The internet is obsessed with discussing Gen Z’s behaviour, and rightly so – we’ve become known for phenomena including “hustle culture” and dating “icks”.
When it comes to travel, we’re defining trends via TikTok. One minute we’re giving “quick trips” new meaning with one to two-day international getaways inspired by viral videos, and the next we’re embracing logging off and “touching grass”. It’s then no surprise that when it comes to solo travel, young adults are at the forefront – driving the boom. The latest Hostelworld report on the topic found that over two thirds of the solo travellers it surveyed were under the age of 30.
As a first-born daughter from a Caribbean background, travelling the world solo wasn’t something I thought was an option for me growing up. Raised in the mostly affluent Devon countryside, which has a predominantly white population, the images of solo travel I saw both around me and on social media were of privilege; often wealthy, young, white people who could afford to postpone university or getting a job in favour of extravagant gap years.
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I mainly saw men doing it – those who also had an invisible but very real “safety net” protecting them from the dangers many women experience. Dangers that women, like myself, just couldn’t be oblivious to. It seemed scary and depressingly lonely. Why would anyone choose that?
Fast-forward to 2026, and aged 28 – nine countries and 40 cities later, I’ve become addicted to solo travel. Though it wasn’t by choice, initially.
After the pandemic hit and lockdowns caused widespread feelings of loneliness, I signed up to the popular friend-making app Bumble in 2021, with hopes of connecting with like-minded girlfriends who wanted to make up for lost time by exploring new places.
I soon had a calendar filled with plans, from brunches to treetop zip-lining adventures, and after these mate dates – spent discussing whether we were Type A or Type B travellers – new friendships had formed that would grow in the years to come.
I met Shannon, 28, a reality TV expert and TikTok creator, around three years ago, after she packed up her nine to five job and opted for a freelance lifestyle. In 2024, we flew to the Canary Islands – and upon our return she left London permanently to become a nomad.
“Travelling solo is better because you have complete freedom to choose your own agenda and you’re not constantly waiting for someone to show up,” Shannon told me.
We bonded through similar experiences shaped by race, as she shared that her Congolese upbringing didn’t encourage solo travelling.
Despite that, she’s been travelling the world full-time, backpacking and staying in all kinds of accommodations from hostels, to pet-sitting stays and with locals in their homes. One particular homestay in South Korea stood out.
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“He was my first male host. He took me out to dinner every day, to a palace outside of Busan, and to a temple, and taught me about spiritual history. All stuff I wouldn’t have done myself if I didn’t have the knowledge of a local. He was 52, a dad with grown kids living elsewhere and he was lonely. He wanted a language exchange and to see other people’s ways of life,” Shannon explained.
As well as my trip to the Canary Islands with Shannon, I’ve been to Spain, Mallorca, Turkey, Cyprus, Tunisia, Albania, Germany, Amsterdam and several UK city breaks with Bumble-made friends.
Not long after a beachside holiday to Antalya, I encountered my first major Bumble buddy hurdle. I was let down by someone who dropped out of a planned holiday last minute – and it felt like a huge knockback.
After several panicked phone calls to close friends and family, I had no luck trying to find someone who might be free for a spontaneous trip. Luckily nothing was paid for yet, but it was August and I couldn’t bear to waste my limited time off from work over summer.
So in under 48 hours, I had taken the plunge and booked my first solo trip. It cost double what I had planned, and I almost threw up from anxiety on the way to London Gatwick airport, but I was fortunate enough to have a dear friend accompany who helped calm me down.
A few hours later I landed in sunny Madrid, a deliberate choice that felt safe and wasn’t too far from home.
In the morning, I woke up to parrots chirping outside my window instead of a “shower rota alarm” (essential for avoiding shared house bathroom clashes). I was at The Social Hub, a modern hotel right in the city centre. Its community-focused layout – with co-working spaces, a bar and communal dining areas – was perfect for mingling with other travellers. Plus, its rooftop pool sat adjacent to the stunning Royal Palace of Madrid.
Here, I realised that being in control of where my feet take me next is an unmatched feeling. It was odd knowing I only had to think of my own wants and needs, but it was empowering. All of a sudden, there was no need to check whether someone else was happy with the planned activities. Instead, I was taking it easy with my time and relying on my own navigation skills at a pace that suited me.
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It wasn’t half as daunting as I’d thought it would be – or embarrassing. I made connections with other travellers in the hotel and while exploring. At one point I got slightly lost and asked a stranger for directions who turned out to be another woman who was solo travelling from a much more impressive distance – she was from Sri Lanka. We got chatting and before I knew it we were swapping stories over an enormous seafood paella.
My confidence grew and I felt a real sense of accomplishment and pride about everything I was able to do independently.
I challenged myself further, train-hopping from Madrid to Barcelona, and spent a sweltering day wandering around historic landmarks like the Sagrada Familia, before cooling off in Barceloneta Beach’s salty sea. It was bliss.
Don’t get me wrong, I still get nervous travelling solo. I’m vigilant and I always check government travel advice on safety for women, as well as information on crime, sexism and racism for where I’m travelling. I’m cautious about who I tell I’m alone, and I often send my whereabouts to trusted friends or family back home. But in a lot of ways, I actually feel so much safer solo. Perhaps because I’m more diligent and aware of my surroundings when knowing that I’m the only person responsible for myself.
I find there’s something about the unknown that’s both nervewracking but equally exhilarating. And an unexpected benefit is that I have learned so much about who I am, from my interests to personal strengths.
Climbing Bali’s Mount Batur, 1,717 metres above sea level, taught me just how resilient I can be. Staying with a family in rural Cambodia showed me that true comfort doesn’t come from luxury wet rooms, western toilets or appliances, but from sharing experiences, such as cooking meals over an open fire.
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Clubbing with locals in Mallorca led to partying alongside an incognito Charli xcx, proving you never know who you’ll meet if you put yourself out there.
Then there was the time that even after getting caught in a crazy, snowstorm in Kanazawa, Japan, without a phone, Google Maps or anyone nearby who spoke English, I relied on my instincts to find my way home, reminding myself just how resourceful I can be.
Overcoming these challenges and fully immersing myself in different cultures has made my travel experiences feel unique. I’ve seen places through a totally new lens, and in turn I think I’ve become a better tourist.
Bumble BFF gave me long lasting friendships and memories I’ll never forget, but having my friend drop of out of our trip by chance taught me that I didn’t need other people to explore the world with – I just needed to take a leap of faith.