Curious about Solo Travel? We teamed up with Francesca Specter, author of Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, for a week dedicated to celebrating the joys of Solo Travel. Here, Francesca herself returns to the City of Love—where she had hoped to return with a partner—alone.

While some favour Paris or Venice, for me there is a clear winner when it comes to naming the most romantic city in the world, and that’s Florence. Typically, it’s known as the birthplace of the Renaissance. But it isn’t the city’s world-leading collections of 14th, 15th and 16th art that does it for me; it’s the present-day romance pulsating through its streets.

After spending part of my gap year in Florence, I know the city intimately; the marble statues of Greek and Roman gods that punctuate every corner, the best places to enjoy sunset along the river Arno; the winding, cobbled streets to walk down hand-in-hand with a lover and the hidden-gem trattorias to enjoy a glass of Montepulciano and plates of pasta with. For me, Florence’s defining characteristic is the romance, flowing through its every artery.

The reason I’m so keenly acute to all this: the last time I was here in Florence, a decade ago, I was heartbroken. A couple of months prior, I’d been unceremoniously dumped by my high school boyfriend and First Love (a man who, unhelpfully, held a strong resemblance to the strong-nosed, sharp-jawed Roman statues that lined the Florentine streets). At the time, I thought it was the worst feeling ever, and in a sense I was right; it was the kind of primal feeling that inoculated me against future heartbreaks. And while retrospectively I’m grateful to have got it out of the way earlier, I was still very much embroiled in it at the time. 

I look back at that experience as one of the richest times of my life—but, at the same time, the loneliest. I was in such aching proximity to love, beauty, sex and yet I was unable to enjoy it first-hand. That’s not to say I didn’t have flings while I was out there: an American soldier, a local artist, someone from back home—I was ticking off all the cliches much faster than I completed my Italian homework. But fundamentally, I was lonely; a 20-year-old living away from home for the first time, who’d never understood that there was another other way to be alone. 

Fast forward ten years. Aged 30, I’m the author of a popular self-help book, Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, and the host of a podcast of the same name. My book was first conceived months before the pandemic, off the back of another break-up—in the wake of which I’d decided to lean into the experience of heartbreak by learning to respect, rather than stigmatize, by newfound solitude. A rule I’ve held for myself, over these past three years, has been that if there’s something I enjoy with other people, I want to be able to enjoy it alone too. Not as a replacement to doing those things with other people; simply as a complement. And so I challenge myself; everything from solo cinema trips to travels to South America.

Florence represented something of a final frontier. For so long, I’d hoped to return there with a partner. A Happy Ever After to finally pacify my lonely, gap year student past self; see, it all worked out in the end. But when I found myself craving a trip to Italy, I had to be honest with myself that the reason I was avoiding travelling there was because I was waiting for this hypothetical other person. And that wasn’t something I allowed myself to do anymore. 

So, armed with my newfound confidence, I decided to take a four-day trip to Florence as a belated 30th birthday present to myself. Because, as the Italians say, Non aspettare. Non sarà mai il momento giusto. (Don’t wait. The time will never be just right.)

Il suplemento unico: ’The single supplement’

The single supplement is the bane of every solo traveler’s life, and this trip it was no exception. For the uninitiated, the single supplement is the extra ‘supplement’ you have to pay when travelling alone, compared to what you would pay in a couple or family—e.g. for a hire car, or a hotel room priced for two sharing. 

No situation is perfect; it is what it is, and I guess the single supplement is the literal price you have to pay for the wonders of solo travel. And I will add that, however basic the hotel room, I love the blank canvas of a neat room, and sometimes knowing you have it all to yourself (and any ‘floordrobe’ situation will be of your own making) is bliss. Although I only had hand luggage, I used my friend Clare’s tip and took along a couple of items to make my surroundings feel more luxurious: a sheet mask and a pair of satin pyjamas. 

Anyway—where to stay in Florence. For solo travel, I do accept that I’m likely going to stay somewhere considerably less nice than I would if sharing the cost so I prioritise a clean space in a central location (for ease of getting around—after all, how much time do you want to spend in the hotel room?). Most major cities offer hostels with private rooms (which I consider a priority, but again, if you’d rather spend your hard-earned holiday budget elsewhere then dorms can be an even more affordable, and sociable, option). For hostels I found two options: Plus Florence and TSH Florence Lavagnini. Both are conveniently located (near Santa Novella station). I stayed in the former for my first night in Florence. 

For the second and third night of my trip, I was lucky enough to be hosted at Velona’s Jungle—a one-of-a-kind luxury, family-run boutique B&B hotel just on the edge of the old town. The ‘jungle’ theme persists throughout the house, with leopard print chairs, graphic wallpaper featuring, depending on the room, birds of prey or palm trees (by the likes of Ralph Lauren) and verdant hues of green and yellow. If you’re wondering, ‘Velona’ is the surname of the owner Veronica’s grandfather—the former owner of an antique shop. His antiques collection makes up much of the eclectic decor, with some pieces available for sale as a memento of your time. 

