A Woman Traveling Alone -Part 2

Yesterday I got to thinking about all the wonderful people I know who live alone. Who have traveled alone, done many great things, alone. How do they do it? I mean, I understand you can’t stay in your house alone forever, life is to be lived, but for me, there is such a pleasure in sharing things. So far I haven’t discovered equal pleasure in doing things alone.

Of course, part of the reason for my trip is the fact that I have never been alone- I went from my parent’ home to my marriage home to another permanent relationship. And I needed to see what it was like to be alone, to see what it felt like, to see if I could do it.

The good news is, of course, that I can do it. I can imagine living alone and even liking it. There is a delicious freedom in deciding when and what to eat, how to arrange the furniture, how the dishes should be stacked, that sort of thing.

Something as simple as buying groceries- I buy what I feel like eating not worrying about whether anyone else will like it or not. Doing laundry at 11pm and not worrying about the sound disturbing anyone. Everything is exactly where you left it. It’s fun to be responsible only for myself – I can eat soup for breakfast, nap and then stay up late.

And of course the truth is that I can do most of those things while living with someone-although playing the music loud when your partner needs to get up at 5 am might be stretching it.

So I get living alone, having your own place, the pleasure of listening to your own needs first, and attending to them- powerful, heady stuff, I like it.

Traveling alone however, is different. 

It’s great to know that I can navigate huge airports and tiny train stations and that I can make myself understood in French. That I can make plans, decisions, and follow through, and sort things out when they don’t go exactly as planned. That is a great experience, and it gets easier and more fun each time I do it.

There is still the pleasure of choosing what where and when, but there is no one to share it with. “Look at the tiny streets, the shutters on the windows, the curtain to let in light and air but block the doorway. Look how people are walking the streets, reading their book on a park bench, because they have no yard or garden. Imagine riding a horse down this tiny street and stabling it below your house. Imagine that people have lived here in these houses for 2000 years.”

It’s just not as much fun by myself. I want to share the colour of the water and the slate menus and serving platters at le Chateau and the huge plantain trees that line the main street. It’s when I imagine sharing it with my people-how Andrew would enjoy the tiny lizards darting on the hot stone steps, how the intense colours of the hydrangeas would delight my mom, how John would approve of the hiking maps provided by Amis de Lunas. Then things are brighter, more interesting, worth taking note of. Sharing a photo on facebook gives the subject of the picture more focus, more facets.

It sets me to wondering, when other people travel, do they ever stop and think, “Oh, Tracy would love this?”