matcha latte on a rainy night

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been bitten by the travel bug, always itching to grab my passport and head to the airport. No matter the destination – solo trips, vacations with friends, or family getaways – there’s always that bittersweet moment when I actually look forward to the flight home. It’s funny, isn’t it? How you can miss the simplest things like your favorite snack from the corner store, or how easy it is to get around, or just the faces of your people.

I’ll never forget the first time I really went far from home. We were heading to the West Coast of the US – a family trip, and I was just a wide-eyed teen, buzzing with excitement to see the land that I’d only glimpsed on screen. Everything in America was just so… big! The cars, the burgers, the endless aisles in the grocery stores. And everyone seemed so chill, ready to chat with a stranger at the drop of a hat. For a young girl from a little country, it was like walking onto a movie set. I’ve been back to the US plenty of times since then, but despite all its glitz and glam, it’s never quite stolen the number one spot in my heart.

Ireland, with its rolling green hills and cozy pubs, somehow became my go-to escape over the years. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but I was always pulled towards this emerald isle. After a bunch of failed plans with friends, December 2014 marked my first adventure to this magical place with one of my closest and oldest friends. I was instantly hooked by the stunning landscapes, the friendly locals, and yes, even the hearty meals and pints of beer. There was this calm that washed over me, and I found myself coming back almost every year, my connection to Ireland deepening with each visit.

And then, bam, COVID happened, and just like that, the whole world had to take a time-out. My wanderlust had to go on hold, too. But you know what? I couldn’t shake off this longing for Ireland. Even a fast dash to Dublin (which, between you and me, isn’t even my favorite spot in Ireland) would’ve done the trick. But, alas, it just wasn’t in the cards. Last Christmas, I finally made it back, laptop in tow, ready to hunker down in some adorable remote houses, far from the usual tourist spots and crowds.

I remember feeling a bit out of sorts at first, wondering if I’d still feel at home. But then, a simple chat with a cashier – a lovely older lady – lifted my spirits and swept away any doubts. It’s amazing how a small conversation can shift your whole outlook. That interaction was a reminder of why I’d fallen for Ireland and its people all over again.

There’s something about Ireland that just gets me. It’s like as soon as I’m there, all the stress and craziness of life just falls away. I can be cruising down some country road, singing at the top of my lungs, and I’m the happiest I’ve been in quite some time. It’s hard to put into words, but being there makes me feel so grounded. I’m just so thankful for that place – it’s my little slice of peace, and every time I’m there, I can see how much I’ve changed and grown. It’s pretty awesome.

But as my time there wound down, I was hit with mixed emotions. I was sad to leave my Irish haven but also itching to get back to my own space, my friends, and yes, my comfort food. Leaving Ireland was always a cocktail of joy and melancholy, but I carried both with me, eager for the next return.

You know, solo travel isn’t always a walk in the park. One thing I really wrestled with, both in Mallorca and Mexico, was the whole deal of walking into a restaurant and grabbing a meal by myself. There was this one time in Mallorca, in a beachy town packed with tourists – families, friends, couples – and I was starving. Restaurants everywhere, but for some reason, I just couldn’t make myself step into one. My mind was playing tricks on me, throwing up all these roadblocks.

I mean, logically, I knew it shouldn’t matter what anyone thought about a woman eating alone, but it still got to me. It was all in my head, this mental block, but I found my workaround. I started seeking out these little cafés tucked away from the busy roads, the ones without the big crowds. That’s where I could chill with some avocado toast, an iced oat latte, and lose myself in a book. And the cool thing about being on your own in a quiet café? People come up to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in the most fascinating chats.

So there I was in Alcúdia, tucked into this adorable veggie café before my matcha days, sipping an iced oat latte and munching on a goat cheese salad. That’s when I bumped into these two awesome British ladies. They were on one of their annual getaways – something I totally hope to do with my own friends down the line. We got to chatting about everything: life in England, my world back home, my job, their families, and all our Mallorca escapades. They had some wild stories, like this one time they took a bus trip to Palma that turned into a bit of an adventure, but they made it back, all smiles.

Hanging out with them was like a burst of sunshine for my soul. Let’s be real, hitting the road solo can get pretty lonely sometimes. Even though I struggled with the whole dining-alone thing in Mallorca, I left the island feeling more upbeat than when I arrived. The place, the people, and even a song that became my anthem (check out “If I’m There” by Bad Omens, the unplugged version) inspired me so much that I ended up getting a couple of new tattoos. One in particular always takes me back to those drives around Mallorca, that song on repeat, and the tears of, well, everything – joy, release, you name it. As much as I loved my time there, by the end of it all, I was still pretty stoked to get back to my own space. There’s just something about coming home, you know?

