How To Get To A Bounty Advert...

I'm a couple of days in and I've already completely lost track of time. I'm in Little Corn Island. The sea is an unimaginable clear blue, the sun is so hot, I'm surrounded by green trees atop a hill at The Lighthouse Hotel. We really have struck gold here. My body is shattered and slightly shell shocked. I left Houston watching the sun set across America, throwing the sky into a rainbow of colours, I felt fatigue kick in as I went through Managua airport and taxied to our nearby hotel where Helen was staying. It was so surreal to see her face halfway across the world. I had the luxury of a hot shower and a clean bed.

The next morning we went back to the airport to set off for Little Corn Island, flying in a tiny toy plane. How it managed to get off the ground is a wonder to me. We passed over the mainland, watching the world reduced to Lego pieces, seeing the varying landscape of lakes, volcanoes, dusty wasteland and jungle, flying over the Caribbean Sea watching the water turn from grey to azure. We landed in Big Corn Island and took a panga loaded with wood, pineapples and toilet paper. A local boy was sleeping on his dad's chest as we crossed the sea to Little Corn Island.








There are no roads here, a smattering of houses, dense trees and white sand beaches. We arrived at mid day, the sun sweltering, nauseous from our sea journey and made our way uphill to The Lighthouse Hotel. The wooden houses were built from scratch by the two French guys, Gary and Sullivan, who run the place. It's the highest hotel on the island, with a stunning view of the sea, with a warm breeze rushing through surrounding mango trees. It feels so personal here, everyone makes an effort to get to know you. You realise so many people have stories and journeys that are shared in such depth when you're travelling.





Helen and I showered away the grime and went to explore the island, we watched the sunset from the docks. The island comes alive at night as the air becomes cooler and people congregate after a day at the beach. There are a lot of Americans and Canadians here, I don't think my voice has ever sounded so British. After lobster tacos we drank in the hostel bar and made our way into 'town' for a pub quiz. It was half 7, I was so tired 'Helen, keep me awake till 9.30 and then I'm going to bed.' By 9.30pm i'd had two pina coladas, we'd met two Swiss guys and therefore had a strong quiz team and there was a Harry Potter related question so we weren't going anywhere. Several pina coladas later and Helen and I are walking back at 2 in the morning. (With another hotel guest for anyone worrying about our safety) This place does feel relatively safe. It's small, there is a strong sense of community and the locals rely heavily on tourism so are unlikely to tarnish the island's reputation. There probably aren't going to be any places on the mainland we can get away with late night partying.

I woke up at 5.30 this morning with the sun rising. My sleep deprivation and late night dancing have not solved my jet lag. I felt horrendous. A collision of overwhelming heat, sun, sea, fatigue and hunger had been ravaging my body for the past 24 hours. Today is a healing day, we had a yoga class on the sun deck this morning, starfruit juice and a home cooked breakfast. We've been sunbathing on the most perfect beach, drinking from coconuts and swinging in hammocks. I'm starting to feel very much at home here. It's so peaceful, the sunshine is endless, the people smile and have all the time in the world. It's paradise.

Imogen

Location:Corn Island,Nicaragua

From Heathrow With Love...

It's happening! I arrived in London last night. My favourite place in the capital is, without doubt, St Pancras Station. The architecture is so stunning, the gorgeous blue roof against the ornate gold clock. The booking office with its lost in time air, the pianos playing, reminding us that an amateur rendition of 'when the saints go marching in' is so much better than no music at all. Plus it has most of my favourite shops under one roof, without the need to make an arduous trek across London. I spent a couple of hours flicking through books and drinking coffee as I waited for Martina to finish work. I took the metropolitan line to Liverpool Street Station. Passing through Farringdon I was instantly reminded of my greatest trip to London; where I did not see daylight, travelled only one stop on the tube and spent the night dancing in Fabric, throwing up against a tree and eating tender-stem broccoli and butternut squash on toast in St Pancras before catching the 6am train home. I did the unspeakable and laughed out loud on the tube at the memory.

