SOLO TRAVEL isn't easy — that's what makes it so worth doing. It teaches you to be where you are, a skill largely lost in our modern world. When traveling on your own, there's no past which others know. There's no one dragging you to see the sights when you just want to relax; there's nobody you have to tell, get up or we're gonna be late for the train.
It's all on you. You'll make mistakes and dwell on them. You'll say yes to unexpected experiences that'll change you. You'll be uncomfortable. You'll feel alone. You'll make friends. You'll grow.
On your own in a foreign place, your soul expands, pounding on its limiting walls; your heart opens from mistakes which turn to lessons, awe which turns to love, wisdom gleaned from a mind that runs incessantly, wondering, why am I here? Oh, that is why. What am I doing? Whatever the fuck I want. That was stupid — but it's okay.
You don't travel solo because you want to be comfortable. You travel solo because something out there beckons, and it's worth discovering what that is.
There's nothing so beautiful to me as looking inward while exploring outward in a new environment. It doesn't matter where it is.
I love to travel because I'm hungry to learn, and when traveling, I'm constantly learning. I'm a travel writer, but I'm less inclined to write about what to do, what to see; I'm more interested in how travel changes me. This story is about Thailand, and how it did just that.
Like the ancient docks from which ships departed for foreign shores, travel often starts at an airport. Wood and sails have turned to steel and wings, and instead of fresh air and the salt of the sea, the ceiling of the airport is silver and the walls are glass and the ground moves you from A to B.
The runway at dusk is romantic in a different way from the waves of the early morning, yet the spirit they denote remains unchanged. For me, it's one of adventure.
I arrived in Bangkok and picked up a Thai SIM card on the way to baggage claim. This is the first time I've ever done this. It always seems like a gimmick, but this time I thought, why not? The woman at the stand was kind.
I looked up the currency rate and basic phrases: sa wat dee khrap — hello; kop koon khrap — thank you; chai, mai — yes, no; kor tot — excuse me; chiyo — cheers. That should hold me over, I thought. My flight from Osaka shared the same baggage claim with a flight from Sydney. New people. Fresh faces. I was one of them, solitary and observing.
I'd be staying at a hostel in Bangkok's Old Town. After several subway rides and a long walk along a dusty, bright road, I found the side street on which it was located. The air was sultry like the Japanese summer. The sweat felt good. I stopped at a corner store near the hostel for some water. The owner, Ken, told me about the different sides of Bangkok, the old and the new, and how he grew up just down the road. His family has a little bar over there which his sister now runs.
Ken told me about the seasons in Bangkok. He asked if I wanted a beer. Soon, my friend.
When choosing a hostel to book, I had a positive gut feeling about this one. Reviews usually tell me all I need to know. Clean. Lively. Solid location with a café downstairs, which is usually a good sign.
It was perfect.
Guests sat on the front porch when I arrived, the smell of coffee and tobacco strong, intermingled with the scent of weed. Cannabis became legal in Thailand in 2022, making it a rarity in Asia, a region known for extreme repercussions regarding possession of marijuana, especially in my country of residence, Japan. This was news to me, and I wasn't complaining.
Granite walls, a big glass door, travelers coming and going. The place had style, a modern touch and cheerful energy, situated next to charming a bookstore. What could be better?
I got into a conversation with the British lad at the check-in counter. He'd been working at the hostel for almost two years. Content, laid-back with a genuine smile. That was me, working at a hostel in Lisbon, Portugal, two summers ago.
I found my dorm, unpacked, and as dusk fell, I sauntered over to take Ken up on that beer, setting out onto my first night of ten in a country that I didn't know would affect me so deeply.
My time in Bangkok consisted of ample street food and golden evening light, daily coconuts, mango with sticky rice, spicy noodles, and fried insects on a stick.
There was a night where a group of us from the hostel went to the local stadium to watch Muay Thai fights where the fighters were young, the stadium was rowdy, and the teams in each corner were lusting for victory.
In the mornings, I would do a quick workout, baking in the rising sun on the hostel rooftop, and then have a coffee with other guests on the front porch. A joint or two may have floated around, and we'd just hang.
