Well I walked all around this crowded planet
But I walked all alone;
Though the places change, the faces stay the same.
Spending my money thinking up funny stories that you tell
In a noisy bar where no one knows your name.
Running out of places still worth running to,
Taking pictures no one’s home to see;
Making deals with small-town tourists traveling alone:
“I’ll take one of you in Rome
If you’ll take one of me.”
— Paul Williams, Look What I’ve Found
The above memory was prompted by this article, wherein a list of 40 reasons is cited as to why it’s better to travel alone.
I hate that. For me, solo travel is not worth the effort, and unshared memories are completely pointless. But: sitting alone in a Paris bistro? drinking coffee and eating pastries in a Viennese coffee bar, by yourself? looking into shop windows inside London’s Burlington Arcade, just for your own curiosity?
I get it, by the way; having complete control of your own itinerary is great, because you get to do only what you want to do. But honestly, often someone else’s “wannado” can open your mind to something fine you might otherwise have missed.
I remember taking New Wife to see the wonderful Green & Stone artists’ supply shop in Chelsea, and after browsing around and being captivated, she said: “It makes you want to take up art, just so that you can use all these lovely things.”
I’d visited Green & Stone several times in the past, but I’d never been able to put into words what she (my traveling companion) did so effortlessly: and it made the whole experience better.
Worst of all, of course, is at the end of the day you, the solo traveler, have to go to bed without someone to lie next to, to cuddle and recap the day’s wonders; and you don’t get to fall asleep next to the warm body of someone you love.
Travel alone? Pah.
I’ve traveled all over the United States with my friend Trevor, both as foreign tourists and later as domestic tourists. I can truthfully say that in all that time, there is not a single day we spent together that would have been better spent alone. Even when we were freezing our nuts off:
Or keeping warm, so to speak:
Don’t ask.
Here’s another take. On one of our trips (can’t remember where, but somewhere on the East Coast), we went to a noisy bar where no one knew our names, but a group of people was having a huge party — except that the two guys who’d brought guitars for a sing-along couldn’t play for shit, and only knew a couple of songs.
Ordinarily, I’d just have shrugged the thing off and left when I got bored; but NO! my friend Trevor pointed to me and shouted out: “Hey! My buddy here can play guitar! And he knows quite a few songs!”
I didn’t kill him, but took the guitar and started to play, just for the hell of it — which I’d never have done by myself.
The party lasted till 1am. (Okay, a wee bit longer than that, as I recall.)
Travel alone? That’s for other people. Give me my wife, my kids or a close buddy like Trevor, and I’ll take that accompanied trip all the way over being on my own. Seven days a week.