I couldn't believe how beautiful Liverpool Street Station was. Yet despite the beautiful buildings, glorious parks and hidden gems, the city always leaves me exhausted and disillusioned. I cannot stand the smog, dirt, crowds, sky high prices, the materialism, the way everyone is in such a hurry. As a young twenty something, it's not the quality of life I would want. I've found more joy in a Tesco in Manchester.

I often wonder if, sixty years ago, London was a beautiful nostalgic place I imagine it to be. With Frank Sinatra playing in the background, men in suits hopping onto the back of buses, a smaller, more laid back and romantic place. But now London is a heaving mass of cranes, unaffordable rents and a tube full of miserable faces.

Which is why it's always nice to find friends in London. Martina, Eliska and I all met at Martina's house in Forest Gate, we stayed up drinking prosecco as they told me stories from their trip to Nicaragua; the unspoilt Little Corn Island, the parties in San Juan del Sur, crumbling colonial towns, charming people and a country full of music and beauty. It was so good to hear people say positive things about Nicaragua, rather than voices of impending doom. Their parting words were 'have fun, and don't trust anyone!'. Sound advice.

I cannot remember the last time I was this excited! I couldn't stop smiling walking through the airport. I left early this morning. Heathrow is always enveloped in grey cloud whenever I've made a long haul flight, the perfect reminder that I will not miss the great British weather whilst I'm bathing in sunshine. I've never had such a straightforward departure, no queues and plenty of time to wander around the duty free. There was a barber shop singing by the United Airlines departure, it felt like a film. I was bouncing through the terminal with memories of racing my sisters through the gates, all colourful backpacks and cuddly toys in tow. I've had an excellent farewell breakfast as I despise aeroplane food. The plane is surprisingly empty, there is no-one on the whole of my row nor the rows behind me. I've got my favourite spot by the window. I am pleased to say that nothing feels scary, just pure excitement and such joy that it's beginning! There's so much freedom in carrying everything you need on your back, with only the bare essentials (and small luxuries like a Mac mascara and a pumice stone). I feel incredibly lucky, and so self indulgent watching the clouds knowing there is nowhere else I need to be.

Imogen

Location:S Terminal Rd,Houston,United States

Two more days...

My idyllic week in Devon has ended and I am back in Nottingham, trying to finalise everything before I leave! Devon has been a proper holiday of no alarms and no expectation to be anywhere. I've also had a week of writing, creativity and nostalgia over pints of cider in the pub. Thank you for all the feedback I’ve had for this blog, it’s been really touching. I’ve cleared my head with walks to the beach, running along coastal paths and watching films by the fire. The weather has been mixed, with stormy skies and blissful sunshine. When I arrived everywhere was covered in the grey dust of winter, which has been swept away with the elements. The evenings have been getting lighter and I’m leaving with everywhere looking greener. New buds have formed on trees and the daffodils are sounding their trumpets, proclaiming that spring has arrived. I'm rushing around to get everything packed, ready to fly on Monday! It feels like I’ll never be ready in time, I cannot imagine how my packing list is going to fit into my rucksack! Ben is staying with me and he’s having a job calming my nerves before I go. Next stop Heathrow!

Imogen

Croyde, Devon

Croyde, Devon

Martina and Eliska...

I believe these girls deserve a special mention. They gave me everything I wanted from travelling and more.

After waking up in Dalhousie I spent the day exploring the village, swimming in the river and watching monkeys dance through the trees. I began to feel more comfortable as I talked to travellers staying in my guesthouse. A Tamil woman cooked me roti straight from her stove and it was the most delicious thing I tasted in Sri Lanka. I ate dinner under a mango tree at a stunning guesthouse run by a Christian family. Dalhousie is so beautiful, tranquil and remote, and well worth the difficult journey to get there.

Dalhousie

I began my adventure climbing Adam’s Peak at two in the morning, setting out underneath the moonlight. This gave me a good four hours for a comfortable uphill climb to the summit. It was the strangest and most exhilarating climb. You could see the path of lights snaking around the mountain. Small groups were making their descent, tourists and locals alike. The tourists in full hiking gear, the locals in saris and flip-flops. It was very companionable, chatting to an English couple who had climbed Adam’s Peak twenty years ago, and seeing statues of Buddha along the way.

