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15 Lessons Learned as a Solo Woman Traveler

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Solo backpacking as a young woman is not all the sunshine and butterflies Instagram might suggest. It has been a challenging, tiring, frustrating, and sometimes scary experience, parts of which I feel obligated to share. Of course, traveling is a treasure that I will never regret despite its discomfort.

For example, I am writing this blog post in a public park after feeling sketched out at my hostel. I am all about getting out of your comfort zone, but safety is a priority. So, I packed up, left, and now I must find a place to stay tonight. It is noon, so I have time. Thank goodness for wifi at public parks!

(Disclaimer: This is the only time I felt unsafe at a hostel. Every other hostel experience from Europe to South America has been wholesome.)

So, in the name of transparency, here is a list of 15 realities I have experienced as a solo female backpacker. BUT for every downside, I give you a companion reason why I feel like I’ve grown because of it!

15 Lessons Learned as a Solo Woman Traveler

1. Days spent on logistics

Instagram shows the culmination of hours of planning. What you do not see is the time spent locating the nearest grocery stores, managing schedules, comparing tour prices, organizing transportation, chasing wifi hotspots, and constantly planning your next move. It’s exhausting and unexciting.

Why it’s worth it: You will become so incredibly travel-savvy that international trips will feel like a breeze. Airports, boat docks, and bus terminals will feel like a walk in the park. You will be less forgetful, ultra-prepared, and full of confidence.

2. Not speaking the language well enough

I came to Chile speaking a decent amount of Spanish, but the accent was difficult to understand. Additionally, surprisingly few people speak English in Southern Chile, and it was a challenge to communicate at first.

Why it’s worth it: In time, your communication skills will skyrocket! Whether you are speaking the language more fluidly or just understanding the best ways to use your body or resources, it will benefit you in the long run!

3. Loneliness

Whether you speak the language or not, a bit of loneliness is inevitable when traveling solo. You see your friends from home having a picnic while you are alone in a tent in the middle of the Patagonian backcountry. Then again, that’s pretty cool, and I am sure your friends from home would approve.

Why it’s worth it: Friends are easy to come by when traveling! Find hostels where there are plenty of opportunities to socialize. Campsites have been my social hub where everyone is searching for a trail family. Keep an open mind, and see what the universe provides!

4. Piling expenses

It’s a challenge to stay within budget, especially if you’re going to a country where the exchange is not in your favor.

Why it’s worth it: You will become a master at personal accounting and ingenuity. You will learn to determine which experiences matter the most to you, and sometimes skipping out on that $90 tour will open up other, more culturally authentic experiences. Reading a book in the plaza while eating a homemade sandwich gives you a more personal look at local life that an expensive city tour with other tourists ever could.

5. Eating a balanced diet can be effortful

Gotta love salchipapas.

You are at the mercy of whatever is available. If all you find at the tiny local market is cilantro, then you just have to deal with it. I realize that my diet for the last two months consisted of 90% bread and potatoes.

Why it’s worth it: Backpacking requires energy so enjoy the mass amounts of bread and potatoes stress-free. If anything, it will force you to explore different grocery stores to find spinach or any other veggies you crave. It is another intimate look into the real lives of people as you scour the local stores.

6. Unreliable public transport

I realized it is not uncommon to wait an extra hour for your bus, especially when you are far away from any major city and hitchhiking is a common mode of transportation. Or maybe your driver left, and you have to wait in the rain while you wonder where he went. It can be uncomfortable and inconvenient.

Why it’s worth it: It forces you to think on your feet and roll with the punches. Embrace the laid-backness of life, especially if you come from the States where you are over-accustomed to convenience and instant gratification. My tour guide once picked up a hitchhiker while riding in his Sudan on the way back from a kayaking excursion. We ended up all having a memorable conversation in the car together. Just go with the flow, and be open to what can happen if you are not so focused on the plan.

7. Being dirty for long periods

Showers are not always available on thru-hikes, and sometimes you do not want to deal with cold-water-only hostels. Your backpack could not fit your entire skincare routine, and the hikes have disgustingly destroyed your feet. Eyebrows are bushy, and your 18-in-1 soap just isn’t cleaning your body the way it cleans your dishes. Also, your clothes reek.