I stayed in the Fossey suite, complete with its own separate dressing room and palatial sized bathroom (the rainfall shower was a particular highlight after a day of walking around Florence in 31 degree heat). Another highlight was the warm, family-run Florentine hospitality: I was looked after by Alessandro, a relative by marriage of the aforementioned Grandfather Velona, and enjoyed a continental breakfast of coconut yoghurt, muesli and a vegan blueberry croissant in the dining room both mornings of my stay (incidentally, this is a great option for those who are vegan/veggie/dairy-free!).

I'll level with you; it was one of the most gorgeous hotels I’ve ever visited, and it would have been out of my budget had I not been gifted the stay. And yet, when there’s a will…After a little investigation, I found that the hotel is currently offering its newest room at the reduced rate of £130 a night—not a drop in the ocean by any means, but definitely a tempting deal for a special solo stay. The room’s name? Thoreau, as in Henry Thoreau—who famously wrote about solitude in his book, Walden. Room rates vary, with lower prices in low seasons, so it’s worth getting in touch directly to plan a stay in advance.

Tavolo per uno, per favore: ‘Table for one, please’

I set out wanting to make this trip be shamelessly romantic—and that I did. After flights and accommodation, the first thing I booked was a table for one at one of the city’s most romantic and sought-after restaurants, Il Santo Bevitore. It’s a low-lit spot with tiled floors, bare-brick walls, traditional vaulted wine cellars lining the walls and simple, white candles on every table. 

Both grand and private at the same time, it felt like the perfect setting for an intimate meal with a significant other—or indeed, myself, as I’d chosen. What made it for me was the attentive service; I arrived to find my reserved table laid out elaborately for one, my solitude respected rather than an afterthought. This was a departure from the experience I’ve sometimes had in the past, where a second place setting or even a chair has been removed, indelicately. It’s the small details like this that make you feel at ease as a solo diner. It’s worth mentioning that, traditionally, Italians almost never eat alone, so this sort of consideration was ever more appreciated. 

To me, nothing spells ‘romantic Italian dinner’ like double pasta, and so that’s what I went for, breaking all the rules in Italian dining etiquette (my favourite thing about Italians is that they consider pasta to be assuredly a ‘starter’ course). On the waitress’ recommendation, I chose tagliette in a chicken liver ragu, followed by a wild boar ravioli, as successive courses so as to prolong this delicious dining experience—technically ‘primi’ followed by ‘primi’. 

I was sitting in a corner that allowed me to look out at the entire restaurant. The restaurant was 90% couples, yet, as I’ve observed so often while dining alone, the table who looked like they were most enjoying themselves was not a smitten couple, but a group of four middle-aged women, laughing and joking, sampling each other’s meals. The other person having the most fun? Me. I sat there mindfully taking it all in, sipping my delicious wine (another recommendation from the waitress, who let me sample a couple before deciding) and enjoying the atmosphere, not alone but with myself.

Strade lastricate di ricordi: ‘Streets paved with memories’

I had a mental hit list of places I’d wanted to return to during this imagined romantic trip for two. It occurred to me that the memories I’d had from Florence were, after all, with myself—not with my ex, or with the hypothetical other half I’d imagined I’d be returning with. These were my memories to remember and rewrite. So, in a way, it made ever more sense to return alone. 

Some memories were tattered replicas of what I had in my mind; the once-glamorous-seeming aperitivo bar which had been the setting of some of my Florence flings now seemed tacky, a tourist trap. Yet other places were more beautiful than I’d imagined. I gasped as I got my first look at the river Arno, lined either side with avenues of rapeseed yellow buildings, its golden hue at sunset. The peaceful piazza of San Lorenzo, where I sat one night at sunset after stumbling upon a busker’s live concert (soft pop-rock, sung in Italian), sharing the moment of listening with a respectful crowd. The Boboli gardens—the official gardens of the Palazzo Pitti—still one of the most serene, heavenly places in the world with so many statues that many dub it an ‘outdoor museum’. There’s an entrance fee, but it’s relatively budget-friendly compared to many of Florence’s sites and well-worth paying for the abundant space you get even in the busy season.

Noi non potremo avere perfetta vita senza amici: ’We cannot have a perfect life without friends’

The ironic thing about solo travel, at least in my experience, is that you actually end up meeting so many more people than you would, typically, day-to-day. In fact, sometimes I struggle to spend much time alone at all.  As my experience the previous night illustrated, you’re more open-facing and therefore more approachable, in a way you wouldn’t be in a couple of with a group of friends. 