Adam's Peak at sunset

About halfway up, a man waved at me from the top of the steps. Him and his wife were sitting with two Czech girls, Martina and Eliska, whom they had met in Kandy. They shared their snacks and we talked about what had brought us to this place. I continued the climb up the mountain with them. You could feel the drop in temperature as we entered the sky. We stopped at shacks where there was hot sweet tea. I swear tea has never tasted so good. I remember that first conversation I had with Martina, the exclamation in her face as I told her my age ‘Twenty! Only twenty!’ Martina and Eliska are sisters, who moved to London from Czech when they were young adults. They are the most genuine, welcoming and caring people. I am very lucky to have met them.

Tea in the clouds

We reached the top of Adam’s Peak; at this point I got separated from Martina and Eliska as the crowds were growing. I stuck with the French couple. We climbed over the gated walkway and onto a rock that we had all to ourselves. There was not a more perfect spot to watch the sunrise. There was complete silence amongst the crowd of people. I am lost for words as how to describe how awestruck I was, how peaceful and momentous it was to be in the clouds, watching the black sky give way to pink, then orange and see that first chink of light. It blew my mind. See as many sunrises and sunsets in your life as possible, best advice I’ve ever received.

My favourite sunrise of all time

We descended down the mountain as the sun grew baking hot. I moved to the guesthouse where Martina, Eliska and the French couple were staying. It was called The Greenhouse, painted in the same hue with plants everywhere, run by a Tamil woman and her family.

The Greenhouse Garden

The French guy had a great knack for making friends and tremendous energy for adventure. He had befriended some locals and we drove in the back of their van, speeding down winding roads, watching the hill sweep behind us. Originally, the plan was to go to the lake, but the sun quickly vanished and rain fell hard and fast. We ended up in one of the group’s homes, drinking Arack – a coconut liqueur, and singing in loud drunk voices, banging away on makeshift instruments. Martina has a very dignified video of me singing Buffalo soldier, conducting my band with a lit cigarette. Think Bridget Jones in that scene in the Thai prison.

Eliska, Dalhousie

Martina, Dalhousie

The next day we left Dalhousie, I travelled with Martina and Eliska to Ella to see tea plantations and waved goodbye to the French couple as they went south. The best thing about travel is altering your plans depending where the wind takes you. After Ella I went to Arugam Bay with the girls, a place that is simply paradise, where I have never felt so happy. These girls are like magnets, Martina has the most incredible skill of making friends and connections with people that endure, and Eliska is so thoughtful and kind. Since meeting, the past two summers we have had our holiday in Devon. Which is how I’ve also met Ilona, a friend of Martina’s, who is so warm and charming. The four of us surf, eat, drink and talk and reminisce on that miraculous encounter that formed our friendship. Travel doesn't just open doors, it gives you doors. It opens your world up in a way you couldn't imagine and stays with you long after you come home.

Imogen

Martina, Eliska, Ilona and I in Devon

Safe Travels...

Following my post about my terrifying journey to Adam’s Peak, I’ve been thinking more about safety, especially as a lone female traveller. I am spending the first three weeks in Nicaragua with Helen, who is meeting me at a pre-booked hotel near the airport in Managua. Helen is currently travelling from Mexico to Guatemala. I will have two weeks on my own in Nicaragua when Helen flies to Washington. I met Helen whist working at Cripps Health Centre – the GP surgery at the University of Nottingham. She is a nurse, and I’ve found her to be incredibly funny, genuine and everything I would want in a travel companion. She left nursing briefly in her mid twenties to travel the world and we have both given each other a boost to begin another adventure, after both being dormant from travelling for a couple of years.

So I have the worry of travelling through Central America alone. A place where guns and drug crime are far more common than in Sri Lanka. I am aware Nicaraguans may not be as welcoming and friendly as Sri Lankans, yet I do not know what to expect. Most people in Sri Lanka spoke English as a second language, largely due to Sri Lanka once being part of the British Empire. This is not the case in Nicaragua, my Spanish is rudimentary, and my days of getting top marks in Mr O’Donoghue’s Spanish class are long gone.