Why it’s worth it: You will come to love and appreciate your body for how well it functions over how it looks. You will gain an appreciation for water as you have never known. Also, when I shower, I can wash my clothes simultaneously! How resourceful you will become!

8. Tourists on tourists

Welcome Center at Torres del Paine National Park

Waiting in line sucks, and crowds around the main viewpoints kill the mood.

Why it’s worth it: It will force you to wake up hours earlier to avoid crowds, thus being rewarded with the most incredible views. If avoiding crowds is impossible, see it as an opportunity to enjoy the company! Enjoy sharing a precious experience with people who share the same interests as you. It is a privilege to travel, and crowds mean you are seeing something special.

9. Animal carnage

I went to Isla Magdalena, a Penguin Monument near Punta Arenas. Thousands of precious penguins waddled around the island, but there were also plenty of not-so-precious sights. Dead birds sprawled across the island, and in the distance, you can see the carnage happen right before your eyes. Unnerving and sad.

Why it’s worth it: Watching penguins being ripped apart by opportunistic birds of prey is an image I will never forget. BUT, how beautiful is nature! Gotta appreciate life in the wild. Better than seeing penguins in the zoo, right?

10. ALL THE DANG DOGS

Dogs gather at the bus stop in Puerto Rio Tranquilo. These doggos are friendly.

Country dogs are fierce, and they protect their family and livestock well. Unfortunately, sometimes you have to bear the burden of walking through their land. I HATE being chased and barked at by big, unleashed dogs. I still change streets when I see a dog ahead, but sometimes I have no choice but to walk forward.

Why it’s worth it: You will practice composure! Dogs are everywhere, and most of them are not aggressive. Eventually, you will appreciate all the doggos that can keep you company!

11. Uncomfortable accommodations

Bugs at your campsite. Spiders in the showers. Smelly bathrooms. Holes in the walls of your hostel. No air conditioning/heater. Sharing a room with five others. Chickens in the kitchen. Cold showers. Bumpy five-hour drives while your driver listens to loud music and drinks a beer.

Why it’s worth it: You will appreciate the basics, the people who welcome you into their lives, and your body that can adapt.

12. Harassment

Being a solo woman traveler, unfortunately, you know this is coming. Being alone appears to be an invitation to some, and it is incredibly shitty.

Why it’s worth it: You will learn that it is okay to be angry and NOT be polite! You will become comfortable defending yourself, and you will not let it keep you from living your best life. You will also learn that there will always be someone there to help. For every one shitty person, many others are kind.

13. Lack of privacy

First day at Patagon Backpackers. The most fun I’ve ever had at a hostel.

Campsites in Patagonia often have shared cooking and living spaces that concentrate the wifi. All my phone calls to home had to be done in public. Also, sharing a room in a hostel is too affordable to pass up, but the catch is that you share a room with strangers. You share the common spaces, the kitchen, and the bathrooms.

Why it’s worth it: You’ll learn to share, to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. It also forces you to learn how to set boundaries. Also, campsites and shared hostels have been home to some of the most fun I had on trips! It was so easy to make friends.

14. Having only one of everything

To save on weight, I strategically plan the contents of my backpack so that I only carry the necessities. Unfortunately, if I lose one thing, I will feel it. I already lost my water bottle and my headlamp.


Why it’s worth it: You will become more resourceful and proud of how well you manage.

15. Guilt

Traveling is tiresome, and I want to spend some days sitting in bed watching movies. I do not want to hike, take a tour, or socialize. BUT then I feel as if I am wasting time. Traveling is an incredible opportunity, and I want to be in bed?!

Why it’s worth it: You will learn how to validate your feelings and how to best take care of yourself. You will appreciate rest.

Without Cursing the Earth Beneath Me

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Patagonia Pt. 6

Campamiento Grey —> Campamiento Frances —> Campamiento Central

After hiking eight grueling hours under a beating sun from Campsite Grey to Campsite Frances, I had a Snickers, a pot of curry-flavored quinoa, and half a can of beer. The other half I spilled in my tent.

