about my safety, and yet no one ever suggested I take it into my own hands?

    The problem is not so easily reduced to a few knee-jerk comments and Hollywood-induced travel phobias alone. Rather, it’s how these well-intentioned aphorisms reinforce an out-dated social contract that discourages women from enjoying the same freedoms men do that does the bulk of the harm.

    There is a depressing kind of fatalism in writing off solo travel for women forever because, “the world is a dangerous place,” rather than consider, for a moment, that there might be solutions. That there might be strategies for personal safety that do not come at the high cost of freedom and adventure.

    For most of my years of solo travel, I got by on instinct and bravado. “Fake it ‘til you make it” was my response to getting lost, harassed, followed, or accosted. Act like you know where you’re going, like you’re fearless, like you’re unshakeable. Most people will believe it. Eventually, you will too.

    And while this worked, I made it through a decade of solo adventures unscathed, I still lacked some basic tools to not only stay safe, but also enjoy solo travel more. 

    In 2018, however, I seized an opportunity to train as an Empowerment Self-Defense instructor with ESD Global, an organization dedicated to women’s safety around the globe. Realizing that many women yearned to travel solo, but were held back by fear, I decided to offer more than just words of advice or encouragement. It was time for practical skills.

    Action is the antidote to fear. 

    Developed over the past 50 years by female martial artists and violence prevention experts, ESD teaches a compelling mix of physical techniques and verbal strategies for deescalation and boundary setting. 

    It was the missing link, a one-stop shop for women desiring to feel both safer and freer in any environment. After nearly four years teaching this methodology across Central America, I can confidently attest to the transformative power of discovering our inner fire. Knowing what our body and voice can do, and trusting we know exactly how to use them, instills cultivates a valuable baseline of confidence and self-reliance for solo female travelers.

    Amalfi Coast, Italy | November 2023 | Photo: Thomas Blanc

    Below are my 5 go-to strategies for staying safe as you travel, without sacrificing a single glorious moment of your solo adventure.

    1. Listen to Your Intuition 
      Women too often internalize the social conditioning that everyone else knows more about our boundaries and our bodies than we do. In fact, we know very well when a situation is unsafe and, conversely, when we can relax and settle.Intuition is the soft, quiet voice that whispers in your gut, “Yes.” “No.” “This way, not that way.” “Danger.” “All clear. The trick is learning to listen, and then trust that voice. When we are conditioned to ignore our gut, intuition feels ungrounded and impractical.In fact, it is very much the opposite. Intuition warns us when a person, place or situation is potentially dangerous. It may feel like tightness in the chest or belly, shaking in the hands or legs, buzzing in the forehead, or a general sense of tension or closing in. And, it will guide us to know when to trust new friends or dive into “risky” adventures. That may feel like openness in the chest, relaxation or softness in the belly or jaw, or a general feeling of leaning in. The more we heed these signs and engage with our intuitive mind, the sharper it will become.We can practice listening to our intuition in small ways—eating when hungry, resting when tired, changing position or taking a deep breath when our body asks for it—and with mindfulness practices such as yoga, meditation, martial arts, or unhurried time in nature.
    2. Understand “The Interview”
      The interview is a well-documented occurrence in gender-based violence, whereby a potential attacker “interviews” a potential victim by slowly and progressively pushing her boundaries to see if or when she will act in self-defense.Whereas popular culture leads us to think that violence against women is sudden and unexpected, most attacks are in fact slow and deliberate. Each step of the interview is an opportunity to set a boundary: They follow you in the street or on the trail. They start to ask you personal questions on the bus or at your campsite. They touch you in a way that feels uncomfortable. They don’t respect your “no.”We will often wait to be “sure” of a person’s intentions before setting a hard boundary or expressing a firm “no.”Fear of offending or overreacting leads us to disregard our own needs and our own intuition to avoid rocking the boat. This is exactly what a would-be attacker is counting on. The sooner you can identify an “interview” situation while traveling, the more easefully you can de-escalate, speak up, escape, seek support, or otherwise stay safe.
    3. Use Your Voice
      Be loud, assertive, and unapologetic. The best way to stop “the interview” in its tracks is to use one of the most powerful weapons in our arsenal: our voice. Setting clear, firm boundaries can deter a would-be attacker and deescalate a potentially violent situation before it starts. Your intuition will tell you when and how to use your voice, be it calmly stating a boundary, or shouting “NO” at the top of your lungs.
      Women often learn from a very young age to stay quiet, to play nice. And so it takes practice to override this conditioning and train ourselves to speak up when we feel uncomfortable or unsafe. It is vital that we do so, however. In a situation of attempted assault, it can save our life. (Note: Using the voice is not about calling for help, although we can also ask for support from bystanders if that feels like an option. Activating the voice connects us to our own core power, disrupts the “freeze” response to danger, and also discourages a potential attacker.)
    4. Stay (& Look) Aware
      Whether on the road, in the woods, or right at home in your neighborhood, awareness is key for personal safety. Staying vigilant—no need for stress or tension—not only helps us to identify danger or risk well before it becomes an emergency; it also can help us get oriented in a new environment, observe more details and beauty along our journey, and enjoy our adventure with full-bodied presence. As we rely more and more heavily on technology for navigation and communication, we may feel the urge to check our phones frequently. As a traveler, the best thing you can do is keep your eyes up, phone away, and look and act like you are confident and at ease, regardless of how you feel.
      Keeping your shoulders back, your chin up, your gaze relaxed and alert, and your feet wide serves two purposes: It communicates to the outside world that you are confident and aware (and you are). And, it sends a message to your own brain and body that you are not afraid to take up space, increasing your self-confidence and security at a cellular level.
    5. Keep it in Context
      Let’s put the concept of women’s safety in context. At least 90% of gender-based violence worldwide is perpetrated by someone known to the victim. 59% by an intimate partner. The “stranger danger” narrative of personal safety and self-defense ignores the bigger picture: As women, we are not at higher risk out in the woods or on the road. In fact, we may be safer there. Despite the cultural narrative around personal safety, all the fears and warnings I shared above, solo female travel is not in fact more dangerous than being a woman at home, at work, or in a relationship. So if doubts about safety are holding you back, or if friends or family challenge your travel choices, it may be helpful to consider that just being a woman is risky stuff.
      Staying home won’t necessarily keep you safe, and neither will staying close to friends or significant others. At times, these may in fact pose a greater threat. So you might as well go out there solo and live your adventure. (If you would like to dive deeper into this kind of training, I recommend exploring ESD or IMPACT Personal Safety Classes in your area.)