In that vein, let me talk you through a meet-cute with a friend I ended up spending an afternoon with. On my third day in Italy, I visited Piazza Santo Spirito—an area popular among the city’s local artists that is aesthetically much more stripped-back than the equivalent squares of Piazza Signoria and Piazza Republica. The plan was to visit the church of Santo Spirito, which has a basic plaster facade, allegedly because Brunelleschi, the architect behind it, died before executing his designs and so it was simply left bare. The church is free, so one I’d highly recommend to visitors (it’s much more ornate inside). Yet, as I approached, I saw a sign requesting shoulders and legs be covered—in my crop top and shorts, I didn’t qualify. ‘If I’m not getting in, you have no chance,’ joked a fellow solo female traveller, who was wearing a similar outfit—and we decided to get a coffee to enjoy in the square, instead. 

Next on my itinerary was to hike up to Piazzale Michelangelo—a hill overlooking the city, which had yet another copy of the David statue on it. I’d spent the trip almost entirely solo at this point, three days in. And so when Pran, my new friend, asked if she could join me for the afternoon, I thought, ‘Why not?’ After climbing to see the 360 views (another memory to revisit and as breathtaking as ever) we went to have a well-deserved lunch together at Spaccio Alimentare, a delicious pizzeria at the foot of the hill, taking a scenic detour on our way back down at the Giardino delle Rose (literal translation, the rose gardens), a free public garden filled with artists painting at their easels in vibrant shades of acrylic. While we parted ways afterwards to go on our separate travels, I really enjoyed sharing some of the trip with another person, and trading experiences, before returning to myself. It was a pleasant reminder that, if you do want company when holidaying alone (and that’s absolutely OK), it’s easily found in friendly strangers—us solo travellers know how to spot each other!

Venni, vidi, vinsi: ‘I came, I saw, I conquered’

I was gazing out at the Ponte Vecchio, colloquially known as the ‘jewellery bridge’, where everyone gets engaged (where I once hoped that someday, via a drip feed of hints to a significant other, I might too), when I had an unexpected thought. Right now, there is no one I’d rather be here with than myself. Unlike my first time in Florence ten years previous, I no longer felt like half a person. I felt whole. 

Solo travellers, women particularly, are so often pitied for travelling and it’s easy to internalise that pity—which is, ultimately, just ignorance—and to forget to give yourself permission to enjoy it. But take it from me, once you can, it’s liberating. I spent years wanting to return for the trip of a lifetime with a partner, but instead I managed to have it by myself—and the trip was no lesser for it. Sitting there on the river Arno, I realised: I am my own plan A.

Curious about Solo Travel? We teamed up with Francesca Specter, author of Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, for a week dedicated to celebrating the joys of Solo Travel. Here, Georgina Lawton, author of Raceless, tells us how traveling alone to Black-majority countries helped her find her identity again...

My interest in exploring the world was piqued long before I ever took my first trip abroad alone. As a child, I was lucky enough to holiday around Europe with my family, twice a year during the school holidays. Wet and wild summers on the west coast of Ireland where my mother is from. Sunbathing in Spain and France. Scaling monuments with my brother and father in Italy and Austria. But as a Black child in an all-white family, with no explanation as to why I didn’t look like anyone, each trip affirmed that visually I stood out in these spaces—just as much as I did at home. 

The amazing memories I had with my parents at home and abroad were coated in silence about where I’d inherited my afro hair and dark skin. It was simply not discussed. At age 22, after my father’s death, I finally uncovered the truth about my identity through DNA tests after a lifetime of questioning. They proved that my Irish mother had an affair with a Black man she’d since lost contact with. My world was cleaved in two. So much of what I thought I knew about myself dissolved overnight, like salt in warm water. I looked for an escape or an antidote and found that it came in the form of travel.

After decades of having my heritage denied by those around me, I yearned to make up for lost time. I wanted to travel to spaces where my image would be reflected back to me wherever I  turned. I wanted to find myself in a heaving metropolis where the air hung heavy with music and traffic and bright with light pollution, and where I could get my hair braided for the first time and try foods that were never found in my house in the suburbs of London. 

I dreamt of getting lost in a sea of brown bodies slicked with sweat during salsa-filled street parties. But most of all, I wanted to understand my connection to the fragmented African diaspora of which I finally saw myself as part of. These desires fuelled my year of solo travel, when I went to Colombia, Brazil, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Morocco, Ecuador, Cuba and the Dominican Republic. But the most soul-shaping moments of all took place in more diverse communities than I was used to. Walking with black rhinos—literally beside them—with a local guide in the tall reeds of Zimbabwe’s Serengeti plain. Hitchhiking through Cuba in a rattling 1950s car and almost getting arrested in the process when the car was checked by police and they overheard my English accent, discovered my ‘Lonely Planet Cuba’ book and took us to the station as it was illegal for Cubans to pick up tourists. 

