I travel solo. Not because I don’t have any options but because I like the freedom it entails. I don’t want to wait for people to decide to go, to freak out when there’s no set itineraries, to wait for consensus on what to do, what and where to eat and stay. I travel solo because I want to linger in a place without other people telling me that we have to go and head to another attraction. I don’t want to say to myself: This is another place that I have to go back to and visit again.
I’m not a tourist who visits for the sake of visiting. I’m a photographer and travel blogger and I prefer to be given time to explore through images or to immerse myself in asking questions, taking notes, enjoying time with the locals and feeling the soul of what the destination offers. I want to be given free reign of what to do and where to focus so that I can give justice to the place when I write and feature it.
Most of the time, there are lonely nights, and lonely journeys. Where thoughts race through my head as the scenery zip pass me while aboard a bus or a boat. Where a book can be a good companion or a chit chat with strangers can fill the gaps of waiting for the next trip to another town, or a break from the monotonous whirring of the motorcycle.
I travel solo because it affords me time to think for myself, of myself. Of pains and relationships. Of dreams and plans. And I travel solo because, as I wrote in my first post in this blog, it’s a personal journey to oneself.