At this point, I accepted the sloppiness of my existence, like “showering” with a Neutrogena wet wipe or spit-launching dusty loogies without breaking my stride on the trail. Anyway, I thought about sleeping in the nude, but the bitter cold convinced me otherwise, so I slipped on my least dirt-crusted clothing and relished the warmth. That night I had the deepest sleep of my life. Cushy beds in Vegas Venetian Suites paled in comparison. Not that I experienced those too often.

See that river? Yeah, that’s the trail.

I woke to the smell of my beer-soaked tent. Without complaint, my body sprung into the morning ritual. Within 30min of waking up, I was on the trail chomping on mouthfuls of peanuts as I marched.

I marveled at how my body had changed, even after just a week of backpacking. My lungs breathed deeper, my skin was smoother, and my thoughts were kinder. The weight of my backpack was less burdensome, and elevation gains no longer made my muscles scream like they used to. Now I can simply relish the view without cursing the earth beneath me.

During the last section of the 12ish-mile hike to Campsite Central, I met a new friend. This man would hike past me, then I would pass him, then he would pass me, and we did that for miles until eventually, we stopped to talk.

“Es hermoso, no?” He asked me in Spanish. He walked up behind me while I was admiring a nearby lake.

“Sí. Es ummm… lo siento mi español es muy malo, pero queiro practicar!” I wanted to say so much more about the lake, but I did not have the vocabulary.

“Oh don’t worry. I speak English. Where are you from? Also, yeah, let’s practice!”

He was a young, sweet Chilean man who spoke with intensity and passion. We walked a few miles together, switching between English and Spanish. We talked about Chilean history, people uprisings, feminism, and the environment. I learned more about Chilean bureaucracy than I ever thought I would.

I remember listening to him talk about hope as I gazed out onto the neverending trail. A cool breeze made the hot sun tolerable, and there was a satisfying crunch of dirt beneath our boots as we marched in matching strides. The dramatic metamorphic mountains, glaciers, and waterfalls were behind us as we ventured towards the Welcome Center, exactly where I started seven days before. I wondered how I would feel when I would eventually arrive. All the positive changes I mentioned came from living out in nature, but how would I fare back in the “real world?”

After a few hours together, my new friend decided to stop at a river to relax. I continued without him.

I crossed the last suspension bridge, pushed through one final steep elevation gain, and saw my final campsite. A wooden sign indicated that the Welcome Center was just up the road, but a hotel and parking lot already alerted me that I had returned.

I stopped walking. My eyes spilled with joyful tears, and my stomach knotted with excitement. Seeing the hotel made me smile and laugh as I audibly whispered to myself, “Holy crap. I did it.” I completed the Torres del Paine O-Circuit! 80 miles in seven days. 30.1 miles in just the last two.* I arrived back exactly where I started, but I could not have felt more different.

With newfound energy, I set up my campsite swiftly, my hands working on automatic while I daydreamed about the next day, my last hike in the park, the grand finale: an 18-mile* round-trip trek to the base of Torres del Paine. At least I could leave my backpack at the campsite.

I walked to the little store to buy myself a coke and an hour of wifi. There, I bumped into my Texan friend (the man I hiked with for 11 hours over the John Garder Pass). He was sunburnt, dirty, and leaner, but he looked so happy. “I want to hear all about your last few days!” He said as we hugged.

He bought me another coke and one for himself. Rain began to pour as we excitedly recounted our adventures as the sun set on the distant Torres del Paine Towers, our final destination.

Quick mid-hike swim!
Last waterfall on the way to Campsite Central.
Taken from the last suspension bridge on the trail.
Patagonia, my heart.

*On maps, the distances between campsites are written straight-shot, point-to-point. They don’t count the miles of switchbacks, loops, and bends that a person must hike between point A and point B. I’m basing my mileage on the data I got off my phone days after I finished the trek.

Read the Whole Patagonia Series

Profoundly Sh*tty

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I am basking in the warm California sun as I reminisce on my last few months traveling alone in Chilean Patagonia. When I arrived in Santiago in early February, my heart would race every time I left my hostel. I took taxis everywhere, afraid of public transportation. I would constantly search for wifi to look up simple things, afraid to use my spotty Spanish to ask for help. I called home often, afraid of missing out on what was happening back in LA.

