"Yes, I'll be biking alone," I answered for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I looked into biking groups and didn't find one that took me to the places I wanted to see in the time period I had open," carefully skirting the real reason I'd chosen to travel alone; I like it. In all fairness, I had looked into a few cycling tours and went so far as to contact one. However, rather than learn more about the places on the itinerary, I wanted to know about the people. With only 18 days in Thailand, I was cautious with my time and didn't want my trip ruined by an obnoxious know-it-all who told offensive jokes or complained about the lack of comfort. I'd recently heard about a friend's trip up the Inca trail that was plagued by a bickering couple and another friend's trip through Bhutan that included a loud American constantly trying to trump the knowledge of the local guide, failing to notice the unimpressed expressions of his travel companions.
"There are two couples and two older men over 50 signed up for our excursion," I was told by the tour coordinator. Fearful of reliving my friend's experience or getting stuck after hours with two older men, I decided to go it alone. Every article on Thailand described it as a country of charming people, anxious to please and help the foreign traveler. If I could secure a reliable bike and trace a safe route, there was no reason for me not to go solo.
Traveling alone provides a different perspective on the culture unfolding before you. In a country where people are rarely by themselves, it opens a bridge for the naturally compassionate Thai sensing a human void. While biking in the morning hours, I would pass farm workers headed toward the fields, monks on their morning rituals and students headed for school. The smiles, thumbs up and waves I received carried each person with me along the route. One afternoon, while headed for a massage, a police officer frantically waved his arms at me from across the street. Puzzled, I shook my head in confusion. "Here!" he cried, pointing at a large sign behind him. Still confused, I walked across the street. "Here!" he smiled, again signaling to what I had now realized was a map. He thought I was lost and was doing all that he could to help me find my way. I wasn't lost and although on several occasions during the trip I had taken a wrong turn, I never felt lost or alone. Yet, for some reason, there seems to be a stigma about traveling alone, especially for women.
Misanthropic some might say, but I feel just the opposite. Biking for extended hours at a time, riding silently alongside rice fields freed my brain from the daily routines and allowed me to reconnect with long forgotten memories. I spent an entire morning following the thread of years spent in Mexico with my ex-husband, something I'd not allowed myself to do for almost eight years. Another morning I worked through a work relationship that had been challenging and identified how I had contributed to this struggle, promising to resolve this upon my return. The silence opens the world within and around you; your mind is never quiet.
Half way through my trip, I connected with a friend in Chiang Mai. While I welcomed the opportunity to talk with someone, it had been almost a week of silence, I felt disconnected from the Thai we encountered. I also felt detached from myself and looked forward to the evenings when we said our good-byes.
Each of us is different. As Carl Jung described, the extrovert gets their energy from others while the introvert recharges when they are alone. While traveling through Thailand, I never felt alone. Each Thai carried me through their country and coming back to the U.S., I have carried them with me.
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