    Empowerment Self-Defense is about offering new options and alternatives, not tossing out all the strategies we already have. I know every single one of you already has a toolkit packed with self-defense techniques, whether you call them by that name or another.

    So what would you add to this list? What are your go-to strategies for feeling secure and confident on your solo adventures? Share your experience in the comments!

    Originally published on Roofnest.

    Learn more about my empowerment self-defense work at www.mujeresfuertes.org, or support our fundraising efforts here.

  • Assertive Communication for Solo Female Travelers

    Assertive Communication for Solo Female Travelers

    assertive communication, envision festival, empowerment self-defense
    Teaching Empowerment Self-Defense & Assertive Communication at Envision Festival, March 2023.
    Photo Credit: Hestia Photo Experience.

    Originally published on Roofnest.

    How to set boundaries and utilize assertive communication tools in any culture and any situation

    Stories of harassment and stalking for solo female travelers are a dime a dozen. At home as much as on the road, a woman’s body, space, and boundaries are liable to be disrespected on a daily basis. Assertive communication can make a world of difference—wherever you want to go in the world.

    Harassment is an unforgivably common part of the female experience, and it has become unremarkable in its ubiquity. However, just because we have normalized this behavior, that does not mean it is in any way acceptable. 

    Particularly for women traveling alone, harassment can be a serious issue, causing feelings of insecurity, potentially leading to serious danger, and almost always turning an epic adventure into a battle for basic respect. The good news? It is entirely possible—and necessary!—to communicate and enforce boundaries with grounded assertiveness whenever you feel unsafe or at risk. 

    It may feel uncomfortable at first. That’s okay. It gets easier. You’ll probably even start to enjoy your newfound no-nonsense communication style after a while. 

    You have a right to move through the world without the socially mandated protection of a travel companion or partner. You have a right to define and defend your boundaries, regardless of who is traveling beside you—if anyone.

    As women, as travelers, and as human beings, we have an opportunity to practice setting and standing up for our boundaries in small ways every single day. As a self-defense instructor, I believe it is imperative that we do so.

    In this blog I will share my top three strategies for boundary setting and assertive communication. These are my favorite verbal techniques to teach in my self-defense workshops, and I believe they are critical skills to practice in daily life—whether in your home territory, out on the road, or on the other side of the world.

    Note: While it is good to push beyond your comfort zone and engage with an unfamiliar culture as much as possible, a hard no is still a hard no. Cultural differences are real, and may impact norms around communication, personal space and physical affection. Nonetheless, you are in charge of your body and your space, and ultimately you decide what is okay for you, and what isn’t.

    3 Fundamental Boundary Setting Techniques for Solo Female Travelers:

    1. Say No. As a solo traveler, you should quickly get comfortable with saying no: “No, I don’t need a taxi.” “No, I don’t want a guide.” “No, thank you, that’s beautiful, but I don’t want to buy it.” It can be a “no” with a smile, or a “no, but thank you so much.” However, if the message isn’t getting across with gentle, polite communication, sometimes you have to be more assertive: “I said no,” on repeat, with an even, low tone of voice and confident posture, usually gets results.

      Unfortunately, just about anywhere you go in the world, a woman’s “no” doesn’t receive the same immediate respect as a man’s. Nevertheless, “no” is a complete sentence, requiring neither apology nor explanation. Do not fall into the trap of negotiating over your no, or you will end up spending time, money, and energy on conversations, things, and people you don’t actually want. Of course you can apologize or explain if you want to. The point, as I am constantly reminding students in my self-defense classes, is that it is a choice, not an obligation.
    2. Be a Broken Record. When dealing with harassment—unwanted touch, flirtation, or other behavior—a similar technique works well. Choose one line (e.g. “I don’t want to talk right now.” “Do not touch me.” “Leave me alone.”) and stick with it. It is hard to argue or manipulate past stolid repetition. Be a broken record, repeating your one, assertive line until the person gets the message. There is no need to shout or get defensive unless the harasser becomes more threatening.

      A low, even tone, confident body language, and a refusal to enter into any negotiations (but why? Come on… I’m just being nice, etc.) can put a stop to a lot of unwanted behaviors.
    3. Name and Change It. An alternative strategy involves “naming” the behavior we want to change or stop. This is one of my favorite techniques. 

      We first name the behavior (e.g. “Your hand is on my leg.” “You’re staring at me.” “You’re following me.”) without questions or qualifications. Questions invite response, denial, or negotiation. In a dangerous or uncomfortable situation, we don’t want to start a conversation or argue over the facts; we just want to make the necessary changes to feel safe. 

      After naming the behavior, we demand the change we wish to see (e.g. “Stop touching me.” “Leave me alone.”) without feeling obliged to ask nicely or say please. If once is not enough, we can return to repetition until the message lands.

      I love this technique for several reasons. First, it leaves no room for doubt; we both know what’s going on here, and we’re not going to argue over that. Second, it alerts any bystanders to the situation. Finally, it clearly states a boundary: “You’re doing this. I don’t want you to. Stop.” If the behavior persists, we then know a person does not respect our boundaries or care about our needs.

      If the situation calls for it, you may also want to turn up the volume. Yelling has been shown to prevent as many as 50% of assaults against women. The voice is a powerful self-defense tool. To yell effectively, be sure to use your belly—singers, actors, and public speakers will already know how to do that—to protect your vocal chords and bring more power and resonance to your voice. I encourage trying this at home! Tell your neighbors you’re taking an acting class (this explains everything), grab a few friends, blast some music, and practice shouting “NO!” as loud as you can. Remember to yell from your center; it can be helpful to keep your hands on your belly as a tactile reminder when practicing.