My home was loving and stable but a place untroubled by spice or rice, so I learned to broaden my palette and try cuisines that I’d previously shunned. As I traveled with an African-American friend I met in Nicaragua, I also learned about the many points of connection that unite Black female travelers on the road; missing our (very) complex families back home, safety tips shared between us, the similar stories of misogynoir from white men in hostels. Away from the suburbs in which I was raised, I created a new version of myself; far richer in confidence and knowledge and empathy than before. Travel diluted many of the identity issues that once cast dark shadows over my life and also helped me heal and find pride in who I was. 

I wrote widely about my experiences, landing my first few travel writing bylines and working with brands. I worked remotely and attracted the attention of agents and publishers back home. As a writer in black spaces, I learned that my appearance offered me camouflage, which felt like a superpower at times. It helped me connect with those who weren’t used to communicating with outsiders. I hopped onto buses reserved for locals in Havana, slipped into spaces undetected in Moroccan markets and paid less than other tourists for street food in the Caribbean-infused, paradisiacal Corn Islands in Nicaragua. 

Being able to move as an observer, while taking notes for my book and my travel article was a huge plus—but also a steep learning curve. Looking like a local at times, meant I was treated like a local. I saw how European occupation and influence had ravaged the Caribbean and South American nations and how colonialism scarred black communities, leaving entrenched racial and class hierarchies. And my ‘privilege’ as a Black woman with white heritage and a British passport was obvious to many. Even though I was surrounded by people who looked like me, I saw quickly we were not structurally positioned in the same way. Being a black traveler, I found, was also something of a rarity. I was mistaken for a prostitute on more than one occasion and sometimes treated very differently to the white female travelers around me. I learned to shrug off questions about whether or not I could really be British if I wasn’t white, but more importantly, I learned how my British accent was a badge of protection at times, restoring my status from local to foreigner.

The carnival parties in Colombia and Brazil were a highlight. I marveled at the detail of the costumes and the speedy footwork of the salsa and samba dancers and felt grateful to celebrate life after having lost so much. I recalled how my father had never got the chance to leave Europe, and how exploring the world on my own also meant exploring it for him, too. I also unlearned a lot of harmful thoughts about my body, thoughts that were the result of living in an all-white world for my whole life. Being in spaces in which beauty standards seemed far more inclusive than back home, where jiggle, wobble and overspill were seemingly forgiven and brown bodies of various hues swayed in the searing heat did wonders for my mental health. 

Merging into the background of Black-majority countries during my travels was the wake-up call I needed. I learned to embrace a part of me that had been denied for so long and forced myself to re-examine everything I’d been taught. From the ashes of my old life, I rebuilt a bigger, bolder me. Travel imbued me with the kind of self-love I’d been missing all my life and brought me back home more at peace with myself.

Curious about Solo Travel? We teamed up with Francesca Specter, author of Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, for a week dedicated to celebrating the joys of Solo Travel. Here, Angelica Malin, award-winning entrepreneur, writer and podcast host, writes about how traveling solo healed her relationship with food...

10 years ago, as a fresh-faced undergraduate at Bristol University, two things happened—I got my first serious boyfriend and I stopped eating. 

I’d love to say the two things weren’t related, but, sadly, a boyfriend with a penchant for ‘skinny girls’ will have that effect on an impressionable 19-year-old. And my desire for approval and validation won out over my desire for carbs—I (literally) shrunk myself to fit into the relationship. 

Coupled with being far from home and feelings of loneliness during the first year of university, I faded away—avoiding social occasions that centered around food, retreating to my dorm alone and living off a diet of Frappuccinos and Nutri-Grain bars. 

Sadly, as many know first-hand, disordered eating is not something that simply goes away. 

While I eventually stopped living off Nutri-Grain bars—losing my period for eight months was the shock I needed—I feared my relationship with food was forever tainted. Like so many women, there was a secret war raging inside me, one between me and food. My body was a battleground.

Some disordered habits were hard to break; documenting what I’d eaten every day on my phone notes, constantly weighing myself, making arbitrary food rules for the week ahead on a Monday and feeling guilty by Friday when I’d broken them all. 

It was a hellish cycle. But the worst thing was that I felt so ashamed of it, especially as an empowered, independent career woman who was well-versed in ‘diet culture’, that it had me in a silent stronghold. I simply couldn’t talk to anyone about it. 

The silence was eventually broken when I confessed to my then-boyfriend after a gorgeous anniversary meal in the Cotswolds—during which I’d constantly fretted about calories—that I felt trapped by my fixation on food and weight.  

Telling him felt like such a relief, like taking a huge sigh out. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath for so many years and finally, I could exhale. I got help. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) nudged me towards food peace—I started talking to friends and family and in time, I started to feel better. 

But it wasn’t until the last two years, ironically during all the stress of Covid and lockdowns, that the real healing really happened. 

