The first time I took myself out to dinner on the road, the waiter asked, “Just you?” I nodded, then watched the city fold into evening outside the window: cyclists coasting past, a grandmother watering geraniums, the bakery scraping flour from the day. No one knew me. I felt small and spacious at once. That’s the quiet magic of solo travel—you shrink to your essentials and expand into the world. And when you move slower and lighter, the planet gets a little breather too.

This is a love letter to going alone—and a field guide to doing it sustainably, without losing the spontaneity that makes it special.

Why solo makes sense (for you and the planet)

• You set the rhythm—and the footprint

You don’t have to negotiate a pre-dawn flight or a jam-packed checklist. You can take the 08:11 train, read for two hours, and step onto a platform already in the middle of a story. Slower modes—rail, coach, ferries, bikes, your own feet—tend to cut emissions and turn “getting there” into part of the trip.