      People who attack, assault, or harass other people are not superhumans. They are vulnerable to someone shouting in their face, the shame of being called out publicly, or the human discomfort of being confronted directly with their bad behavior. While it should never, ever be anyone’s responsibility to avoid assault or harassment—and a victim is never, ever to blame—these are real risks, especially for women, everywhere in the world. Whether close to home or abroad, we should all feel prepared to take our safety into our own hands.

      Solo travelers, what are your go-to strategies for setting boundaries and keeping your communication clear and assertive? Share your wisdom in the comments!

      Want to learn more solo travel safety tips? Check out these 5 Essential Safety Strategies for Solo Travel.
  • Choose Power: A Dream-Inspired Thought Experiment

    Choose Power: A Dream-Inspired Thought Experiment

    It’s been a wildly busy month, and though sharing something here has been on my to-do list every week, it just keeps getting pushed to the bottom. So as not to fall into the habit of not posting, I thought I would share this short thought experiment.

    About a month ago, I dreamt about a bus that wouldn’t stop. The more I yelled at the driver, the more he seemed to ignore me. I watched with growing panic as my destination disappeared behind me on the highway, until it became just a speck.

    But finally, the bus did stop. I thought I was angry… the driver was outraged! “Who are you?” He shouted. “Who are you to tell me to stop?”

    Hmmm.

    And so here is my thought experiment about choices and power and surrender and control:

    A post shared by Toby Israel (@tobyintheworld) on

    The bus is moving, and none of us gets to decide when we get off.

    Angry? Too bad, the wheels are still turning.

    Sad? You’re not the only one, but there are no breaks (…and no brakes) on this ride.

    Confused? Join the club—no one’s been down this road before.

    The bus is moving, and you don’t get to choose when it stops. The driver is deaf to your shouts of “slow down!” and “hurry up!”

    But don’t think that means you don’t have any power.

    You have all the power.

    You choose whether to yell or laugh. You get to decide to make a scene when the familiar vanishes in the distance—or to sit down and soak in the wild frontiers.

    You, and only you, determine how you react to the bumps, flat tires, detours and accidents.

    So someone stomped through with dirty boots. That’s alright too. Or maybe, for a few minutes, it’s not alright at all. Be angry. Be sad. Be confused. But then remember that you don’t have to be. Their dirty boots don’t have to be your problem.

    You still have power over you.

    Even though the driver doesn’t listen, your heart will. So tell it sweet things, always.

    A post shared by Toby Israel (@tobyintheworld) on

  • How to Return when there is No Turning Back

    How to Return when there is No Turning Back

    The plane lands. The boat docks. The train whistles as it arrives at the station.

    You step off. Pause. Look around.

    Friends and loved ones wait with brilliant smiles and open arms to welcome your return. They look just like the pictures you carried in your mind, and yet… The station looks just like your memory of your departure, and yet…

    Is this home? The place you left? It feels different, but you know it has not changed. No, you have changed. Or rather, you have become more yourself, and you do not yet know how to share this new, deeper you-ness with these specters of an earlier time.

    You have crossed oceans, scaled mountains, fought dragons, and befriended shadows. You have faced challenges you could not imagine, and you have learned your strength.

    But this. This seems insurmountable. How can you possibly carry your lessons back? How do you return?

    A post shared by Toby Israel (@tobyintheworld) on

    Reintegration. Maybe this is the hardest part of the journey. The return.

    I know this. We all do. It’s archetypal stuff. Gather so much beauty, so much wisdom, so much knowing—but then, how to bring it home, into the body, into the mind, into the world?

    The heart opening, horizon shattering, mind growing is the first step, not the end of the road. For every obstacle we overcome, there is a higher one around the bend. For every road we walk, there is a longer one still to travel. For every difficult journey we complete, there are yet more turbulent waters to navigate up ahead:

    The return.

    Everything that follows.

    We come back from our journeys changed. More sombre, or more joyful. Heavy with nostalgia, or lighter with all the baggage we have dropped along the way. Wiser, or more innocent—or both.

    A post shared by Toby Israel (@tobyintheworld) on

    We live more lifetimes than we could hope. We die small deaths, traverse dark nights, emerge at dawn with new perspective. None of it matters, and yet—I go on, we go on, because the sun still shines. Because the leaves still whisper. The birds still call. The guitar strings still vibrate.

    Just as they have always done.

    And so we still follow rules of time, of dress, of conduct. We still shine, speak, sing, dance, play—just as we have always done. But we feel like crying and laughing both, because we won’t be the same. We will never be the same.

    the return, cape town, toby israel, beach

    We have traveled far. We have met dragons. We have shed the layers of ourselves, and now we put them back on. Now we return, full of questions.

    We have said hello to the unknown and moved beyond it. We have touched secrets and tasted their blessings on our tongues, our skin, our hearts.

    One thing is certain. There is no turning back.

     

    Beach Photos Used with Permission from A Different Story Studio

  • On Growing Wings & The Value of Figuring It Out for Yourself

    On Growing Wings & The Value of Figuring It Out for Yourself

    wings

    I have the clearest memory of asking my father for help tying my shoes.

    I was sitting on the bottom step of our unfinished basement—I must have been around four years old—trying to remember something about a rabbit and a hole. And there was my father, who already had all the knowledge I needed about shoelaces and rabbits; he could help me.

    But instead he said, “You can tie your shoes yourself.”

    And I did.

    Maybe that memory is real. Maybe my mind constructed it out of dozens of memories like it. I don’t think it matters.

    My parents pushed me to “tie my own shoes” throughout my childhood in countless ways, large and small. It’s one of the gifts for which I’m most grateful. Without a doubt there is a fine balance between holding a child’s hand and pushing them out into the world alone. I have no idea what that balance is—one of many reasons I’m not a parent.

    As an adult, I’ve made a religion of self-sufficiency. Perhaps I’ve taken it to too much of an extreme, but that is what I have done. Solo travel, distance walks, one-way flights to countries where I know nobody, constant seeking for edges—my own, and the world’s…

    Some people are adrenaline junkies. The Unknown gives me my high.

