You’ve booked the flight. The hotel confirmation sits in your inbox. And yet, a small voice whispers: What if I get lonely? What if I make a mistake? That voice is normal. I heard it before my first solo trip—a long weekend in Cornwall where I spent three days walking the coastal path, eating pasties alone, and wondering why I had ever thought this was a good idea. By the second morning, something shifted. I realised that solo travel isn’t about being fearless; it’s about having a simple, repeatable system that turns uncertainty into calm. Over the years, I’ve refined that system into four steps. They’re nothing fancy, but they work—because they address the parts that trip you up: choosing where to go, planning without overwhelm, showing up for yourself, and coming home with more than just souvenirs.
Step 1: Choose a Destination That Matches Your Energy
The first mistake many solo travellers make is picking a place because it’s popular or because a friend loved it. Your energy matters more than any Instagram caption. Ask yourself: Do I want to be surrounded by people, or do I crave silence? Do I want to navigate a big city, or would a small town feel safer? Am I looking for cultural immersion, nature, or a mix?
For a first solo trip, I recommend a destination with a well-trodden tourist infrastructure—places where English is widely spoken, public transport is reliable, and solo dining is normal. Think Portugal, the Netherlands, or Japan. If you’re more experienced, consider a less obvious spot like Slovenia’s Lake Bled or the whitewashed villages of Sifnos. I once spent a week on Sifnos, wandering alleys and eating chickpea soup at a taverna where the owner remembered my name by day three. That kind of connection is harder to find in a crowded capital.
Keep a shortlist of three destinations. Then check the season—shoulder months (May, September) offer mild weather and fewer crowds, which is ideal for solo exploration. Trust your gut. If a place feels intimidating, it probably is for now. There’s no prize for bravery at the expense of comfort.
Step 2: Build a Flexible Itinerary (Not a Rigid Schedule)
Over-planning is the enemy of solo travel. You need enough structure to feel secure and enough white space to follow a whim. Start with the non-negotiables: flights, the first two nights of accommodation, and one or two key experiences you don’t want to miss. Everything else can be decided the day before.
For accommodation, prioritise locations that make you feel safe and welcome. A boutique hotel with a communal breakfast table, a guesthouse run by a local family, or a well-reviewed hostel with female-only dorms can all work. I’ve written about Villa Anouk in Morocco, a place where the garden and the host’s warmth turned a solo stay into a sanctuary. Look for properties with a common area—somewhere you can sit with a book and let conversations happen naturally.
Transport is another anchor. Book trains or buses in advance for long distances, but leave room for detours. Once, on a train through the Austrian Alps, I saw a sign for a tiny village and jumped off without a plan. That afternoon became the highlight of the trip. A flexible itinerary gives you permission to do that without guilt.
What to Pack for a Solo Trip
- A small cross-body bag that stays zipped—keeps your hands free and your valuables close.
- A physical map or a downloaded offline map of the area (phone batteries die).
- A journal. Writing down one observation each evening anchors the experience.
- A reusable water bottle and a portable charger. These are non-negotiable.
- One “emergency” item: a copy of your passport stored in a separate pocket, plus a list of emergency contacts.
Step 3: Show Up for Yourself (Mindset Over Itinerary)
The hardest part of solo travel isn’t the planning—it’s the quiet moments when you’re the only person at a restaurant or you’ve walked for an hour without speaking. That’s when the mind can spiral. I’ve learned to treat those moments as invitations, not problems. Instead of reaching for my phone, I sit with the feeling. I watch the people around me. I remind myself that I chose this.
One practice that helps: give yourself permission to change your mind. If you planned a museum visit but wake up tired, stay in bed. If a walking tour feels overwhelming, skip it and sit in a café instead. Solo travel is a conversation between you and the place. Let it unfold. I’ve dedicated an entire page of this blog to that philosophy—Permission to Enjoy Solitude—because the biggest barrier is often the belief that you must be constantly doing something meaningful.
Another practical tip: create small rituals. A morning coffee at the same café, a sunset walk, a nightly postcard to yourself. These anchors make a strange city feel familiar by the second day.
Step 4: Return with Intention
The trip doesn’t end when you land home. The fourth step is about integration—bringing the lessons of solitude back into your daily life. I always schedule a “decompression day” after returning: no work, no social plans, just unpacking slowly, doing laundry, and cooking a meal I ate on the trip.
Write down three things you learned about yourself. Maybe you discovered that you enjoy eating alone more than you expected, or that you’re better at reading maps than you thought. Those insights are the real souvenirs. I keep a small notebook where I jot down one line from each solo trip—a phrase I overheard, a colour I loved, a feeling I want to remember. Six months later, flipping through those lines brings back the entire experience.
Finally, start thinking about your next trip while the momentum is fresh. It doesn’t have to be big—a weekend alone in a nearby town counts. The four-step plan works for any duration. The point is to make solo travel a habit, not a one-time bucket-list item.
My last piece of advice: book the first night of your next trip today. Even if it’s three months away. That single action—a deposit, a confirmation—turns a wish into a plan. The rest will follow.