Reflecting on that perilous journey in Sri Lanka, what could I have done to avoid it? Hindsight is a great thing. I was caught out. I had plenty of time to complete the journey, but I had not expected the train to be so unpredictable. I learnt after this experience only to use buses, which were much quicker and more direct. I only took one other train when travelling with Martina and Eliska through the hill country. I was not going to journey by train alone again. However I did not know this prior to the journey to Hatton.

It was bad luck that the first bus to Columbo dropped me by the train station. Everything was so confusing, busy and unknown so I kept moving with the crowd. I was scared of venturing away to find a bus station. The train was an obvious choice at the time. I could have got off the train in Kandy and spent the night there, as I had already completed a huge distance. But again I was scared of how busy and bustling everything was. It was Easter week, and I was worried all guesthouses would be full.  I could have paid for a taxi to Dalhousie but I thought it would be silly to have such an extravagant cost at the start of my travelling. I was also scared of being ripped off. Besides, up to that point, my journey had been plain sailing.

The journey was terrifying because it was dark, it was late and I was alone – I looked like a target. My greatest fear was that bandits would storm the train and kidnap me into the darkness, which increased as the train slowed towards each stop. Yet, how often does this really happen compared to, for example, the odds of a road traffic accident? I have done considerably risky things before, I have walked home alone in Leeds after a night out, and the recent brutal attacks there have proved this is not safe to do. Why was this situation any scarier?

It was not the first time I have been on a train at 9pm. The train was following its route, the train was well lit and had several passengers, I had enough food and water and I would have found somewhere to stay once I left the train. Once again it is fear of the unknown that is the greatest fear. In a new place that fear is justified because it keeps us alert and cautious.

In Nicaragua I am lucky to be with Helen at the start of my travels. During those three weeks we will be able to suss out transport routes together. We are attempting lesser known places together and when she leaves me I will stick to more popular traveller spots and I will not hesitate to spend money on taxis when necessary. As my mum says, better to come back poor than dead. I take care to be extremely vigilant. Here is a list of methods that can help your safety when travelling solo.

1.     Common sense. You would not actively seek out danger in a foreign place. Cross the street, sit on the other side of the train if you are near someone dodgy.

2.     Stay alert. Drink alcohol with caution and only when you know you can easily get back to a safe place.

3.     Drink from sealed bottles only.

4.     Strength in numbers. Seek out other backpackers and make long journeys in groups. Other backpackers are usually happy to take an extra person under their wing, or to split the cost of a taxi.

5.     Follow your instinct. If a situation feels unsafe, then leave. Do not stay with anyone who begins to make you feel uncomfortable.

6.     When using taxi’s, check the licence and registration, take a picture of both and the number plate. Fake a phone call on your phone to ‘friends who are meeting you at your next destination.’

7.     Book a taxi through your hotel where possible as you can pre-arrange a price and be more assured that it’s a legit taxi.

8.     Do not travel alone at night. Allow plenty of time for long journeys and consider options to stay in guesthouses en route.

9.     Avoid drawing attention to yourself. Dress modestly and be respectful of other people’s cultures.

10.  Learn a few phrases in the local language.

11.  Text family and friends your whereabouts on long, unpredictable journeys.

12.  Book a hotel in advanced for the first night in a new country.

13.  Strap all valuables to yourself. Hide money in different areas. I would have half my money, bankcard and ID in a small pouch strapped to my waist hidden under a loose T-shirt. I would keep most other money in my bra. My passport would be in a secret compartment in my bum bag where I also some money for purchasing food and bus tickets.

14.  Do not keep anything valuable in your main backpack. These always risk being slashed when on long journeys.

15.  Keep several photocopies of your passport and flight details.

16.  Always carry a map.

17.  Only use ATMs in daylight on a busy street. Shield your pin number.

18.  Lie about yourself if you feel it would gather fewer questions and make you seem less vulnerable. A 26 year old engaged doctor meeting friends after working at a hospital in Columbo invited less intimidating questions and shocked faces than a twenty year old female student travelling alone in Sri Lanka.

All guidebooks advise against females travelling independently, it is no doubt a momentous risk and only one you should take if you have the ability to deal with the discomfort it brings. The world is not safe, but it is not as unsafe as people make out. Those are usually people who do not have first hand experience of solo travel. The world is a dangerous place even close to home. It is only when we underestimate the reality of a situation, than when we overestimate its dangers, do we find ourselves in real trouble. Moreover, there are often factors that are beyond our control and all we can do is keep calm and carry on with our journey. I will take the risks, and I will choose the adventure every time. You only regret the things you didn't do.