    When I moved to Cape Town for the first time in early 2016, I didn’t know anyone there. I came with a name—a friend of a friend—and an address. When I found out that the house I’d already paid a deposit on was nowhere near the center of the city, I hitchhiked my way to climbing gyms, dance classes, and cozy cafes until I figured out the informal shared taxis.

    Would it have been easier to have friends, family, or resources at my disposal, ready to give me rides, show me the ropes of a chaotic transport system, and introduce me to new friends? I’m sure it would have—but then, would I have learned as much?

    I’m a firm believer that we grow fastest and fly farthest when we push ourselves well beyond our comfort zones. Experience has taught me a key paradox to traveling (and living) in a state of discovery: To thrive outside our comfort zone, we must trust, absolutely, that we can thrive outside our comfort zone. But to truly believe in our capacity for flight, we have to fly.

    In essence:

    “We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.” — Kurt Vonnegut

    Now, there are a few key elements to this jumping-off-cliffs-and-growing-wings business…

    First, that balance. We are none of us an island, as a wise writer once said, more or less. For every cliff we jump off alone, there may well be another to whom we say, “not today,” and third on which we find a companion to hold our hand on the way down. Balance.

    Second, support. While my parents were teaching me to tie my own shoes, they were also giving me love and support every step of the way. I am blessed to know that my family and friends are always there, ready to cheer me on when I fly, or pick me up if I take any knocks on the way down. Family, friends, community—a support system, even if we never call on it, makes it so much easier to jump.

    Third, will. You could argue that personality or background determine our ability to grow wings, and I would disagree with you. While stubbornness is my dominant personality trait, and I don’t like following directions, I have met so many others far more resourceful than I, of every possible personality type and cultural background. I don’t believe it is personality; it’s will. Tautological though it may sound, to figure it out for yourself, you have to want to figure it out for yourself.

    To grow wings, you have to grow wings.

    Easy?

    Wrong question. It’s possible, and that’s really all we need to know.

    Happy flying!

    Many thanks to a good friend here in Costa Rica, whose conversation on this subject pushed me to articulate what exactly I think about it!

  • As Long As You’re Moving, You’re On Your Path.

    As Long As You’re Moving, You’re On Your Path.

    In this moment of deep transition, a few brief thoughts on “following our path,” and what that really means.

    A well-intentioned friend recently cautioned me about falling too far from my path as I meander, in my peculiar way, through experience and discovery.

    I had to laugh. Such words of caution beg the question.

    If we do not believe there is One True Path, how can we fall from it?

    pathKinetic Freedom

    I am on my path.

    It twists and curves riotously, joyously. It is sheer movement.

    Angels dance on wingtips overhead, and devils on their tails below. They sing together of freedom.

    I am not lost, my dear. Or, if I am, I do not wish to be found.

    Because there is wilding here, on my path. There is witching, here on my path. There is wonder and meaning and laughter and growth—here on my path.

    And on yours too, I have no doubt. I never claimed to walk the One True Path.

    I know only a little about kinetic freedom, and it is enough to keep me spinning, spinning, spinning recklessly through parabolas and whorls—along this path that is unfailingly mine. Always changing. Always growing with me.

    I choose it for myself.

    No one is “falling” here. Only dancing.

    As long as you’re dancing, you are on your path. As long as you’re moving, you are on your path. As long as you can read your footprints in the sand, you are on your path.

    Choose it.

    Next Stop: Costa Rica. Home for the next 12 months. Hasta luego!

     

    Photo Credit: A Different Story

  • What to Do with a 10-Hour Train Ride

    What to Do with a 10-Hour Train Ride

    I’ve done that thing again.

    That thing where I look at plane tickets, look at train tickets, enter all available data into an elaborate equation (something like, Value = Adventure / Cost + Adventure x Time + Cost/Environmental Cost) and decide to take the ten-hour train.

    Again.

    You see, adventure counts twice in my calculations… and I value my time a bit differently.

    So I’m sipping on free hot water (having exhausted my ten-hour snack supply in just over seven hours), watching an obstinately rainy day pass me by—all the way from Vermont to Philadelphia.

    It’s not a bad day for a train ride, I have to admit. The sky is a study in gray. Wisps of cloud catch in green hills, blur the horizon, put me to sleep.

    I wake up quickly; I think my feet are getting frostbite. I set up camp in the cafe car. Consider diving into a pile of work. Think the better of it. Return to staring out at the nondescript, along-the-tracks landscape.

    I’ve taken so many absurdly long train, bus, and ferry rides, keeping count lost all meaning a long time ago. Barcelona to London: Why go in two hours when you can take two days, via Paris and the Chunnel? Tangier to Barcelona: What fun is the plane when a thirty-hour boat ride gets you 100% there? Stockholm to Turku: Thirteen hours and no regrets! Goa to Kolkata: In hindsight, maybe forty hours was a a bit long…

    A love of slow travel, a desire to lighten my footprint whenever possible, and a stubborn resistance to doing things the easy way all feed into these choices.

    But I realize that whiling away an entire day—or more—on a train doesn’t come without practice. I haven’t forgotten my astonishment at my fellow passengers in Nepal, where I took some of my first twelve-hour bus journeys. They put me to shame, doing nothing for the entire journey, never complaining, and maintaining perfect serenity during the hours of touch-and-go traffic leaving Kathmandu Valley.

