At my high school graduation, my friend’s mother recalled that she had refused an offer to travel to Europe when she turned 18. Whether due to a lack of money or time, she couldn’t remember, but she always regretted the missed opportunity. She is now almost 60 and still hasn’t made the trip. 

It was with this advice that I left the town of Vicenza, Italy, about 50 miles from Venice. After imposing on the generosity of family for a week, I decided to explore the Cinque Terre and Florence alone. I had never traveled anywhere by myself. Never even been to Europe. And there I was in a country where the language, customs, and money were so, well, foreign. 

As I was packing the evening before I vacated my niece’s Barbie bedroom, my nerves crept up on me. My sister didn’t instill confidence.  

“Now if anything happens, anything at all, call me. If you aren’t comfortable, you can just fly home early.”  

Isn’t part of the excitement of travel going outside of your comfort zone? If I wanted to be comfortable, I could have stayed home on my couch with some video rentals and popcorn. My family’s reactions to my travel plans didn’t surprise me, but my reaction to their comments did. “You are so brave,” they said. “I could never do what you’re doing.” In trying to build me up, their remarks had the opposite effect. I second-guessed myself and questioned the intelligence of my plans.  

As I listened to my sister suggest that I return to Italy another time when she could travel with me, I knew if I didn’t forge onward, I would regret it. There would always be a “but” dangling over my trip. As in, “I had a great time in Italy, but I never made it to Florence.” I tried to reassure myself with the ‘if-other-women-can-do-it-I-can-too’ philosophy. I knew women who had traveled alone to Iceland, the South Pacific and Antarctica. Surely, the dangers in a modern, civilized country like Italy were minimal. But (there’s that word again) the idea of going it alone wasn’t half as scary as actually going it alone. I crossed my fingers that the negative karma would wear off as I began the second leg of my Italian journey.  

With trepidation, I boarded a train headed west to the resort town of Monterosso. My itinerary was to spend two nights in the Cinque Terre region, and on the third day travel to Florence to spend three nights before returning to the States. I played the ‘what if’ game. What if I couldn’t find my hotel? What if my wallet was stolen? What if I got sick? The ‘what ifs’ plagued me until the train emerged from a tunnel to a view of the deep blue Mediterranean Sea dotted with white boats, and I was relieved I hadn’t missed a thing.  

The voices of doubt sneaked up on me again when I decided to hike from Monterosso to Vernassa, two towns in the Cinque Terre. The rocky trail sat high upon the cliffs with vineyards looming above and sheer drops to the sea below. I was assured by the hotel concierge that the trail was well traveled so I needn’t worry about hiking alone. Thirty minutes into the hike, I hadn’t yet seen a soul when I caught a glimpse of a man in a white t-shirt a few minutes behind me and gaining fast. I sped up. Before long I broke into a run, using my hands to help me scurry over steep inclines. Of course, when the man passed, he greeted me with a “buon giorno,” and went on his way. I learned the first lesson about traveling solo: let the bogeymen go. I refused to spend the rest of my trip held hostage by unreasonable fears.  

Fearing strangers and putting trust in them were two different things. Like Blanche in “A Streetcar Named Desire,” who always relied on the kindness of strangers, I found it necessary to do the same when my train from Monterosso to Florence terminated unexpectedly in the small town of La Spezia. At the train station, all of the passengers disembarked except for me and a woman sitting across from me. We sat for a few minutes smiling and nodding, but engrossed in our own reading materials. When a new crowd of passengers boarded, it was time to investigate. Luckily, the woman, Linda, was from Boston and spoke Italian much better than I did. We became a team instantly. She headed to the front of the car to locate a conductor, and I tried to speak to the man beside me. As Linda came back with the bad news that the train was returning to Monterosso, we each grabbed an end of my suitcase and ran down the aisle, jumping off the train just as the doors closed behind us. It was wonderful to have a partner in crime.  

When we reached her stop in Pisa, I felt lonely. Ten years from now, I won’t be able to laugh with Linda about our crisis narrowly averted. The experience is relegated to live only in my memory. Traveling alone is much more than worrying about getting from point A to B or staying safe. It is more than merely traveling without a companion. It is a different experience entirely. The souvenirs on my bookshelf remind only me of the cute boutique I found hidden on a side street. My photo of three opera understudies singing a cappella in the Piazzale della Repubblica brings the memory of their melodious voices back to me alone. When I describe the silky smooth texture of Ligurian pesto sauce, no one else can summon the taste.  

This feeling was most prevalent when I visited the Uffizi Gallery. The gallery was to be the highlight of my time in Florence. Seeing Botticelli’s Birth of Venus somehow seemed less magnificent when staring at it alone, so I shared my amazement with strangers. “Look at those brushstrokes. Isn’t his mastery of the female form astounding?” More often than not, people joined in. It was a pleasure to share the art with the people around me, even if I wouldn’t see them again.  

The most important things I learned during my time alone in Italy were about me. I am not able to share my experiences in Italy with my family and friends in the same way I would if they had been there, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. My trip is selfishly mine and mine alone. Whether or not I ever take another solo vacation, I know that touring Italy solo was a far better option than the alternative: regret. 

Author's Biography

Jacquelin Cangro lives in Brooklyn, New York. She has had articles published in Healthy Living Today, Go Nomad and Travel-wise. 

Her first work of short fiction will be published in "The Macguffin" this spring. She is also managing editor of The Subway Chronicles online magazine.

E-mail Jacquelin.

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