What a Month of Solo Travel Taught Me (That Instagram Never Could)

When you travel alone, you think you’re some kind of hero. Like a modern-day Kerouac — except with Wi-Fi and Google Maps. But let me tell you something: there's a lot less heroism involved than you'd imagine… and a lot more self-discovery.

Why go alone at all?

I wasn’t going through a breakup. I didn’t lose my job. There was no dramatic life event. I was just… tired. The city felt heavy, Instagram stories felt pointless, and the idea of “networking” made me want to scream.

One evening, sitting in my tiny kitchen with a lukewarm coffee, I booked a one-way ticket to Montenegro. Why there? Cheap, scenic, no visa required. Also: great place to vanish for a while without worrying your mom too much.

Silence is loud at first

The first few days were weird. No notifications. No one asking, “Want to grab coffee?” No one even knowing where I was.

It was like someone had unplugged me from the Matrix, and I was glitching. You don’t realize how much noise surrounds you until it’s gone.

But then — something changes. The silence starts speaking. You begin hearing your own thoughts. And — plot twist — some of them are actually interesting.

You notice everything when no one's around

Solo travel turns you into an observer. I found myself watching how an old man cut his burek with the precision of a surgeon. How kids played football in the shadow of a 15th-century fortress. How the light moved across the wall of a sleepy café while I sat doing absolutely nothing.

You’re not a participaLet me tell you a secret.

When you travel alone, your brain starts doing weird things. It stops running errands for other people and finally starts working for you. It digs up forgotten thoughts. It asks uncomfortable questions. And sometimes… it even surprises you.

That’s exactly what happened to me when I packed a backpack, booked a one-way ticket, and disappeared for a month. Just me, Montenegro, and an overwhelming amount of silence.

No heartbreak. No crisis. Just... exhaustion.

I wasn’t escaping anything dramatic. No messy breakup. No nervous breakdown. I was just tired — the kind of tired that coffee, sleep, or new sneakers won’t fix.

One evening, I was staring at my phone, doomscrolling like it was an Olympic sport, and thought: Why am I still here?

Fifteen minutes later, I had a flight booked. A one-way ticket to a tiny town on the Adriatic coast. Why? Cheap, chill, visa-free. That was literally all I needed.

Alone = loud. At first.

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you: when you arrive somewhere new alone, it’s not peaceful — it’s awkward. You have no one to talk to, nowhere to be, and all the noise from back home? Gone.

The silence is deafening.

But something strange happens when you're not constantly talking or listening or reacting. You start paying attention — to everything. The way the wind sounds different by the sea. How your stomach growls when you forget to eat. The way your brain throws up a random memory from 2009 and says, “Hey, remember this?”

Uncomfortable? Yes. Necessary? 100%.

You start noticing weird things — and they’re beautiful

Without someone next to you saying “let’s go over there,” you finally slow down. You start watching people instead of scrolling past them.

You notice how the old man in the bakery wraps his pastries like they’re sacred artifacts. How the kids play soccer barefoot, full speed, like it's the World Cup. How the sea changes color five times a day.

Everything becomes a movie. And somehow, you're the camera.

I lost my card. And my mind. Then I found both.

Day 3: I lose access to my bank account. No card, no cash, no clue. A younger version of me would’ve freaked out and called mom. But now? I just... walked to the nearest bank. Drew a terrible map. Used broken English. Solved it.

Nothing teaches self-trust like panic in a foreign country with 3% battery.

I thought I knew myself. I was wrong.

Turns out, most of what I thought were “my thoughts” were just echoes — social media, friends, podcasts, to-do lists. When you shut all that off, you meet someone you haven't heard from in a while: yourself.

And guess what? I liked that guy.

He’s quieter than I thought. Likes slow mornings. Loves walking with no destination. Doesn’t care what anyone thinks of his Instagram.

Coming home felt... weird. In a good way.

Back home, everything was the same — but I wasn’t.

I stopped replying to messages I didn’t want to answer. I asked myself why before I said yes. I made decisions slower — but somehow better.

It’s not that I “found myself.” I just stopped outsourcing my life to the algorithm.

So, should you do it too?

Yes.

Book the damn trip. Go alone. Leave the headphones at home. Let it get boring. Let it get uncomfortable. Let it get quiet.

And when it does — listen. You might be surprised who you meet.