Imogen

Galle, Sri Lanka

The Journey to Adam’s Peak…

Travelling alone was never going to be easy. But I did not imagine an experience that would be as unpredictable and fraught as my journey to Adam’s Peak. My first journey solo in Sri Lanka. Mum and I had said our goodbyes in Galle and I was on the express bus to Columbo. I would then catch a train or bus to Hatton, to get another bus to Dalhousie. In Dalhousie there was Adam’s Peak. It is a mountain, also known 'Sri Pada' or 'sacred foot'. The mark at the summit is believed to be Buddha’s footprint, or, in Christianity, Adam's footprint left when he first walked on the earth. Hence the name 'Adam's Peak'. Sri Lanka is predominantly Buddhist, with other religions including Christian and Hindu. Sri Lankans regularly make a pilgrimage to the sacred mountain, often during a full moon. The descent is made at night and the sunrise is watched from the summit.

Express bus from Galle to Columbo

It was a long way to Dalhousie and difficult to get to. I caught the first bus early and believed I had plenty of time to get there before nightfall. I was in Columbo quicker than expected, dropped off at the train station. The station felt unchanged from colonial times. The trains were ancient steel contraptions, with no doors, and no glass in the windows. It was chaotic and confusing. I was told there would be another train to Hatton at 1 o’ clock. I had asked the ticket officer and several other locals which platform and waited for a good hour. I thought the platform was unusually quiet when the rest of the train station was heaving.

A Sinhalese man suddenly came running up to me shouting ‘Hatton? Hatton?’ to which he pointed to the other side of the station and said ’that way!’ I don’t think he’s ever seen a person with an enormous backpack move so fast. The whistle was blowing and people were hanging out of the train from all angles. It was Easter week; every crevice of the train was full of Sri Lankan’s going home to see their families. I hurled my rucksack through the doorway knowing I was only going to get onto the train by force, and followed my rucksack. I was pulled into a thousand sweaty bodies pressing against me in 30-degree heat. I was grateful for the hands that would not let me fall backwards. I thought this has to be one of the worst parts of travelling and really it’s not so bad, this is nothing I can’t handle.

We remained cramped together for two hours; I was tightly holding my bum bag, I had all my valuables strapped to me, hidden in belts under my clothing. I was trying to keep an eye on my rucksack, which was tossed amongst a thousand people’s feet. Gradually the congestion on the train eased with every stop. I was able to sit on my rucksack near the doorway, thankful for the cool breeze now blowing through the train, as we climbed higher and higher into the hills. Vendors passed through the train selling mangos, water and samosas wrapped in their child’s homework - sheets of painstakingly written Sinhalese letters in blue biro. I listened to Kool and the Gang and watched in amazement at the changing landscape from dusty city to green hills.

My first view of the hill country in Dalhousie

The train arrived in Kandy and emptied bar a handful of people. It was late afternoon, the light was fading and I estimated it would be another two hours to get to Hatton. It would be dark, but still early evening and there would be several buses running to Dalhousie. Or there would at least be nearby guesthouse in Hatton where I could spend the night. I was the only white person left on the train. I moved into the main compartment thankful for a seat as my back was now aching. The train moved onwards, the landscape grew darker and I couldn’t help but notice that the train was moving at an alarmingly slow speed, clunking down the tracks. It stopped at every makeshift station possible, and more and more people were leaving the train. I was tracing my map and after two hours we were in total darkness and nowhere near Hatton. I felt panic rise in me as the landscape became sinister, the noises in the hills terrifying. There was not a single light outside. Fear and anxiety gripped me and I realised this was the first time in my life that my safety had ever been truly compromised. I was not invincible. I could be kidnapped or murdered and my family would not know for days, even weeks and they would not have a clue where I was. I texted my mum my guessed location (I struggled to see the signs at the stations in the pitch black) and told her the train was running late, as if it was a bad day for Northern Rail. The last thing I wanted to do was leave her panicked and powerless several thousand miles away.