    And so, if you have a ten-hour train journey ahead of you, or another trip just as daunting, I’d like to offer a few of my favorite activities to help you pass the hours:

    1. People watch. This activity could, without exaggeration, occupy all ten of those hours, especially when coupled with eavesdropping. The man in the seat behind me telling another passenger how he never learned how to read words, only concepts. The woman across the aisle discussing, at length, a petty workplace drama. The endless procession of human faces, voices, expressions—mundane and extraordinary at once. Yes, one could certainly people watch for ten hours.
    2. Crochet, or otherwise make things. When I traveled from Philadelphia to Miami by train in 2013, I spent about four hours of the thirty-hour odyssey crocheting a hat for a particularly odd and impressively drunk character sharing the cafe car with me. Activities that occupy the hands but leave the mind free to wander are ideal for long trips.
    3. Read. Bring a fresh book you know you’ll love. The longer the better. This time I brought The Wayfinders by Wade Davis, and it enthralled me. If you’d happily sit on the couch with a good book all day, you can stop reading right now; your ten hours are sorted.
    4. Write. Whether or not you’re a writer is beside the point. Write down observations, stream of consciousness, the funny things people said while you were eavesdropping. These words may serve some purpose later on, or you may never look at them again. Also not the point.
    5. Make lists. If you can’t think of anything else to write, there are always lists. I happen to love lists—the way they sit uselessly on my desktop after I make them, their satisfying list-ness, the irrational sense of efficiency I feel when writing them. Maybe you’ll be equally entertained by this activity… or maybe not.
    6. Eat. On travel days, I drop any preferences or pretenses I usually have about food. Today I feasted on cherries and leftovers, but sometimes it’s chocolate and chips. While normally I wouldn’t advocate for eating out of boredom, long train (or bus, or ferry) rides are a special exception. Entering a liminal space, free from the normal constraints of time and metabolic physics, is one of the advantages of traveling this way after all.
    7. Work. Just kidding—travel days aren’t work days! Be it a lack of reliable wifi or the soporific rattling of tracks, these journeys don’t usually support much work. But if you need to get things done, there’s certainly time.
    8. Do nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Stare out the window and daydream about mountains that hold up the sky. Close your eyes and turn the rocking of the train into music. Lean back, put your hands in your lap, and just sit there. I think we could all do with a little more nothing in our days. A ten-hour train ride is a good place to start.

    Additional uses of time that may inspire you: listening to music, meditating, talking to strangers, walking up and down the aisles, stretching, deleting old files off your phone, gobbling fresh air in the areas between coaches…

    Think that just about covers it!

    How do you pass a long journey? Please share your favorites with me!

  • How to Go Out Alone (& Not Hate It)

    How to Go Out Alone (& Not Hate It)

    It’s 2009, and I’m eighteen. Paris is home for the year.

    It’s a chilly night in early winter. Ten or eleven o’clock. I’ve just gotten off the metro somewhere in the center of the city.

    Buzz. Buzz. The text messages, which don’t yet reach underground, arrive in a flurry. “Can’t make it.” “Running late. Might bail.” “May come later. Not sure.”

    Well shit. I’m not going in there alone. My first instinct is to flee right back the way I came.

    But then I glance at the bar—warmly lit wood and brass, clientele dressed in the ultra-chic black uniform of the city—and my natural stubborn streak takes over.

    So what if no one else is coming? It’s Friday night, and it took me forty-five minutes to get here. I’ll be damned if I go home without at least checking out the scene.

    I open the door. Step into the warm light. Rest an elbow on the narrow wooden bar. Order a glass of wine—white, I think.

    The clamor of several dozen voices reaches my ears at once. I absorb it as I sip my wine, but before long someone strikes up a conversation with me, and my focus narrows to just one. I practice my French. Find that it comes easily with strangers, without pressure. Somehow I find myself at a table with a dozen young people from the south of France. Celebrating a birthday—I think.

    The evening flows, and I leave for home many hours later, glowing with perverse satisfaction more than anything. I went out alone, and it didn’t suck. So there, world!

    I’ve been meaning to write this piece for years. All credit goes to the friend who asked me last week what I did about going out alone when I travel: Thank you for reminding me.

    That night in Paris was, in a way, a pivotal moment in my solo travel career. It’s one thing to hop on a train alone, sightsee alone, or even eat at a restaurant alone. We might do all of these things with ease, yet panic at the thought of entering a bar or club without backup. And by “we” I mostly mean “we women,” as that is the experience I feel I can speak to.

    Why? Why is this the impassable limit of independence?

    Well, first off, we’ve had it drilled into our heads that this simply is not done. That old fear rhetoric strikes again. Creepy guys, lechy guys, drunk guys; social stigma, weird looks, pitying stares; feeling lonely, awkward, unpopular, uncomfortable—

    Ahhh stop! Forget it. Let’s never go out alone. We’re convinced. Right?

    No! Let’s go out alone, because, as usual, reality is better than our imagination—and certainly better than our nightmares.

    I went to bed that November night in Paris feeling empowered. “Not sucking” may seem like a low bar for an evening out, but when we’re conditioned to expect utter disaster from any solo foray into social adventures, “not sucking” is actually high achievement.

    In the years since, I’ve often gone to pubs, live shows, dance clubs, bars, and festivals alone. Sometimes I even—gasp—prefer it. Story for another time.

    going out alone, dance, dancing

    I think the “how” of going out alone is fairly self-explanatory, but I’d break it down something like this:

    > No expectations/low expectations. If you’ll happily go home disappointed, a nice evening out is a pleasant surprise.
    >> Stay sober-ish. Obvious. Safety in self-possession, especially if you’re trying the solo adventure thing.
    >> Stay open—to possibility, to people, to surroundings. There’s potential in everything.
    >> But be prepared to deflect all the kinds of creepy. Welcome to the world. Books are excellent shields. So are crazy-arm, spinning-jumping dance moves.
    >> Just open the damn door and go in.

    Worst case scenario? It’s terrible, you go home, and you can blame me later for even suggesting such a thing.

    Best case scenario? You learn that you truly can do anything, because you’re a badass, and life isn’t as scary as everyone tells you.

    Cheers!

  • “Won’t You Stay?” A Short Story about Leaving.

    “Won’t You Stay?” A Short Story about Leaving.

    Written in Taghazout, Morocco in October 2016. Originally published in elephant journal.

    Won’t You Stay?

    won't you stay

    A bird came to rest on a branch outside my window one day. It sang such a beautiful tune, I nearly cried.
    “Won’t you stay?” I asked the little bird.
    “I could stay,” it replied, “but that is not what these wings were made for.”