Newly single, having navigated living alone during lockdowns and the intense isolation of that experience, I made myself a vow when we emerged from the pandemic—that I wouldn’t put off waiting to live my life to the fullest. 

The pandemic woke us all up. We were free once again, and I wanted to see the world. In February 2022, I published Unattached: Essays on Singlehood, which advocates for single positivity—as an extension of this movement, solo travel was something I wanted to explore for myself. 

I’d always been quite shy of the concept; I felt like travel was something you had to do with someone else to fully enjoy it, and the thought of lots of time in my own company daunted me. Would I slip back into negative thinking patterns? Would I feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of feeding and caring for myself? 

Well, turns out solo travel is the best thing I ever did—for myself, my body and confidence. There is something so magical that happens when you realize your life can feel totally magical solo. That you’re able to live life fully and unapologetically on your own terms. 

I started by booking a trip to Santorini—arguably one of the most romantic, loved-up places on earth—and had five glorious days basking in the Greek sunshine, exploring the local tavernas and devouring delicious mezze. I felt so brazen and empowered by the experience, that some nights I would sit down for dinner by the beach, the sound of water lapping at the shore and I would laugh out loud at how perfect it all was. 

Something changed in my relationship with food on that trip, too. I realized that somewhere along the way, I had marked food as something that could only be enjoyed when shared—I’d never found much pleasure in cooking for one, and I’d usually want to ‘save’ my food intake for social eating. 

But on that trip, I realized how much pleasure could be taken from a delicious meal by yourself—not only as you can mindfully enjoy your food, but also because feeding yourself delectable things feels like an act of self-love. And a little bit rebellious, and who doesn’t love that? I was a defiant woman, tearing my way through fresh pitta bread, high on the freedom of it all. 

We all deserve food. Food that’s good for the gut, but also for the soul. And treating yourself to delicious food is a signal to yourself that you’re worth it. I had started dating myself, and I was hooked.

Perhaps the most daunting part of the trip was booking a six-course Michelin-star dinner for myself. Very often, when we travel solo, we won’t splash out on ourselves— grabbing a quick dinner, only having a main course, skipping out on dessert. I don’t think it’s because we don’t want the chocolate fondant (surely everyone always wants a chocolate fondant?), but more that we don’t feel like we ‘deserve’ such experiences solo. That we should wait to enjoy them with a significant other. Or we should save the money, that it’s indulgent to spend it on just yourself. 

For years, I would grab a Pret dinner if I was hosting an event in the evening, because I felt didn’t deserve to sit for a nice dinner alone. You can see where I’m going with this. 

Michelin meals solo = ultimate self-love.  

Because when we start to truly believe that we deserve all the magical things in life for ourselves and we don’t need anyone’s permission or company or credit card to enjoy them, then life really starts to open up.

So I took myself for the six-course tasting menu. And sure, I felt a little self-conscious for the first few minutes, but the magic of the food soon started to transport me far away from my worries and by the time the palate-cleansing pear sorbet came, I’d all but forgotten I was on my own. Beyond that, I’d forgotten to worry about the calories in the food I was eating. I’d always known that memories and experiences mattered more than a certain dress size—but it wasn’t until solo travel that I really started to embody that belief. 

Being a solo diner reconnected me to myself in ways I never anticipated and guided me back, with love, to my appetite. For life, for food, for experiences. 

Since then, I’ve traveled all around the world solo from Costa Rica to Lisbon, Paris and Miami. I’ve enjoyed local fish tacos in Costa Rica and flaky croissants on pavements cafes in Paris. I’ve found childlike delight in pistachio ice creams in the Florida sunshine and devouring seafood by the sea. I’ve wandered around the back streets of Lisbon on the quest for the ultimate Pastel de Nata and enjoyed sushi that was almost a religious experience on the beaches of Boca Raton.

I’ve found joy in food again. I’ve found joy in myself again. And this time, I know no one can take it away.

Curious about Solo Travel? We teamed up with Francesca Specter, author of Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, for a week dedicated to celebrating the joys of Solo Travel. Here, award-winning journalist Radhika Sangani goes on a solo trip based solely on her astrologer's advice...

I’m lying face-down trying not to cry. My entire body is so relaxed that my mind has managed to follow suit, and for the first time in months, I feel truly at peace. Every knot in my body is being expertly undone by the massage therapist standing over me, and with the calm music in the background and the scents of orange and neroli, I could be anywhere in the world. 

But actually, I’m in Dublin. More specifically, I’m at the spa of The Merrion Hotel, where my pent-up worries and tensions are being massaged right out of my muscles. 

Ireland’s capital is not the first place I would have chosen for a relaxing solo minibreak. The last time I was here—over a decade ago—my trip consisted mainly of sampling local whiskies and pub-hopping after daytimes wandering the urban center. But this time I’m here on the orders of my astrologer, for two nights of peace and healing. 