Every week the fear would abate. Soon I was hitchhiking to a volcano in a car full of badass backpacking Chilenas I just met as we shared our latest adventures. Growing up painfully shy, I often pause these days to rejoice at the person I have become:

A person who feels competent enough to backpack and camp alone. Open enough to express myself in a language I am still learning. Confident enough to be the first to extend a hand in friendship. Free enough to trust that I will always be okay.

Part of that freedom came with accepting death- my mom’s and my own. I remember laying on a petrified log in Playa Cole Cole, watching seals bob out of the water and thinking, “Death is coming, and I intend to make life so beautiful that when death does come for me, I can go satisfied, whether it comes tonight or 80 years from now.”

I closed my eyes, listened to the ocean, and felt the chill breeze raise goosebumps on my skin. After a few breaths, I opened my eyes to a fiery sunset as I surrendered to all that life had to offer.

This Mother’s Day, I offer all my growth, longing, and joy to a woman who lived so well that God called her home early. My first Mother’s Day without her physical presence has been so profoundly shitty, but………yeah. That’s it. Just shitty. And honestly, that’s okay.

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An Inch is a Cinch, but a Yard is Hard

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Patagonia Pt. 5

Campamiento Los Perros to Glacier Grey

“Tomorrow, the hike will be around 13 miles but last 11-12 hours. It will start with a 6,400 ft incline until the John Gardner Pass, then about a 9000 ft descent that will last around two to three miles. It is STEEP. If you don’t have trekking poles, find a good stick. After that, you’ll have around five hours left before you reach the next campsite. I suggest an early start.”

The ranger briefed me on tomorrow’s hike to Glacier Grey, looking concerned that I was one of the last people to arrive at the Los Perros Campsite that afternoon. I reassured him that I spent a few hours writing by the glacier. I’m not such a slow hiker.

My cozy spot at Campamiento Los Perros

“No writing or reading tomorrow. Stop to take a quick photo, but then keep walking.”

I nodded, scavenged for a perfect walking stick, and snuggled into my sleeping bag before 8 pm.

I woke up pre-dawn the following morning, swallowed a handful of trail mix, and followed a group of other hikers up into the forest. They were faster than me. It was dark, and the already aggressively steep trail was covered with fallen branches. I lost the group within thirty minutes, and I lost the trail soon after.

I couldn’t hear anyone around me, and I couldn’t see anything beyond the glow of my headlamp.

“HOLA!?” I yelled.

Silence.

“HELLO?!?!”

Nothing.

My heart started to race while I speed-walked through the trees, scanning my surroundings for the trail. Even though I climbed in elevation, the forest was so thick I could not get a clear view of what was below.

I high-kneed my way over tall bushes across the mountainside, hoping I would run into someone. Worst case scenario, I would walk back down, and I was positive the campsite would be easy to find. I wasn’t in any real danger, I told myself.

I lowered my body into a narrow, dry riverbed, suppressing panic tears, when I heard, “Oh hey, Jessica!”

It was a Texan man I met on my first day in Torres del Paine National Park. He was trekking up the riverbed. I was on the trail!

“I’m glad I ran into you! I was told this hike can get pretty gnarly, so it’s best to do it with a buddy. Want to walk together?”

We started back at that lake!

I agreed, though my fear of getting lost was now replaced with a fear of holding a conversation with a stranger for possibly 11 hours. At least my mind was too wrapped up thinking of conversation topics that I paid less attention to the steepening incline until it was painstakingly impossible to ignore.

The trail left the forest and brought us into a clearing of loose rocks and draping glaciers as we ascended the pass. Orange metal poles jutted out of the earth indicating that the trail continued up as far as I could see. Teeny tiny backpackers ahead were slowly trudging up and behind a mountain. I hoped the incline ended there. (It didn’t.) Glacial runoff spilled from the direction we walked up, making the loose rocks even more slippery. Thank goodness it was a windless, sunny day. The trail could easily be a treacherous hike under worse conditions.