    A fawn appeared on the hill outside my window one day. Its silent grace was so lovely, I nearly cried.
    “Won’t you stay, and rest by my side?” I asked.
    “I could stay,” it answered, “but that is not what these legs were made for.”

    A fish jumped in the river outside my window one day. It moved with such effortless joy, I nearly cried.
    “Won’t you stay?” I called to it hopefully.
    “I could stay,” it answered, “but that’s not what these fins were made for.”

    A man knocked on my window one day. His eyes were such pools of wild grace as he watched me pack my bags. Tears slipped from my eyes.
    “Won’t you stay?” He asked, though his heart knew the answer.
    “I could stay,” I whispered, “but that’s not what I was made for.”

    Read the original piece on elephantjournal.com

    Image: Used with permission from Paula Barkmeier

  • Struggle: A Travel Manifesto

    Struggle: A Travel Manifesto

    If you travel (or live), where the mother tongue is not your mother tongue, you will struggle. The mundane will become complex and challenging, and you will no longer take your habitual fluency in the everyday for granted.

    This is a good thing.

    It shouldn’t be easy. (Or at least, I strongly believe that it is through challenge, discomfort, dis-ease that we grow best.) So, this is my travel manifesto for you…

    Go out into the world, and struggle:

    Struggle, to purchase underwear.
    Struggle, to ask directions.
    Struggle, to talk about the things that matter to you.

    Comprehending the cost of your coffee will be a minor victory.
    Catching a compliment on the first go will be cause for celebration.
    Navigating a simple interaction will thrill you—as it never could at home.

    These are all very good things.

    For it should not be easy, this day-to-day living.
    It should not be easy, this being in the world.

    So struggle, to take the bus.
    And struggle, to order at the bar.
    Struggle, to understand.
    Struggle, to say you have understood.

    For it should not be easy, this everyday living.
    It should not be easy, this quotidian life thing.

    When it is easy, we forget—

    We forget that buying our coffee is in fact a minor victory,
    that a compliment is cause for celebration,
    that understanding is a miracle,
    and being understood doubly so.

    So struggle,
    and don’t forget
    that it is a privilege to move through this world with grace.

    And when you do forget,
    as, invariably, we do,
    Go out again
    and travel.

    Remember what it feels like
    to struggle for the simplest of rewards.

    Remember not to take
    anything for granted.

    Remember how to move
    through this world
    with grace.

     

    — Monday, 15 May; train Barcelona—Paris

     

    *Image photographed in Belleville, Paris. Artwork by rnst.

  • Give Me Loneliness (a poem for travelers and dreamers)

    Give Me Loneliness (a poem for travelers and dreamers)

    Sagres, Portugal, early May.

    This past weekend, after a few wonderful weeks of travel and adventure with friends and family, I gave myself the gift of a few days utterly alone. I went to a tiny town at the end of the world—Sagres, Portugal. (There is magic there, you should know.) I surfed (badly), ate (decently), and puttered about (spectacularly), and I did my best to avoid making friends so as to properly refill my creative batteries. Or something like that.

    My airbnb host gave me various well-intentioned suggestions on where to drink and how to meet other travelers, none of which I followed.

    She was worried about me feeling lonely. I wasn’t.

    On my last morning in town, I sat down at the Perceve Kiosk for coffee with a view of the sea, and I wrote this poem. I hope it may speak to the part of you that also, perhaps secretly, craves loneliness.

    Give Me Loneliness

    Give me loneliness.
    Give me long mornings where not one word passes my lips.
    Give me dinner for one.
    Give me the sweet melancholy of looking out at the sea and whispering—only for myself—“that is so fucking beautiful.”

    Beauty shared doubles in its charms,
    but beauty held within multiplies without bounds.

    Give me loneliness.
    Give me empty roads in forgotten towns.
    Give me shadowless landscapes where my soul can dance all alone.
    Give me sleep, because there is nothing—no one—for which to stay awake.
    Give me dreams of open skies and towering cliffs and violent surf, which do not fade on waking.
    Give me a soft shawl of solitude, with a bittersweet border. Let me wrap myself in it for an hour, a week, or a year, to keep my dreams warm in daytime.

    Dreams shared may reach towering heights for a while,
    but dreams kept inside—these grow wings in their own right.

    Give me loneliness.
    Give me a short coffee and a long, long morning.
    Give me voices on the breeze that require no answer.
    Give me the low, salubrious song of no footsteps passing.

    Give me loneliness—
    When I am ready
    …after a while…
    I will look up and smile.
    And you will understand that I was never lonely
    not really
    but only warming my dreams over a silent flame,
    biding my time
    until the wind was right
    to turn whispers
    into flight.

    ***

    Photo Credit: Casparo Brown

  • The Rough and Wrinkled Side of Adventure

    The Rough and Wrinkled Side of Adventure

    Sunday, 23 April. Porto, Portugal.

    Welcome to the world of unplanned adventure.

    It’s messy. It’s unphotogenic. It’s wild-ish.

    It’s kind-hearted French tourists warning you that you’re being followed (you know already) and offering to accompany you wherever you need to go (you’re touched).

    It’s hastily scribbled hitchhiking signs, crumpled and smoothed out again. It’s sloppy smiley faces in the O’s of Oporto. It’s red eyes after too much dancing in other people’s clouds of smoke, and not enough sleep. It’s aching feet and dirty jeans.

    It’s strange people chasing after you in the street to tell you they like your hat.

    It is so far from glamorous that any Instagram post on the matter seems discordant.

    It’s empty coffee cups and chipped tiles, half-formed impressions flitting in and out of your mind. It’s improvised, individual, and in flux, but not quite indescribable. It’s sauerkraut and beets for dinner, because the Russian supermarket is the only one open on Sunday evening.

    It is chaotic. It is alive. It is enlivening.

    Welcome to the world of rough, messy, unplanned and unplannable adventure.

    It’s not just on the other side of the world (though it’s here, too). It’s in your backyard—as long as there’s dirt. It’s in your dreams—as long as there are dragons. It’s in every crumpled page, wild dance, and imperfect human encounter that appears in the archives of your life.

