M
y first few hours in Tallinn are
a blur. A quick phone call to my
husband to let him know I’ve
arrived at my hostel safely; an
attempt to ground myself with
a cup of tea (with teabags brought from home), then
I’m out on the ancient streets of the Old Town,
wandering around without a plan or a map.
There’s no ignoring the clamped sensation in my
throat and jitters in my stomach as I scuffle along the
cobbled roads, hordes of tourists filtering past, some
of them in groups, some in couples, most of them not
a loner, like me. I can’t take anything in. Not even the
medieval beauty of Estonia’s capital seems to be
making an impact on my sensorium.
It’s an odd feeling and one that I’ve experienced
many times when I’ve travelled on my own; something
that usually lasts a day, and I know I’ve just got to
ride it out. It can be an intense few hours, particularly
when that voice inside my head says, “So you’ve left
your husband, children and friends behind to go on
holiday by yourself. Um... why?”
I take myself to one of the city’s parks, find a shaded
spot under a tree beside a lake and take my shoes off.
I sit there for at least two hours, people-watching,
scribbling a few staggered sentences in my diary
and sketching distant church spires with some new
pencils I treated myself to at the airport. The sun
warms my back, and there, right there, I answer that
nagging voice inside my head. This is why I’m on
holiday by myself, for this very moment.Life is so busy at home being self-employed with
two young children and a house to keep in order.
Almost every moment of the day is scheduled: wake
up, prepare school lunches, do the school run, work,
do the school pick up, dinner, bath time, kids’ bedtime,
tidy the house and then try to get an early night
myself so I’m not too exhausted for the next day when
it happens all over again. A lot of the time it feels like
I’m treading water, struggling to keep up with the
demands of being a working mother, and sometimes
I just need a little break from it. Even if it means from
my own family.
It was a prerequisite of our marriage – my husband
and I (both of us squirmy, adventurous types) are free
to travel somewhere by ourselves for a few days
every year. Yes, it’s self-indulgent. And surely that’s
a good enough reason to do it? To head off on your
own, do what you like, when you like, without having
to bend to someone else’s will, to be able to sit under
a tree and draw for two hours just because you
bloomin’ well feel like it is a brilliant thing. Travelling
solo is a freedom like no other – something I loved to
do when I was a young, single, carefree backpacker,
and I didn’t feel ready to give up when I got married
and had children.
Of course, guilt does creep in, particularly when I’m
in a strange bed in a strange room thousands of miles
away from home. Are my daughters missing me
terribly? Are they wondering why I’ve gone off
without them? I usually manage to quell the doubts;
reminding myself it’s good for them, it’s good for myHolidaying alone can be nerve-wracking, admits
Abi Whyte, but it can also be life-affirming
- a time to reconnect with yourself
Fol low you r
own path
solo travel
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