After a while, I started feeling like I was playing it too safe with my travel choices. Not “safe” as in security, but more like I was sticking to the familiar – places I’d been before or spots just a short trip away. I was itching for something different, somewhere far and completely new to me. I wanted a place that would push me out of my comfort zone, with a new language to tackle, new people to meet, and new ways to travel. That’s when Mexico popped into my head.

Choosing Mexico was kind of playing it safe since my sister had spent a bunch of time there and gave me the lowdown on all the must-dos and must-sees. Knowing that English wasn’t widely spoken, I jumped into learning Spanish with Duolingo, hoping to pick up enough to get by. But let’s be real, Duolingo’s great and all, but it’s not like you’re going to become fluent overnight. I always try to learn a few key phrases and words before I go somewhere new – it’s just polite, right?

So off I went, full of excitement and a good dose of nerves, wondering what Mexico would throw my way. What adventures awaited me? How would it all feel? One thing’s for sure about travel – it never quite goes according to plan.

So there I was, my very first day in Mexico City, catching some sleep at the airport because I had an early bus to catch to Oaxaca. I’m up before the sun, double-checking I’m at the bus terminal with plenty of time to spare. But as the minutes tick by, I’m getting more and more nervous. Why? My bus is a no-show on the departure screens, and I’m starting to think I’ve messed up. After a bit, I muster up the courage to ask some of the staff if I’m waiting in the right spot. Between their zero English and my super basic Spanish, we end up doing this funny dance with Google Translate. And guess what? I’m totally in the wrong place – even though my ticket swears otherwise. With the clock ticking down, I’ve got just 30 minutes to sprint to another terminal and find the right bus stop.

Thankfully, I spot the bus counters and make a beeline for them. The lady there is an absolute gem – she actually walks me to where I need to be, and I hop on my bus just in the nick of time. I mean, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if I’d missed it; buses to Oaxaca are like clockwork, every couple of hours. But you know how it is – new country, language barrier, running on fumes from the flight – it just felt like a big deal at the moment. Looking back, it was just one little bump in the road, and the rest of my trip? Smooth sailing, really.

Puerto Escondido was by far the toughest part of my Mexico trip. Picture this: scorching 35° heat, crazy humidity, and like clockwork, rain every day starting at 3 p.m. With my stomach giving me a hard time, especially with the weather being so intense, I ended up spending heaps of time just chilling in my hotel room.

But if you ask me where I felt the most at ease in Mexico, I’d tell you it was San Cristobal de las Casas, right near the Guatemalan border. It’s this charming little town brimming with cozy cafés, vibrant churches, and the best coffee shops. I was there, in one of those cafés, lost in a book and killing time before checking into my apartment, when I met another solo traveler – a British woman on her own journey through South America. We just clicked, and since we were both hanging around San Cris for a while, we ended up hanging out a lot, exploring the town, tasting coffee and chocolate, and trying out local eats. I’ve got some really fond memories from there. One that sticks out is this trip to a canyon nearby. I was the lone wolf among groups of friends and families, but this awesome bunch of American / Canadian retirees who’d settled down in San Cris sort of adopted me for the day. Later, I joined a mother-daughters group on their annual trip, and they were all about hearing my solo travel stories. The mom was a bit worried about me, a woman traveling alone in Mexico, but over ice cream, we swapped tales about our adventures, families, and life in general.

Even with all the good times, I won’t lie – I was super ready to get back on a plane home. I missed everything – my food, my people, my bed, my own space, and just the ease of life back home. And the thing is, I could understand Spanish pretty well when folks talked to me, but I just couldn’t get my words out right to reply or have a real conversation. It was so frustrating because I wanted to connect, you know? But hey, that’s all part of the adventure, isn’t it?

In all my travels, there’s usually something I end up missing about home. But when it came to Japan – though I hadn’t been there much – that just didn’t happen. On a whim one rainy October day, just back from my Mexican adventure, I found myself booking a flight to Tokyo for the following February. It was going to be my first time in Asia, and little did I know, I was about to fall head over heels.

Everyone I chatted with about my trip had nothing but amazing things to say about Japan. Though, they warned me about the sheer scale of Tokyo, the sensory overload of lights, sounds, and crowds, and how tricky it might be to get by without speaking Japanese. But I hopped on that plane with nothing but excitement and an eagerness to see what Japan was all about.