    And isn’t it beautiful?

  • 12 Ways to Move/Travel to a New City/Country Where you Don’t Know Anyone—and Totally Rock It

    12 Ways to Move/Travel to a New City/Country Where you Don’t Know Anyone—and Totally Rock It

    I write about venturing into the unknown often.

    You might say it’s my favorite theme—in life and in art. You could say it’s my greatest fear—in love and in travel. You could say it is a subject so rich and fascinating it proves an inexhaustible source of meaning and poetry.

    You could say any of those things, and you would be right.

    Ah, the not-knowing…it is terrifying, exhilarating, life-affirming indeed. But maybe you want a bit more practicality and a bit less poetry; maybe you have concrete travel plans on the horizon (even tenuous possibilities or dreams), and poetic rambling philosophizing isn’t helping all that much. I get that.

    I drop myself into cities and countries where I know no one on a regular basis. I enjoy the challenge and the freedom, but I also forget that this is a practice like any other, and may seem somewhat inaccessible at first. I want to demystify it.

    The following suggestions stem from my years of solo traveling. I don’t necessarily follow them all for every trip, but one could in theory. I believe each one has a deep potential to cushion the fall into unknown territory.

    1. Reach out to friends and acquaintances.
    A simple “Do I know anyone in _____?” on Facebook can yield unexpected results. This method has found me friends (and often couches) in otherwise totally anonymous destinations from Prague and Montenegro to Berlin, Sicily and more.

    2. Mine for connections.
    Social media is a multifaceted beast, but it really comes in handy for certain kinds of travel. Asking my Facebook friends (and sometimes blog followers), “Does anyone have any connections in ___?” in the past has found me a house to rent in Cape Town, a Shabbat dinner in Paris, a yoga teaching gig in Zanzibar and so much more. The more I travel, the more this network grows—exponentially, it would seem. Couchsurfing is another amazing resource for making connections for friends and couches both.

    3. Be bold—ask questions.
    Every piece of information we could possibly need is available on the ground. No need to read travel forums, or even look up directions (although by all means do both if it sets your mind at ease). Depending on where I am in the world, there are metro maps, info centers, or throngs of aggressive taxi drivers at every possible port of arrival. Barring that, the local person sitting next to me on the bus/plane/train/ferry is usually an excellent resource.

    4. Get Lost and Like It.
    I have developed an impressive habit of always going the wrong way first. If it’s straight, I go left. If it’s left, I go right. I then employ method #3, ad infinitum, to take the longest route possible to my intended destination (thank you, legs). Getting lost is a common consequence of going in blind; even if we don’t like it, we can bring our sense of humor along for the walk.

    5. Set up a work trade.

    While it is 100% possible (and yes, fun and exciting) to just go explore a new place and find your way upon arrival, I have often found more depth and connection through work exchanges. Websites like wwoofing, workaway and helpx are just a few of many platforms for finding interesting, short-term placements abroad. Working or volunteering is, in my experience, one of the most effective ways to integrate into a community and create my place in the formerly unfamiliar. It is also an incredibly practical resource for information.

    6. Set up an Airbnb.
    If, like me, you need to work while you wander (or, also like me, you don’t want to commit to too much socializing), but still want an entree into local community, Airbnb is unparalleled. Set your price, browse your options, and choose a host who seems interesting. I’m still in contact with several of my Airbnb hosts, and owe unique memories (like tasting the best chocolate gelato in the whole world) to them.

    7. Keep up with hobbies.
    I always carry two extra pairs of shoes with me: dance and climbing. Dancing tango in Kenya, salsa-ing in Berlin and climbing in Cape Town, I’ve connected with people I never would have met otherwise. Same goes for surfing in Morocco and hiking in Spain. Those are my passions; follow yours, and you’ll find your people—anywhere.

    8. Become a regular.
    There is something uniquely grounding in being a regular customer (in a cafe, restaurant or even corner store)—in simply being recognized. When our default mode is anonymity, feeling seen, known, familiar offers a powerful sense of place. Especially when I have a few weeks or months somewhere, I find myself accumulating these “regular” spots. Though utterly departing from all known routine is a key—even necessary—element of travel for me, glimpses of familiarity within the unknown provide welcome—even necessary—moments of respite.

    9. Let go of should’s.
    I believe having a mile-long checklist of “must sees” and “must dos” limits potential for spontaneous discovery. I tend to get a decent amount of touristing in when I visit a new place, but I try not to force it. Excursions happen organically—often with new friends—when I genuinely want to do them, and not because I feel like I’ll be failing at travel if I don’t.

    10. Cook.
    My experience of travel altered hugely when I started to prepare a lot of my own meals (just as I used to when I lived in one place). Not all, of course, since tasting local cuisines is hands down the best part of traveling, but many. Wandering local markets, I’ve honed new language skills, felt rooted in my home-of-the-moment, and saved serious money. Choosing an Airbnb with a kitchen facilitates this, as does staying with friends. Cooking a beautiful meal has long been my favorite way to thank my hosts for their hospitality.

    11. Talk to strangers.
    They’re not scary—usually. When they are creepy, it’s usually pretty clear to my intuition. Strangers are typically one of three things: treasure troves of insider information, friends you haven’t met yet, or an excellent story for later. Instructions for talking to strangers: eyes up, shoulders down, words out.

    12. When all else fails, fail.
    I have days—sometimes weeks—where my social self goes into hibernation, my patience drops to zero, and the challenge of the unknown shifts from exhilarating to tiresome. When that happens, I take time to write, read, call friends and family, and simply be. No one can be “on” all the time. This lifestyle of exploration and discovery has curves and cycles, just like any other. These moments of pause make the adventure all the richer.
     
    May your journeys be—yours.

  • “Don’t go to Morocco Alone.” And other Fear-mongering you should Ignore.

    A rooftop terrace in Taghazout, Morocco.

    Me: “I’m thinking of going to Morocco.”

    Everyone: “Awesome! Just don’t go alone.”