Later in the day, cold drinks and street food were had on plastic street-side tables, preceded by long walks along canals, rivers, colorful roads, and through crowded markets and shimmering temples. There were rides on backs of motorbikes, in the night and in the day. You may hear many things about Bangkok, but shit, I liked it. Go for yourself, have a wander, and make your own judgement.
The experiences of travel will always stay with me, but what stays with me the most is what I learn, and what I learn comes from the coalescence of people and place, for there are certain characteristics about Bangkok which call to certain people: the warm weather and joyful locals; the motorbikes and food; the freedom.
Bangkok was the backdrop but the people are the story, for it's the people I met which left a lasting impression on my heart. It's because of where we were, who we are, and what we asked of life in this moment that brought it all together.
I learned on this trip, perhaps more than on any other, that travel doesn't have to mean doing. I love traveling with my friends more than anything. However, this is something much easier to understand when traveling solo, for when alone there isn't a pressure to do anything just for the sake of having an activity. Travel can just be being — being in a new place.
During those Bangkok mornings, friends would come and go for the first few hours of the day, sitting on the porch, chatting, leaving, returning. I met beautiful souls from Israel, France, Germany, the U.S., Austria, Canada, the U.K., and of course, Thailand.
It seemed we were all making changes in life, because more often than not, that's what is happening when you travel. It could always just be a random trip, a quick break in the routine, but most of the travelers I met had just made a significant life change. We'd tell each other our stories, perhaps share some words of encouragement or advice, a piece of our heart.
There was one kid I met, an eighteen-year-old from the U.K. A group of us were sitting around chatting, and he came over and asked politely if we'd mind if he joined the conversation.
Where else does someone do that but at a hostel? He was eighteen-year-old, traveling alone, and did it in such a charming way. I was taken aback. Solo travel either makes you fear more, or it makes you bold. And when you're bold, you realize there was nothing to fear.
When you're bold like this kid was, you'll realize that there are so many cool fucking people in this world. You don't really see that unless you get out of your routine, and you face it. Social media inundates us with the same updates over and over. We have the little worlds we know on there, so familiar.
The news floods our emotion with darkness and gloom, making us believe it's dangerous to travel, dangerous to live, dangerous to think differently, so we'd better stay home, shut the blinds and hope for the best.
Fuck that.
Get out there, get bold, and you'll realize how many people are still living, still smiling, still fighting to be good. They're people like you, people like me, human beings who hear the noise, too, but they get out there anyway, because life's too short to live in fear.
This world is good — I believe it from the bottom of my heart. There are people whose stories blow me away, young travelers and seasoned veterans, gritty and full of raw life experience, seldom found on the other side of the screen, seldom gleaned without going yourself, where slowly but surely, you become one of those legends with a story to tell.
This is why I'm fulfilled living the life I'm leading; it's why I call myself a writer, an explorer of the world, a dreamer. Not because it's my dream simply to be a writer, as if writing is something I love so dearly, but because I love life, real, true, sincere life.
I'm a writer because I hope to have stories to tell.
I do feel a pressure when I travel, which is both a beauty and a blessing in our modern world. I want to document what I see, taking pictures and notes. Sometimes this can feel like a burden. But I tell myself, just have the experience. Document it if it feels right, but just have the experience. What's beautiful, vital, and essential to the story will remain.
I came back to Japan a bit of a shell of myself. Traveling does this to me, for it moves me in such a way that I need time to understand what I'd experienced. And maybe that's okay, for traveling is this wild thing which moves you in ways you didn't expect to be moved, and when it's over normalcy just doesn't feel the same, for now there's something new you crave, novelty itself, serendipitous adventures and late night dialogues with strangers.
Normalcy is no longer normalcy, for you've changed; it feels like there's this hole in you, a longing for something that's no more, something you didn't even know existed a week or two ago, people you miss you had zero awareness of before setting off, unaware of what was to come.
But it's not a hole in you. It's emotion to be used, a force unseen without size or color or definition — love — asking to be fire for the start of something new.
So let the dust settle. Let your heart rage. Let the thoughts fly free toward the storm, let them coast in it and get lost, for the sun will rise again soon, and it'll be all the more beautiful for what has passed.
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