Some of my favorite mornings start the same way. I wake in a small hotel room in a city I don't live in, go find good coffee, and step outside with my camera and no one to answer to. Copenhagen was like that. The night before, I'd flagged a dozen spots on Google Maps, churches and canals and a café someone swore by, and then I walked. Toward one, past three others, stopping whenever something caught my eye. That's the part of solo travel as a woman that's hard to explain to people who haven't done it. It gives you the ability to be entirely free from others’ expectations and needs. You can unapologetically follow your own whims. This isn't a safety checklist, though we'll get to safety. It's the honest version of what going alone has done for my work, and for me.
Solo travel started because I got tired of waiting
Long before I boarded a plane alone, I hiked alone, and it was as much necessity as adventure. I worked an alternative schedule back then, no weekends off, with two young kids who needed picking up from school at a fixed time every afternoon. Lining up a friend whose free hours matched mine was next to impossible. So the choice was simple. Go by myself, or don't go.
I wasn't willing to not go.
I started with trails I knew and worked my way up. Longer routes. Unfamiliar ground. Eventually backpacking on my own. Each trip stretched what I thought I could handle, and the confidence I built on those local trails is the same confidence I later carried onto airplanes. The pattern of my whole adventuring life got set right there: if this is going to happen, I have to be willing to do it alone.
My first trips abroad, alone
My first solo trip in the flying-across-an-ocean sense was a photography tour in Iceland in 2024. I'd wanted to go for years, and I found a workshop whose leader's approach lined up with mine. I had more vacation time banked than my husband, so it made sense to go on my own. I didn't know a soul on that tour. The workshop was a small group, but everything around it- the flights, the airports, the arriving- was mine to navigate. That was my initiation into being abroad solo.
The first time I was truly alone for an entire stay came last year, when I tacked three days in Copenhagen onto the end of a photography tour in the Faroe Islands. The group scattered, and I had the city to myself. Europe makes it easy. Single rooms are everywhere, comfortable and far more reasonable than paying for space you don't need. That's the perk nobody mentions: alone, you don't need much. You're not feeding a table of people or negotiating between someone who's tired, someone who's starving, and someone who wants to shop while you want to shoot. Each morning I woke, checked my map, pointed myself in a direction, and let the day unfold. Coffee when I wanted coffee. Lunch when I wanted lunch. A long time in front of a building if the light was doing something worth staying for.
As a mother (and as a woman), so much of ordinary life is compromise. We're always splitting the difference for somebody. To move through a beautiful city entirely on my own terms, following only what caught my eye, felt close to revolutionary.
What being alone does for the work
Here's what keeps me doing it: going alone has handed me experiences I simply would not have had otherwise.
Most of my solo adventuring isn't glamorous. It's local, and often at hours nobody in their right mind volunteers for. Not everyone wants to camp on Cumberland Island with the mosquitoes and the alligators and the wild horses and the heat. Not everyone wants to wake at 4 a.m. in January and drive through the snow to stand on a mountaintop for sunrise. If I waited for company, I'd still be waiting. Because I went anyway, I've photographed sunrise on Cumberland Island with the whole shoreline to myself, and watched some of the most unbelievable winter light of my life break over Roan Mountain.
It isn't only landscapes. This past February in Oslo, I made one of my favorite photographs in years, a picture of sailboats in the harbor, still water, a soft reflection under an overcast sky. With other people around, I'd have walked right past it. I wouldn't have been looking that closely, or stopped to set up the tripod and give the shot the time it needed. Cities are where this shows up most: the moment I'm holding someone else's pace in my head, I stop really seeing. Even among other photographers, if I can drift a little from the pack, I'm happier with what I bring home.
The honest costs
I won't pretend it's all freedom and good light.
I love solitude, which is probably why solo travel suits me. But even for me there's a ceiling. By my third day in Copenhagen, I'd done the city the way I wanted to. Walked it, photographed it, eaten well, taken the canal tour. People were warm, but it wasn't connection, and I was ready to get home to my family. Unless you're somewhere built for meeting people, a co-living space or a spot full of travelers, the solitude can tip into isolation.
Then there are the logistics. You haul everything into the airport bathroom stall because there's no one to watch your bag. If you get sick, nobody's carrying anything for you. Every wrong turn is yours to fix.