    As you may have guessed, I didn’t listen to everyone, and here I am: in Morocco, very much solo, and so far quite pleased about it.

    (For the next month, I’ll be living in Taghazout, a small town on the Atlantic coast, teaching some yoga, learning the fine art of surf bummery, and generally winding down after an overly hectic few months. And I’ll have time to visit a few Moroccan cities afterward, not to worry!)

    There is a saying here, which a new friend taught me:

    One rotten fish can make the whole bucket stink.

    For those who work in the tourism industry, that rotten fish (in the form of robberies, political unrest or an isolated attack) is the proverbial boogeyman. Just a whiff of danger and foreigners will cancel their flights. An act of terror (as occurred while I was living in Kenya)? Total disaster for the industry—and, by extension, a great many people’s livelihoods.

    I digress somewhat. I don’t to tell you what happens to the tourism industry when the fear-mongers win. I want to tell you why you shouldn’t listen to them in the first place.

    Every country- or city-shaped bucket has a rotten fish—often many.

    In my opinion, those rotten fish are the reason why people will tell women not to travel solo to India, Zanzibar, Turkey, fill-in-the-blank-with-your-country-of-choice. “It’s not safe.” “Men don’t respect women there.” “It won’t be pleasant.” Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

    And sure, there’s a good chance I will encounter an asshole or two before I leave Morocco in six months’ time. I’ve spent time alone in all of the aforementioned countries, and I’ve had occasional negative experiences in all of them (though always far outweighed by the positive). But do you know where I’ve encountered the most assholes? On college campuses in the U.S. In Parisian metro stations. Walking down the street in Boston.

    So what can we learn here?

    ***

    Well, for starters, check your assumptions. Are you giving more credence to warnings of danger or disrespect because the destination in question is “over there”? Keep in mind that nowhere is perfect, and nowhere is particularly “safe.” I have yet to investigate, but I’ve heard Morocco may be one of the statistically safest countries in the world. Chew on that.

    Second, ask yourself if you’re discounting cultural differences. If so, you may be falling victim to the understandable yet problematic epidemic of Western ethnocentrism. That is, judging another culture purely by your own values. Quick tips for women wishing to avoid harassment while traveling alone: cover your hair, cover your shoulders, and cover your legs (generally, follow cultural codes for modesty and behavior). Oh yes, that’s problematic in its own way, and I take issue with it sometimes, but we don’t get to make the rules when we visit someone else’s home.

    Lastly, choose your devil, because there is nowhere—nowhere–you will be utterly and inalterably at ease.

    ***

    I (and just about every woman ever) learned since birth to fear. Fear attack. Fear violence. Fear bad men. Fear everything, right? Society teaches us that.

    And it’s true. Of course it’s true! The world is a scary place. Especially for women. We’re working on it, but we have a very, very long way to go. Change, however, has never happened when we stick to the status quo. Fear-mongering doesn’t keep us safe; it keeps us the same. So if you want something different, you have to ignore the fear-mongers.

    There’s a lot of space between reckless risk-taking and bubble-girl-style caution. Here’s what you may find there:

    > Deserted tropical islands where you can run naked across miles of sand, because you are totally, beautifully alone.

    > Kind shop owners who will invite you inside for tea, show you pictures of their wife and children, and invite you to stay with their family if ever you return to their country.

    > Fascinating strangers on trains, buses and trails, in hostels, campsites and smoke-filled restaurants, whom you never would have met if you hadn’t been traveling solo.

    > The best meal of your month, discovered only by following your nose and your intuition (yours alone) through a labyrinthine bazaar.

    > And last, but unavoidably, rotten fish. It’s part of the travel bucket. But hey, it’s part of every bucket, and you can’t avoid them all.

    I hope, if nothing else, this will make you think—maybe reconsider. Please share your thoughts in the comments if so inclined!

    ***

  • The Intoxicating Unknown, and Solitude

    The Intoxicating Unknown, and Solitude

    The plane lands with a jolt. Rolls to the gate. Shuts off the engines.

    You and the other passengers file off the aircraft. Through the terminal. Past immigration. Baggage Claim. Customs.

    You step outside into a country where you know no one.

    Perhaps you don’t speak the language. The air is different. Heavy and humid. Or maybe cold and sharp. Your nose catches new smells and catalogues them as memories—later, this will be a remembered place.

    Welcome. You have just crossed into a vast field of unknowns.

    Is it terrifying—or exhilarating?

    Someone asked me recently if it ever gets lonely, this solo traveling.

    There are many answers to that question. I’m having a bit of deja vu, because I think I’ve offered some of them before (maybe in this, or this), but I have something new to say about it today.

    Basically, no, I don’t.

    I have experienced dozens of iterations of the above scenario—arriving by air, land or sea—and for me it is always exhilarating. That is, in part, why I will fly from Rome to Agadir, Morocco at the end of September—to spend six or seven weeks in a place where I know nobody.

    While I love traveling with or visiting friends (and do so often), I crave the spaciousness that only comes with solitude. Maybe you do too.

    Nothing can replicate it. It arrives the moment we leave every known thing behind us. Hug our loved ones goodbye outside the airport. See our traveling companion to the train station, then turn back to a foreign city alone. Click “complete payment” on a one-way ticket for one.

    Solitary spaciousness arrives when face the forest, the mountains, the desert—whatever our alluring yet frightening place may be—with a pack on our shoulders and uncertainty in our chest, knowing that no one is coming with us this time.

    Does that scare you? It probably should. There are monsters in the forests, the mountains and most of all the cities. But more than that—more than that there are monsters in our hearts and minds.

    I believe that is what people fear most of all when they fear setting out to travel alone. There is the external risk, of course, but I suspect loneliness—ourself facing ourself—instills greater terror.

    Why don’t I ever get lonely, then? I’m not actually sure, not entirely. Maybe I do, but it no longer scares me, and so I call it solitude instead of loneliness. I do know this:

    Our comfort zone expands every time we step outside of it and thrive there. There is nothing more intoxicating, full of life and purpose, than entering the unknown territory alone.

    So go.

    “The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.”