I’ve always felt excited about traveling on my own. Fed by Indiana Jones movies and Tomb Rider, it always seemed like a proper adventure with a romantic touch of a one man wolf pack. It gave me the freedom to go wherever I felt like in given moment and do whatever. It made it easy to accommodate for some low standard hotels and not the most comfortable travel times - those things were always secondary to the actual experiencing new places. It also made it easy to not socialize when I didn’t feel like it and all new acquaintances met on the way were as close or far as I wanted without feeling uneasy about it.
Traveling alone has always made me more aware of myself - the good, bad and the ugly things. There was time to think, to miss things and people, to realize weaknesses. It’s always been getting out of the comfort zone of safely planned and predictable environment straight into spontaneity - a very scary word - and uncertainty. I’m not good at those, as my friend Carlos would say - the more I experience those, the more human I become. Meeting new people was by far on top of difficult good things to do list but again traveling alone has changed that too, a little bit at least.
This trip is different in a few ways, it’s the longest I’ve ever made on my own, the destination changes all the time and only three points are constant - arrival, Elephant Project and the departure home. All the rest - as Singapore and Bali proves, is flexible. I guess I’m more confident that I used to be, maybe more grown up