I felt awfully helpless. I could get off at the next stop and continue my journey the following morning, but I had little idea where I was. I did not know if these train stations were near actual villages, if there would be somewhere to stay. I at least knew that Hatton would have guesthouses, taxis and tuk-tuks as it was more frequented by tourists en route to Adam’s Peak. My instinct told me to stay on the train, which was well lit with several passengers as witnesses.

Sri Lankans were always friendly and genuinely curious as to whom I was and where I was going, and I was not short of conversation on the train. I was constantly on guard. I would often lie and tell them I was 26, engaged, a qualified doctor and meeting friends at my next destination. They were precautions that probably made little difference in such a helpless situation, but it was the best I could do to avoid looking vulnerable. Throughout my whole time in Sri Lanka locals were never threatening, they were incredibly welcoming and respectful. They would call me ‘Miss’ and go out of their way to help me.

There was a group of young teenagers on the train who wanted to add me on Facebook and join their birthday party. A pastor befriended me and bought me a bottle squash from a train vendor. He explained how long it would take to reach Hatton and that the last bus to Dalhousie was 10pm, ‘we might just make it’ he said. He also said very unhelpful things about leeches and other disturbing creatures living in the hills. He gave me the name and phone number of a local church to contact if I could not find accommodation. Yet I sensed danger in every conversation. Too often there were enquiries about my fiancé back home ‘But why has he let you travel alone?’ and I was very aware that the men would be only too happy to find themselves an English wife. I relied heavily on my iPod to sooth me.

After 10 hours on this horrific train we arrived at Hatton. The last bus to Dalhousie was outside and I was drenched with relief. I was so tired I was half asleep as the bus hurtled around winding roads, deep into the hill country. Traffic lights in Sri Lanka are obsolete; going anywhere in a motor vehicle is like being in a small box in the back of a truck driven on Spaghetti Junction. At midnight we were in Dalhousie and a young girl came running out of a guesthouse saying ’Miss, your mother called ahead, she said you’d be late’. Overwhelmed with gratitude that my Mum had pre-booked somewhere for me to stay, I collapsed into bed, thoroughly drained. I was so thankful to have that last obstacle of finding a bed taken away.

I woke up the next morning to the sun rising between the hills, casting shadows on the mountains and warming tea plantations. The landscape that, just a few hours ago, was so menacing was now inviting, peaceful and undeniably beautiful. I woke up refreshed and unharmed, all my fear dissolved with sleep. I was very lucky. The journey had been a true reminder of my vulnerability and the risk of independent travel. I felt this experience give way to new resilience, and felt excitement and possibility spread through me once again. Now there was a new adventure as I caught sight of the summit of Adam’s Peak reaching into the sky.

Imogen

Adam's Peak

Copenhagen…

I’ve been looking back through some old photos and found myself recalling memories from Copenhagen. I went on a whim in June 2014 on a cheap Easyjet flight. I stayed in the Copenhagen Downtown, the cheapest I could find, which, adhearing to Copenhagen standards, meant it was clean, with excellent wi-fi, central and a perfect backpacker spot.

I fell in love with the city immediately. Everywhere is spotless, the trains run on time and I never underestimate the value of an efficient train. It is pricey, London prices, which attributes to the high standard of living. I had an excellent list of tips from a friend who lived there for one year and it was just as her photographs had suggested. Exceptionally cool and exciting, with bikes, fantastic food, gorgeous gardens, museums, shops and architecture. As always, photos don’t necessarily capture the best moments.

Amalienborg Square

Torvehallerne Glass Markets

I was continuing my quest of independent travel and, staying in an eight-bed dorm room, it was impossible not to meet people. On my first day I met two Swedish boys who lived in Germany. They put London hipsters to shame. They were so cool, both wearing black and one of them wearing what I can only describe as pirate pantaloons. What I loved about them was that they were unpretentious and just hilarious. ‘Fi-Fi’ and ‘Nay-Nay’ as we all struggled to pronounce each other’s names (mine became Gi-gi) and I had at once found new friends. ‘We like your humour’ they said to me. They also had a penchant for trainers and house music, which, coupled with their friendliness, I have found to be great qualities in people.