"Ireland’s where you ned to be," Francesca Oddie told me when I asked her for suggestions for a solo trip this summer. "Dublin would work. Your Jupiter-Chiron line is going through there, so it’s the perfect place to heal. I’d recommend lots of yoga, relaxing therapies and eating well. Anything Cancerian, so there are lots of themes of belonging, connection and feeling nurtured—which also applies to nurturing yourself. Anyone you meet, even waiters or yoga teachers, will be warm. It’s whatever nourishment means to you. You’re less likely to feel lonely there traveling alone. Go to Dublin."

So I did. The idea behind Francesca’s theory is based on astrocartography, which shows how the placements of the planets affect the energies we feel in certain places, depending on when and where we were born. My birth chart is mapped out onto the globe with various lines (showing planetary trajectories) symbolizing different things and it enables an astrologer to see how traveling to different places will affect you. Francesca tells me to go to my Jupiter line, which is all about expansion, connection and sun, but because it’s in Cancer and it’s in Chiron, it becomes about healing. "It’s all about the joy derived from self-care. Give yourself what you need—you’ll have an insatiable appetite for comfort."

I’m not entirely sure what to expect. When I get to Dublin, will the stars automatically guide me straight to what I need? Will things flow more than they do when I go on holiday without consulting my astrologer? "You do need to seek out what you’re looking for," says Francesca. "But by going to Dublin, you’re honoring Jupiter so there will be an increased sense of flow."

I feel oddly relaxed on the plane. For once, my trip doesn’t just rely on me sorting everything out, and I feel like bigger energies are at play. And when I arrive at the airport, I’m told I’ve missed the next bus and have to wait half an hour. But then, within minutes, someone else comes over to tell me there is space after all. I’m straight on the bus to my hotel.

The flow continues when I arrive at The Merrion—a beautiful hotel converted from several Georgian townhouses. I’m booked in for an afternoon tea later that day, but as my room isn’t ready, I can have it right now. It’s the perfect lunchtime alternative, and I feel luxuriously extravagant as I sit alone in the drawing-room with my tower of sandwiches, pastries and cakes.

It's the first time I’ve ever had a solo afternoon tea and I’m nervous. I’ve brought a book to accompany me, but it turns out I don’t need it. My tea is themed around the hotel’s extensive art collection, with delicacies inspired by the art around me—William Scott’s Frying Pan, Funnel, Eggs and Lemons (it’s become a dainty vanilla biscuit with orange curd) and Patrick Hennessy’s Roses And Temple (now a perfect rosewater and orange mousse column). I take my tea seated next to a portrait of Stella Steyn’s Seated Man, and I feel like I’m in an art gallery gazing at a painting, only this time I get to do it with Earl Grey and a salmon sandwich.

Francesca has warned me off booze for the trip—"what you need right now is clarity"—so pub crawls are out of the question. Instead, I head to Killiney beach that evening for a full moon meditation, yoga flow and sound bath with ‘Awaken With Jess’, a spiritual coach. It’s not what I associate with a Dublin city break, but it’s so much better. The beach is calm and grey, and the moment I join the circle of mats surrounding gongs and bowls, I instantly feel at peace.

We journal through our intentions before starting our yoga and meditation practice, and by the end, I feel like I’ve let go of all the tensions I’ve been holding onto. It’s nothing like doing yoga in a studio—the sound of the sea crashing into the shore and the sharp fresh smells make it a fully embodied experience and I end up making friends with other attendees. Suddenly I remember Francesca’s words: "I think you’ll end up meeting someone there who’ll help you figure out the rest of your trip."

Right on cue, my new friend Gemma gives me a list of suggestions, and I spend the next day smelling roses and watching deer in Phoenix Park, after visiting Eathos —a café that promises ‘thoughtful, wholesome food that makes you happy’. It’s a different side of the city I’ve previously visited, and by the time I visit the cooling spa below The Merrion, I’m well and truly relaxed.

I’m no stranger to solo travel, but in the past, I’ve really noticed the absence of a plus one. I have a moment in my hotel suite when I think how lovely it would be to share the tranquil Georgian-inspired surroundings with a partner. But then I realize how lucky I am to be able to take up all this space alone, in my king-size bed, at the immense breakfast in the morning, and in the city itself. 

There’s a real freedom in giving myself (and my Jupiter) a whole three days of self-care and I dine alone at award-winning Sole—a seafood restaurant in the center—before heading back home for a night in. It might not be the most exciting holiday plan, but I decided to celebrate myself by breaking Francesca’s booze ban with a glass of champagne in my room. Curled up in my bathrobe, I treat myself to slices of Battenburg, feeling like a modern-day Marie Antoinette reveling in my solo luxury like the pleasure-seeking Taurus I will always be. 