I decided to skip Tokyo at first – it was going to be my grand finale. So off I went straight to Kyoto. I kept waiting for that sense of being overwhelmed to hit me, but it just… didn’t. It wasn’t until I was wandering through the bustling Dotonbori district in Osaka that I got what everyone meant. The place was a whirlwind of neon, noise, and non-stop action, with vendors left and right shouting out their offerings. Right then, I knew Osaka wouldn’t be the highlight of my Japan adventure. After soaking up the peace in Kawaguchiko and having a blast in Yokohama, I finally hit the big leagues – Tokyo. I was a mix of excitement and nerves about tackling such a massive city. But the moment I stepped into Tokyo, I felt this unexpected sense of calm. I dove into every nook and cranny, from the electric buzz of Shibuya and Shinjuku to the tranquility of Meguro and Minato. Along the way, I met some amazing solo travelers and created memories I’ll always cherish.

As my trip was winding down, I couldn’t shake off this feeling of sadness. I wasn’t ready to leave – to leave the city, the experiences, the way Tokyo made me feel. So, in a burst of spontaneity, right there on my last day, I booked a flight back for six weeks later. I had some study leave coming up, and I just knew I needed more time in Tokyo. There was something about the city’s energy that I had to return to, to discover more about myself and unravel the magic that had me so captivated.

Ever had that sense of just fitting perfectly into a place? That’s how Tokyo was for me. The moment I stepped into that huge, bustling city, I was smitten. There was this unexpected comfort and a soothing calm that settled in my heart. Everyone kept saying I’d be swamped by the city’s intensity, but that wave of panic? It just didn’t hit me.

Reflecting on it now, and after sharing stories with folks about my trip, I realized something pretty wild. For the first time in all my travels, I didn’t miss a single thing from back home. Not my cozy apartment, not my own bed, not the familiar routines or the local food. Sure, I missed my friends and family, but we kept up with our chats and calls, and it’s not like we hung out every day even when I was home.

Coming back was the real shocker – I was the one feeling overwhelmed, but by my own hometown. The noise, the crowds, the whole daily grind, it all just felt like too much. That’s when it hit me that Tokyo, this city a world away, was shaping up to be my home away from home.

The excitement was real as I geared up for round two in Tokyo. This time around, I decided to wing it – no set plans, just me and an apartment I rented for the duration of my study leave. I slipped into a daily groove pretty quickly, starting each morning at my go-to coffee spot with an iced matcha latte and a sugar donut, diving into my Korean studies and gradually advancing my thesis research and translating my findings onto paper. Turns out, that steady grind was worth it. I managed to wrap up my thesis way ahead of schedule, which meant I had loads of extra time to really soak in Tokyo. I was free to wander through the neighborhoods I’d missed before and just immerse myself in the city’s vibe.

My time in Tokyo wasn’t all cherry blossoms and smooth sailing, though. I faced a hurdle when it came to keeping up with my gym routine. Back home, I was a regular, hitting the gym four times a week, and I was determined to maintain that rhythm in Tokyo. But for some reason, I found myself up against a mental block, kind of like the one I faced with dining alone in Mallorca and Mexico. It wasn’t that I was worried about others at the gym or scared of being judged – it was something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Eventually, I stumbled upon a gym in a local sports center and decided to face my fears head-on. I just needed to feel the weight of those dumbbells in my hands again. And you know what? It turned out to be a fantastic choice. The place was filled with all sorts of people, and they even had a step class going on with some throwback hits from 2010. There’s nothing like a little Lady Gaga and Katy Perry to get you pumped. Walking out of there after my session, I felt a sense of accomplishment and a touch more at home in this sprawling city.

Tokyo really opened my eyes to a lot. I crossed paths with some fascinating folks, from fellow solo travelers to intriguing dates, gained a ton of insights, faced a variety of challenges, and had some pretty enlightening talks about the future and what truly brings me joy. All these experiences pushed me to reflect on my own path, to consider what I really want out of life, and to question if my current lifestyle is truly making me happy.

Was it just chance or maybe something bigger at play? I can’t say for sure, but one thing I do know is that I made an incredible friend – the same one I mentioned in my very first blog post. We haven’t been friends for long, but we clicked right away, totally in sync from the get-go. She’s given me a huge boost of confidence and has me thinking seriously about the future. Somehow, she gets me in ways that even people who’ve known me for ages might not. I just have to say, I’m so thankful our paths crossed, even if it made saying goodbye to Tokyo that much tougher.

As my final day in Tokyo drew near, all the feelings from my initial visit came flooding back. I felt completely at ease, like I belonged there, and I didn’t find myself longing for anything from home – apart from my friends and family, of course. It’s crystal clear to me now that I’ve discovered my haven away from home, a place that’s carved out its own cherished spot in my heart. That’s why parting with this city is so bittersweet. But one thing’s for sure: I’ll be back. Tokyo hasn’t seen the last of me yet.