A wall adorned in sapphire, lavender and golden sunflowers welcomed me into a quaint wine bar in Lisbon. At that moment, I was parched, and I was doing my best to function under the pomegranate sun hanging over Portugal that summer of 2013. My sundress stuck to my skin, and my hair coiled from the humidity.
The man at the wine bar slid me a small sample glass of white port from Porto. He showed me the bottle, the label and the cork. With my tiny glass of wine, he prepared for me a charming Alfama cake cradled in chestnut tissue paper. Sunlight filled the wine bar, I never felt so content as I explored what Lisbon had to offer, regardless of if I knew it was a touristy place or not.
It is the beauty of traveling alone because no one is holding you back. It is also the obligation of being young, and no matter where you go, a threat can lurk anywhere hidden in plain eyesight.
In drastic measures, my "threat" lured me to an island off the coast of Portugal. It was my mother's old college friend who gained my trust and invited me to stay with her and her family. She wasn't what she seemed behind closed doors so I thought about vacating her household. (Running away on an island, I know.)
So I spent the rest of the summer under the wing of a Portuguese family that are genuinely familiar with Lisbon, they are Lisbon. Throughout the rest of the trip, PTSD took reign on my self-being, I was distorted and distraught. I would always hesitate when I was offered a drink back home but after the first few weeks at the woman's house on the island, I would have gladly downed a glass of wine, or a pitcher of sangria, or a bottle Amarguinha (almond liqueur) in front of me. But I controlled myself, I knew better not to drown my thoughts out with alcohol because I was close to the ocean and had a constant fear of blacking out then waking up sloshing around in the dark water at night.
In Lisbon, I experienced everything mentioned in the travel guides and foodie shows; a man crossed paths with me and offered me drugs, immersed myself in a neighborhood where everyone gathers at the Chiado museum and listens to Fado on weekend nights. I spent five minutes debating if I should catch the 28 tram that stopped in front of me like a giant yellow bumble bee attached to cable wires. It was everything you didn't have to do in Lisbon but ended up doing in Lisbon.
After traveling alone in another country, I would not trust the thick zig-zagged, curly monogram atrocities that I like to call "bubblegum blogs." At best, develop street smarts if you have to separate yourself from the tourists and be considered a traveler. You must keep in mind that where ever your destination is, it is not your cake walk.
On an accidental whim, you can end up anywhere. It is a strange thought to think when all you know is what is around you until you cross an ocean or a border to get a good idea in how different our world is within our own earth. Take advantage of that, but on your own terms and budget. If you were made to explore, you have to know that it is possible to be a young Anthony Bourdain but you could start in your own city and work your way through. The next thing you know, you are hauling your luggage through the never ending Charles De Gaulle and can only thank your hour layover enough to get to your gate before your plane takes off.
Believe me, this chance has happened almost yearly to me since. The less people I travel with, the more I have the planet to my feet and I have the ability to go in backstreets without being judged or swept away by someone I am with when I have a conversation with someone on the street.
All in all, the more you travel the more confident you become.
