There’s a point in solo travel where you start talking to yourself. Not in a concerning way. Not “arguing with a parking meter in public” territory. Nothing that requires intervention from local authorities. I mean the low-level running commentary that creeps in after enough time alone. “Well, this seems like a terrible decision.” “We are…
Not long enough to become one of those terrifyingly competent backpackers who own collapsible cutlery and somehow know which bus goes where in six different languages. Nothing that dramatic. I mean long enough that it stops feeling like an event. The first few days of solo travel are noisy inside your head. Everything feels heightened….
There’s a very specific kind of exhaustion that comes from travelling with other people. It’s not the good kind, the “we walked twenty thousand steps and earned this drink” kind. It’s the slow, steady drain of having to negotiate your own life like it’s a group project no one really wanted to be part of…