My trip might not have been the world’s most eventful—I didn’t party all night or do any wild activities—but the truth is that it was exactly what I needed. If it wasn’t for my astrologer, I doubt I would have given myself so much self-care, from the beach yoga to the stress-busting massage or just the general flow of walking around the city allowing my instincts to take the lead. But thanks to my stars, I’m coming home feeling relaxed, nourished and yes, healed, after my (semi-)sober solo minibreak to Dublin.

Welcome to My Imperfect Life's Solo Travel Week, where we're celebrating the joys of Solo Travel. 

Does the thought of solo travel excite you—and maybe also terrify you, just a little? Then it’s probably high time you dust off your luggage and take that solo trip you’ve dreamed about. 

You’ll be in great company since other millennials are now more willing to fly solo on vacation. (And with destinations for solo travel like these, we can't blame them). In fact, according to the 2022 Portrait of American Travelers “Spring Edition” survey, one in four Americans will travel solo in the next few months. 

But before you pack up and take off to one of the most extraordinary places in the world to visit in 2022, brush up on a few key tips to ensure that your solo excursion is the best it could be. 

How to travel alone: tips and tricks

1. Choose your destination wisely

Obviously, you’re going to put some thought into where you go. But be sure to look beyond the typical stuff, like warm weather or poolside bars, to consider things like how you're going to get around once you’re there. 

If you’re comfortable renting a car or taking Uber, then you have a bit more freedom in terms of location. For my first solo trip, I knew I didn’t want the hassle of renting a car or taking lots of request-a-rides to see the sites, which heavily influenced my choice of destination. 

After plenty of research, I found a hidden gem in Grapevine, Texas—a suburb of Dallas. No, it’s not a traditional relaxing-by-the-beach getaway, but Grapevine hotels offer free airport transportation and my hotel even shuttled me around within a 5-mile radius—meaning I could check out local wineries, have a glass (or three!) of vino, and not worry about driving back. 

2. Share your location

Safety is a priority anytime you travel, but especially when flying solo. For your own peace of mind—and for that of loved ones back home—you might want to think about letting one or two people keep tabs on exactly where you are.

Snapchat is pretty handy here, thanks to their Snap Map feature that lets you customize who can see your location and for how long. It was perfect for me because I already use Snapchat, so I allowed one friend to track my exact location during my getaway.

If you’re Ubering, you can take advantage of their multiple safety features, like sending your route info to up to three contacts. Lyft provides a few safety tools as well, including the option to share your location or connect you with security for emergency help. 

Take some time before you jet to think about if you want to share your location with a friend, and if so, what will be the most convenient way for you to do that.

3. Sit at the bar

One major concern for my own solo trip was going out to eat. What would happen if I needed to use the restroom mid-meal? After all, we’ve been told all our lives not to leave drinks unattended. Luckily, there’s an easy solution: make friends with the bartender!

Not only does it give you someone to talk to, but bartenders are usually pretty understanding about things like this. I chatted with a couple of servers who totally understood when I told them I was heading to the bathroom and wondered if I could have a fresh glass of water when I got back. You could also ask them to stash your drink behind the bar for safe keeping until you return. 

4. Be prepared but don't commit

If you haven’t traveled alone before, it’s hard to know if you’ll end up staying in or going out. That’s why it’s smart to prep for both scenarios.

For instance, research a couple of fun experiences in the area before you go, but don’t make reservations. That way, you’re not committed to something if you aren’t feeling it once you arrive. I researched horseback riding options before I went but didn’t book anything because I wanted to keep my options open. I ended up snagging a same-day reservation—which ultimately led to some great stories, like making a new semi-famous friend.

Similarly, bring stuff to do at the hotel in case you want to just chill. It’s funny now, but I brought three books and my Kindle on my Grapevine excursion. I didn’t read more than a chapter in the three days I was there! Had the weather been bad or had I just wanted to relax by the pool, however, I would have definitely appreciated all that reading material.

5. Have fun!

After all the planning and safety precautions, don’t forget to actually enjoy your trip. Talk to locals, chat with the servers at a restaurant, take some time to chill out by the pool, or challenge yourself to venture out and do some sightseeing. No matter what, do what you’d like to do on your trip—that’s the whole beauty of traveling solo. (And if you need a little bit of inspiration, the best travel experiences to have in 2022 should do the trick!)

Curious about Solo Travel? We teamed up with Francesca Specter, author of Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, for a week dedicated to celebrating the joys of Solo Travel.

Dear present and future solo travelers, 

Welcome to the beginning of My Imperfect Life’s dedicated Solo Travel Week. 

I wish, when I first began traveling alone, that someone had told me how thoroughly unalone I would feel. The trouble is, it takes doing, rather than theorizing, in order to know this. It’s only once you’ve navigated flight delays, language barriers, strange cuisines and single supplements alone that you know it’s all going to be OK, whatever happens. Because in the end, these things are a small price to pay for the sheer thrill, self-discovery and badassness associated with traveling alone as a woman. 

