When I first started to travel solo, at the age of 23, I had a Lonely Planet guidebook and a healthy dose of youthful confidence in my ability to learn everything there was to know about the destinations I was visiting. I wanted the flexibility to find my own path, to discover things that others don’t see, and to meet new people.
I would religiously follow the guide’s recommendations and show up to see the artworks at The Louvre in Paris, the ruins of the Parthenon in Athens, and the Gladiator’s Gate at the Colosseum in Rome. This was before the days of downloadable audio tours and I would wander about, eyes wide, but in the end, the only thing I really learnt about these places, apart from some basic history, was what they looked like.
Admittedly, one of my problems was financial. I once stood forlornly outside La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, bank account empty. It was another decade until I was able to return to see inside Gaudi’s most fascinating architectural feat.
When I got older, and had kids, I travelled with my family. After I divorced, being a solo traveller wasn’t my ideal. My kids were with their dad and I was on holiday (yay!) – but I wasn’t brave enough to talk to strangers.
For years, I’d book a trip and then be overwhelmed at the number of ‘couples’ everywhere. To me they looked so ‘loved up’ and I would imagine that they were all looking at me with pity. Instead of being empowered by solo travel I was isolated by it. So, I’d dart back and forth between tourist sites and the walls of my Balinese villa or European hotel, where I’d order room service and read a novel.
Eventually, after many a trip talking to no one but myself, I signed up for a group tour.
Initially, the possibility of being stuck with loud, insensitive travellers, and/or whining children, horrified me. I was committed to being independent and didn’t fancy going to a football game when what I really wanted to do was go honky tonkin’ in Nashville. I didn’t want to eat a set menu – I wanted to try everything; from durian and kava to crispy tarantulas on the side of the road.
My first group tour was a Classic Cambodia trip with Intrepid Travel where I joined 11 others on a bus tour across the country for seven days. We explored Phnom Penh, Siem Reap and Angkor Wat. We learnt about the history of the nation, visited palaces and temples, and watched sunrises and sunsets together. And it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was great. We had intense conversations about life, the universe and everything, and we had fun. We even ate fried crickets and grasshoppers together. It was fantastic to have someone else figure out which sites to visit, what to do, what time to leave, what to pack for the day, where to eat, and how to get back to our hotel after a few drinks.
There is joy in shared experiences. Photo: Getty
In the end, having a professional tour guide changed everything about my trips. It was clearly a much better way to learn about the destinations I was visiting, and after Cambodia I was converted. I realised how much I had undervalued and underestimated the insight of more experienced travellers and local guides. It is a fact of life that it’s only as we get older that we realise how little we know, and can see the value in other people’s knowledge.
A decade ago I took a solo trip to Uluru. I stayed at Sails in the Desert and walked around the stunning rock alone. Recently, I returned. On a group segway tour, the guide led us to sacred caves and waterholes. She shared stories and insights into the tjukurpa, the traditional law and spirituality of the people of the region. I discovered far more than I had the first time. The only way to access this knowledge is to have it shared by someone with the authority to pass it on.
Similarly, I’ve been to Pike Place Market in Seattle before. But on a Market-to-Table tour with Chef Traci Calderon, I gained a real insight into the ‘family’ that stall holders become for each other. Calderon knows the stories behind every operator and every product. She knows that butcher Don should be staying off his bad leg, cheekily threatening him with a phone call to his wife if he’s not careful. She know the hardships the chai lady experienced before she set up her shopfront, she knows that the Hellenika gelato shop is owned by an Australian who came from the Gold Coast, and she knows how to corral these shopkeepers into providing a breakfast with mimosas.
Recently in Melbourne, I toured Footscray with Urban Adventures and learned the immigration stories of the people who live, and have lived, in the area for decades. I’ve been to Footscray before, I’ve eaten Ethiopian food at a restaurant, but came away with no particular understanding of the culture and essence of those who served my dinner. Neither they, nor I, were in the position to share ourselves.
Only on a tour do we have that opportunity.
When I learn, on a tour with Cultural Attractions of Australia, how an artist created their works; when I learn the story of a painting from a guide who is connected to the site where the story originated, when I am able to enter the businesses of a chef, coffee maker or chateau gardener and ask them questions, I learn so much more and my experience is infinitely richer.
Never again will I stand on the edges of knowledge. I prefer to put up with some tantrums and group singalongs, so I can soak up the stories of the places I visit.
But I’m pretty sure I’ll always draw the line at group T-shirts.