The conversation between my partner and I shrank into groans, numerous comments about burning calves/hamstrings/etc., and asking each other, “how much longer, you think?” As if either of us knew.

A wooden sign presented itself. My friend read it while I caught my breath, hands on my knees. “We’re about 1/5 of the way done, according to this map.”

Took a photo because I thought this was Glacier Grey. It wasn’t, but it was still spectacular!

Hours passed, and as magnificent as my surroundings were, I looked down at my feet as I walked. If I kept my head up and looked ahead, I would get discouraged, my heart would beat faster with overwhelm, and my body would ache more. So focusing solely on the next step was the only way I could convince my mind and body to keep moving.

“An inch is a cinch, but a yard is very, very hard,” My mom used to say.

I trudged on and on and on. Higher and higher and higher until…

“Jess, look up!” My friend said breathlessly.

I looked up, and my jaw dropped. We reached the summit of the John Gardner Pass, and ahead of us was Glacier Grey. It expanded across my peripherals, and even when I turned my head, I couldn’t see where it ended. It was gigantic. The ice field spanned across the bases of six or seven mountains, and a luminous baby blue hue glistened in the valleys and caves within it. Distant, thunderous howls erupted from the mighty glacier as it calved in places I couldn’t see.

I took off my backpack and sat while my friend opened his one pack of M&Ms in celebration.

It was just us, our aching muscles, a frigid wind, a powerful silence, and a 100 sq. mi. glacier. I felt so small and insignificant but in a beautiful way. The experience commanded a shift in perspective. My anxieties, pain, joys, past, present, and future matter, but I realized how foolish it was to believe my reality ended there. True reality is shared, constantly shifting, and expanding. Even this thousand-year-old massive glacier is merely a speck in the universe. So what am I?

The universe is infinite. It is a reminder that life events are important, but in the grand scheme of things, the itty bitty moments that make up our lived experiences do not matter as much as we think they do. A failed business venture, a breakup, an embarrassing moment, and even the death of someone important. All that matters and is worthwhile to hold dear, but the possibilities to learn and live in life go beyond what we personally experience. We just need to be open to going beyond our ego to find it. Fear, suffering, and pain are even smaller specs in this universe, as is joy. And oddly enough, that makes me feel free.

After an excruciating six more hours (where I experienced the steepest descent of my experience as a hiker, multiple adrenaline-pumping suspension bridges, dangerously exposed ledges, and the worst knee pain of my young life), I reached the Glacier Grey Campsite.

I was too tired to eat, wash up, or secure my tent. I just stripped down, got into my sleeping bag, and slept soundly until morning.

Hike Info:

Campamiento Los Perros to Campamiento Grey

Length: 22 km (13.7 miles) Point-to-Point
Elevation Gain: 1,204 m (3,950 ft.)
Terrain: Dirt trail. Loose, sometimes slippery rocks. LOTS of mud.
Other Notes: Trekking poles are recommended! I definitely needed a hand on the steeper steps and out of deep mud. Most of the trek will have forest cover, but the hardest ascent up the pass will be completely exposed to the sun! I was lucky that it was sunny, but I heard winds and rain are common, so I 100% recommend finding a buddy if you’re backpacking alone. The views are 100% worth the pain! Also, I brought ibuprofen, and I was very happy I did.

More Photos from the Epic Hike!

I got to witness lots of calving.
Homestretch! I hated how the distances were always scratched off.
The southern end of the ice field.
So many suspension bridges! They would sway and shake as you walked. I had to sing to keep myself calm while I crossed.
The trail required crossing this river. Behind me the river turned into a massive waterfall that poured right into Glacier Grey.

The Making of a Brave Woman

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Patagonia Pt. 1

I’ve been in Chile for a little over a week now, slowly working my way south from Santiago towards Patagonia where I am trekking the 85-mile O Circuit in Torres del Paine National Park. (I heard that 85 miles are just the straight-shot distances between campsites and not the actual length of the trails!) After six nights in Santiago and two nights in Punta Arenas, I have arrived at Puerto Natales, my last stop. Tomorrow morning I’ll take a bus to the trailhead and begin my trek. As the hike looms closer, I’m trying to channel my inner Cheryl Strayed in Wild, or Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love. Both women were tangled in messy life situations until they carved their way out by physically removing themselves from the mess. Sometimes, all you need is some distance to put things into perspective. Sometimes, all you need is simply to worry about the next step.