But—you can’t be what you can’t see. That was my mantra while writing my first book, Alonement: How To Be Alone & Absolutely Own It, and starting a podcast around the same topic; to champion the voices of those who have learned to value positive solitude—what I call ‘alonement’. In the same way, when it comes to solo travel we need aspirational people we can point to. Not a wind-beaten mountaineer climbing Everest, nor the seasoned backpacker who quits their day job and moves to Thailand. All too often, extreme examples are more of a hindrance than a help; they can feel unrelatable, only serving to make solo travel something reserved for those ‘other’ people; something that’s not for you. 

I’ll gladly hold my hands up to say, I am not a solo travel expert. Yet, over the past three months, I’ve traveled alone in Colombia, Barcelona, Bordeaux, Valencia and Florence. It’s from a place of ‘work in progress’-ness that I’m chronicling my experience—my wanderlust stronger than ever. And I want to take others along for the ride. 

So how do we get there? First off, the person most would-be female solo travelers need to hear from is the everyday woman; the one who could, under different circumstances, be your best mate. The one who felt the fear and did it anyway. Who managed to find the annual leave and currency—both emotional and literal—to pack a suitcase and take off alone. Who is still learning the ropes of solo travel—working it out as she goes. Who one day experiences the exhilaration of circumventing Paris by foot, the next the thud back to the reality of a six-hour delay at Charles De Gaulle airport. The most worthy travel accounts come from those who are not only brave enough to travel alone in the first place—but to share its nuance. And it’s through hearing these stories that we might find a suitable response to all those internal barriers we build around traveling alone: ‘I could never eat dinner by myself’, ‘What if I get lonely?’, ‘Will people think I’m weird’, ‘I’m not organized enough to do a trip by myself’. Because—well—she did it. 

In commissioning this solo travel section for My Imperfect Life, I’ve put together complementary accounts from published authors and travel writers who have taken recent trips alone. There’s Radhika Sanghani, who consulted her astrology on the best trip for her zodiac sign: her spa trip to Dublin was written in the stars. There’s Georgina Lawton, who has spent the past few years traveling to Black-majority countries like Colombia and Brazil. And Angelica Malin, who reflects on how a special trip-for-one to Santorini helped her learn to care for her body. What these writers have in common is that they show how solo travel can teach us lessons that persist long after our return journey home. 

And then there’s me. I’ve spent the past three years writing about alonement: solo dates, meditation, you name it. Yet, before this year, my own alonement had taken place mostly on home turf. Because, well, the pandemic. Travel of all kinds is very much back on the cards this summer, a phenomenon that’s been dubbed ’revenge travel’—effectively, more ambitious than ever travel plans to make up for lost time. And my form of revenge travel was taking the solitude skills I’ve cultivated over this period and exercising those muscles globally. For my lead feature for this section, I took myself to Florence—my favorite city in Europe and, in my mind, the most romantic. Since spending my gap year there a decade ago, I’d held myself back from returning—so resolute that the next time I’d return would be with a future husband. In taking myself alone, and enjoying the most shamelessly romantic vacenza per uno imaginable, I leaned into my alonement rule: that whatever I love doing with others, I want to learn to enjoy by myself, too. And, and you’ll read, it was glorious—in fact, looking back, there’s no one I’d rather have visited with than myself. 

Right now, I’m writing from the somewhat less inspiring setting of a workstation in Bordeaux airport, as I sit out a two-hour flight delay. It's nothing compared to the 24 hours I spent in Bologna airport last week, doing an all-nighter after my original flight home from Florence was canceled and then relocated. And yet I’m calm now, as I was then—because I know I can spend time in my own company, and because I know that no matter the travel chaos, solo travel is almost always worth it. My only regret is that I didn’t discover this sooner. 

We sometimes hold the things we do solo to an impossible, perfectionist standard; like, if something goes wrong, it’s because we did it alone. We wouldn’t say the opposite—oh, you shouldn’t go on holidays with your partner if you were going to bicker over who’s holding the passports, you shouldn’t travel in a group if one of you was going to get food poisoning. So I suppose I’m here to tell you that things will go haywire, plans will change, and there will be moments when you wish there was someone else to take up the slack of driving the hire car or packing your suitcase. But you’re capable of doing it alone—and all too often it’s easier, because there’s no one to contend with but yourself. You’ll develop faith in yourself, a self-admiration that can only really come from experience. From looking back at this time in your life, and thinking to yourself: I did it.

Running parallel with your literal journey will be a journey within; as you feel not ‘by’ yourself but with yourself, befriending and trusting yourself more with every step. So I hope you enjoy reading this week’s stories and watching the content we’ve put together. And I hope, even more, that this solo travel section inspires you, offering you a permission slip to do the same. 

Francesca