We set out with the intention of a raucous night in the meatpacking district, which began with us getting lost in Vesterbro and walking into a sex shop to ask for directions. The shop assistant conked on cocaine did not prove to be much help. But I am a firm believer in maps (as Laurie will know, with our eyeliner marked map of Milan) and eventually we found ourselves in what was quite literally meat shops intersected with bars. The evening began with some very pleasant drinks and a discussion of cultural differences – turns out us English do not have as bad of a rep in Europe as I thought, just that we sunburn easily. And I was set to learn a great deal about Frankfurt and Berlin. And trainers. The evening ended in a club called Jolene with Nay-Nay shaking his head at the appalling euro trash music and Fi-Fi ordering shots, and then racing outside on meatpacking trolleys. 

I spent the next day nursing my hangover on a street called Jægersborggade in Nørrebro, home to Grød. Grød in the most delicious porridge restaurant and I urge anyone in Copenhagen to pay a visit. I spent a whole day eating porridge for both breakfast and dinner and, interrupting my porridge gastronomy, exploring the surrounding shops and coffee houses. There is an incredible record shop on Jægersborggade where I spent well over an hour chatting to the shop assistant, with him allowing me to play a huge selection of records on the turntable - my first and last introduction to Scandi techno. They had a back room full of artwork and I was no rush to leave. Eventually I purchased Air’s Moon Safari, a safe bet, one of my favourite all time albums, and I was delighted to find it on record. The lovely shop assistant also gave me some wonderful tips on museums, clubs and bars to visit whilst in Copenhagen. I still have these scrawled in his handwriting on a record sleeve. I’ve always had this determination to find places off the beaten tourist track, to see where locals frequent and understand their culture far better than a guidebook can give. The best way to do this is always to talk to local people.

Record Shop, Jægersborggade

Record Shop, Jægersborggade

This was how I ended up in Bo-Bi bar. I’m afraid I cannot remember Mr Record Shop’s name, but he marked on my trusty map exactly where this amazing bar was. Sure enough, after a few twists and turns off a main road, was a bar that was like stepping back in time. The décor was deep red with dark wood, with dim lighting and soft music, and you could smoke inside! Even as a non-smoker, except occasionally on holiday, this excites me. And there was something incredibly atmospheric about the haze of cigarette smoke with the ambient lighting. The drinks were cheap, the place was so unassuming, and I was reminded once again why I love travelling.

Most people, even if they don’t ask, think ‘doesn’t it feel awkward or uncomfortable going places on your own’. And the truth is yes. Yes it does feel very awkward and uncomfortable. You are aware that people are looking at you and judging you, making assumptions that you must be sad, friendless, or ‘up for it’ – particularly if you are young and female. Just to be clear, I have not felt the need to gather air miles in order to find a romantic liaison, and I have never had a night of passion with someone I have met travelling. Safety first.

So why was I travelling on my own? There was a point in my life where I wanted to do something for myself. I wanted to explore at my own pace, and to push and challenge. It is remarkably freeing to not be concerned about someone else and to worry if they are enjoying themselves. I am aware that I would not have the patience to travel in big groups and that they would get impatient with me. I love sharing experiences with others; Milan is an example of such and I cannot wait to explore Nicaragua with Helen! However there is a time and place for travelling solo too and so much to be gained from the experience.

Independent travel forces you into uncomfortable situations, you become more open to talking to others, trying new things, you can join with a group when you want to and equally you can leave when you like. Personally, it is imperative not to let going alone stop me from travelling. Solo travel will build your confidence and resilience like nothing else. More importantly, you are only alone if you limit yourself, friends can be found in the most unlikely of places.

So yes, I did feel self-conscious and exposed, but I sat myself at the bar, drank gin and tonics, read my book  - a must for a solo traveller – and intermittently chatted to the barmaid. She was a university student herself, and we compared universities in England and Copenhagen. I talked to a guy from Luxembourg, who used to make violins in Newark, near my hometown. I walked back to the hostel that strange summer evening, feeling oddly familiar and at home in these unknown streets. As I admired the beauty of the cobbled stones and ancient architecture, I reminded myself that anything is possible.

Imogen

Bo-Bi Bar