View from Cerro Santa Lucía in Santaigo.

With the many logistical hurdles of this trip, taking steps one at a time is the only way I stay sane. To quickly recap all I’ve been through up till now, I spent a week in Santiago eating Nutella and backlogging writing for work. Afterward, I took a flight to Punta Arenas, a small town (but largest in Patagonia) in the southernmost part of the continent, and stayed there for two nights. I left on a bus this morning for Puerto Natales. Each of those steps required many little ones. Additionally, as a solo female traveler, I’m constantly vigilant yet simultaneously making sure I enjoy myself.

Admiring the awesome bike lanes in Punta Arenas.

The whole experience is a challenge, privilege, joy, and blessing. It is messy and sometimes scary and tiring, but worth it. Maybe that is why travel is the means of healing for so many book and movie characters. It mimics all the ups and downs of life and teaches you that the whole experience can be beautiful. Take this afternoon as an example.

I reserved a bed at a gorgeously unique adobe-like hostal. The only issue (that initially began as a super cool idea) was that it was up in the countryside hills and far from the city center. Not too bad, but there were only two roads to get there. Road #1 had two aggressive, sometimes violent, large guard dogs. They are chained 50% of the time. Road #2 had four similarly large dogs that only act aggressively. They are never chained, but will most likely not lunge. Getting to the hostal was hard enough without GPS, but sprinting from dogs was a bonus. Unfortunately, after settling into my hostal, I needed to leave again to buy groceries for my trek.

Heading to my hostal in Puerto Natales.

“Tengo miedo.” I’m scared. I laughed nervously.

“Yeah, they’re scary, huh? All you need to do is stand your ground and say, ‘FUERA!’” The young woman who worked at the hostal responded to me in English while leaning against the front desk. She had a partly shaved head, purple highlights, and avant-garde tattoos.

It was getting late, and I needed to go. The woman gave me a thumbs up and a “buenos suerte” as I walked out the door. I nervously paced outside for 15 minutes before finally walking down road #2.

I rounded the corner and thought, “You are Walter Mitty getting on that helicopter in Greenland. You are Cheryl Strayed traversing the PCT trail buried in icy snow. You are brave!”

The dogs lay curled up on the side of the road. “Cute,” I effortfully thought while adrenaline heated my body, urging me to run. The good news was that the dogs were sleeping deeply enough that I could quickly walk around them, delaying my opportunity to face them, at least until I had to return.

After stocking up on all my meals for the week, I began the long walk back, hoping the dogs were still asleep. “You are brave!” I repeated in my mind as I left the town center, as I crossed the stream, and as I made my way up the hills towards my hostal.

I walked alone, up the dirt path, between tall yellow grass. The snowy Patagonia mountains were visible in the distance. Colorful homes and a glacier-blue lake painted the foreground of my panoramic view. As I looked out in awe, two dogs stepped out of the grass and onto the road before me. My eyes widened. Tails in the air, they barked and bounded towards me.

“YOU ARE A BRAVE WOMAN!” I screamed internally. My heart was pounding!

I took out the baguette from my grocery bag and swung it like a sword. “FUERA!” I said!

Weird, but it worked! They continued to bark but they stopped running. As I walked through, still swinging my baguette, the dogs moved to the side and barked until my back was towards them.

Heart still pounding, I speed-walked into the hostal and plopped into a chair. The woman with purple hair asked how it went, and I gave her the story. She laughed and said she was proud.

The dog experience may not seem like a big deal, especially if you live in an area where fierce dogs roam free, but hey you gotta cut me some slack. I was born and raised in Los Angeles, where we’ve got 99 problems, but stray dogs ain’t one. Regardless, having to face them was unexpected, scary, and undesirable BUT I believe I am a little better because of it.

–

Anyway, see ya in a week. Torres del Paine, here I come.

Food for the trek! The selection in town was much smaller than I anticipated, but it worked out!