I will never forget the first time I set out to fly across the Atlantic Ocean on my own. I had just gotten over a nasty break up with a man who spent every day regaling me with tales of his extensive travels and plans to show me the places he had seen. And then one day, he was gone.
But it was already too late. My lifelong dream of visiting at least one European country had very nearly become a reality. I had been waiting, wasting time, hoping that one day I’d meet the love of my life and we would explore the world together. Each day I would add to my Pinterest boards and dream of travel destinations and long for the day when I would finally “have a reason” to go.
And then I stumbled across a one way ticket to Barcelona for $280. After a bit of research and careful navigating, I booked a 16 day adventure that went from Dallas, to New York, to Moscow, to Barcelona, to Rome, to London, and then back to Dallas via New York.
I hadn’t even applied for a passport yet.
Of course, I eventually worked out the logistics. I secured lodging at each location for less than $40/night on average, I worked out rough itineraries using my library of Pinterest links, and I ordered the currency needed for each location. At the end of the trip I spent less than $3,000 total – including costs to board my sweet Ninja – and it was worth every dime.
Along with the souvenirs, the light tan, the unused currency, and the few extra pounds gained from enjoying the world’s greatest cuisines, I came home with something I will treasure and nurture for as long as I can. An addiction to traveling solo.