This year taught me that one hard way. I flew into Oslo on my way to Lofoten, and my suitcase didn't come with me. The next morning I was due to fly above the Arctic Circle to join a photography tour, and everything I needed to survive it in comfort was in that bag: waterproof boots, base layers, wool socks, every winter layer I'd packed. What I had on me was a down vest, one thin hat, thin gloves, and the clothes on my back. My camera gear was with me, tripod included, thankfully. The suitcase didn't turn up for six days.
I had a day to myself in Oslo, normally my sweet spot, the exact situation I love. Instead, I walked out of that airport and burst into tears, then went shopping for pajamas, contact solution, and a winter coat. It was completely manageable, and I managed it, but it was a clean reminder of what travel actually is. Things go sideways, and when you're solo, the only way out is through.
How I plan and stay safe
None of this works without preparation, and my routine isn't complicated. It's just consistent. Here's what I actually do:
- Research the place thoroughly before I go. I read up on neighborhoods before I book a hotel, I check how far the walk is from the train station or how I'll get from the airport into town, and I search out reviews and blog posts specifically about how safe a destination is for women traveling alone.
- Share my location with people who love me. My family has me on Life360, and we keep in touch on WhatsApp. Someone always knows roughly where I am, even when they're on the other side of the world.
- Build the map in advance. I pin everything I want to see and do to a Google Map ahead of time, so I'm following my phone, not standing on a corner looking lost.
- Stay aware of my surroundings and my things. Copenhagen felt safe almost everywhere, but one evening I wandered into a stretch that felt off, less clean, a rougher crowd, the sun going down. Probably fine. I turned around and headed back anyway, because there was no reason to risk it. That instinct is worth more than any itinerary.
- Drop your bags early. I book hotels where I can leave luggage in a secure spot before check-in, so I can roam freely knowing my gear is safe. There is nothing worse than dragging a suitcase and a heavy pack on a thirty-minute walk over wet cobblestones.
- Keep track of the essentials. I always know where my passport is, where my wallet is, and where my camera gear is. Always.
Most of it comes down to paying attention. Plan ahead, keep people informed, and trust the small voice that tells you to head back.
If you've been waiting for someone to go with you
If you take one thing from this, let it be this: take the next step, whatever yours is. A first hike alone. A first solo backpacking night. A first trip where you don't wait on anyone's schedule but your own.
And if the fully-alone part makes you nervous, build in some company on purpose. Join a group for part of it. Book the workshop. Right now I'm living at a co-living spot outside Voss, Norway, and it's the best of both: plenty of solo hiking on my own light, and a built-in group to share meals with and check in with. It's easy to get turned around on these Norwegian trails, so having people nearby who know when I plan to be back has been a real comfort.
You don't have to do it all alone to do it alone. You just have to be willing to go.
Frequently asked questions
Q: Is solo travel safe for women? A: Yes. With proper planning and preparation, it is, and I say that from years of doing it. The fear is almost always louder than the actual risk. Research your destination, book a safe and walkable neighborhood, share your location with people you trust, and stay aware of your surroundings, and you've handled the vast majority of it before you ever land. Preparation is what makes it safe, and preparation is entirely in your control. Don't let the what-ifs talk you out of the trip.
Q: Is it safe to hike alone as a woman? A: Yes, with that same preparation. I started on familiar trails, told someone my route and my expected return time, and built up to bigger, more remote days as my confidence grew. Share your plan, share your location, carry what you need to be self-reliant, and trust your instincts on the ground. Being willing to hike alone has given me some of the best experiences of my life, and they weren't reckless. They were prepared.
Q: How do I start traveling or hiking solo if I'm nervous? A: Start small and familiar, and build in a little company if you want it. I began on trails I already knew. For travel, tack a few solo days onto the end of a group tour, or pick a destination known for being safe and walkable, the way I did with Copenhagen. The confidence compounds faster than you'd expect.
Q: What are the benefits of solo travel for a photographer? A: Control of your own time. Alone, you can wait as long as the light takes, stop for the shot no one else would have noticed, and follow your eye without holding anyone's pace in your head. My favorite images almost always come from days I shot alone.
The last word
I still think about those Copenhagen mornings. Coffee, camera, a map full of pins, and a whole day that answered to no one. Solo travel gave me that, and a body of work I'm proud of, made on my own schedule, in my own way. It asks something of you in return: the planning, the vigilance, the occasional lonely evening. With the preparation to back it up, it has always been worth it. If you've been waiting for the right person to come along before you go, consider this your nudge to stop waiting.
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