Is it weird to travel solo when you're in a relationship?

Many, many things feel weird to me this side of coupledom. But none more so than jetting off alone

Even though I’m now shacked up, I still really love travelling solo. This tends to surprise people. Since I have merely moved in with a man, not undergone a lobotomy, I don’t see why it should.

Yet getting on a plane or train solo and escaping for a few days with only myself for company - one of my big joys in life - now feels indulgent at best, and disloyal at worst. I travel a fair bit for work as well as pleasure, so this conundrum comes up pretty frequently for me. Here’s how it looks in a day-to-day conversation.

“Any trips lined up?”

“Yes! I’m going to this wine region in Spain to stay at a spa hotel and do some tastings.”

“That sounds great! Is G coming with you?”

“Er… no. Just me this time.” [Cue awkward pause.]

“Oh, that’s a shame. Is he tied up with work?”

“Um, yeah.” [Nope.]

“Aww, such a shame. It sounds really romantic. I’m sure he’ll come on the next one.”

Above: Wine tasting for one? Count me in

The truth is, I didn’t even invite my partner on that trip. Is that terrible? As a travel writer, I spent over a decade taking work trips on my own while single, and they’re just so seamless as a party of one. When your partner - or friend, or family member - comes along for the ride, you have to brief them on the little irritations: that there could be a lengthy hotel tour showcasing the finer points of the conference facilities; that you might have to make a stressy phone call to the PR that set up your trip; that we have to be at the airport at 4.25am because it wasn’t me booking the flight.

But even if my Spain trip hadn’t been for work, I’d still look forward to going alone. This is no reflection on how brilliant or rubbish a travel companion my boyfriend is. When you’ve travelled solo more than you have with others, you become addicted to the sheer, unadulterated selfishness of it. On a solo trip, you can wake up, breakfast, sightsee, pack and spend money at exactly your own pace, completely judgement-free and on your preferred schedule. Going with a friend, I feel hyper sensitive to their moods, needs and preferences - if I absolutely need to cross town to see something, I feel like I’m dragging them along. If they drag me to something I’m not 100% enthuasiastic about, I feel (irrationally) as though time has been physically stolen from me. Rightly or wrongly, I can’t help but feel that compromise is the enemy of great travel.

When I think about my role models for continuing to travel solo while coupled up, I struggle to pinpoint any. Of the most committed female travellers I know, one took a year out to go travelling with her partner; another was dating specifically with the goal of finding a travel buddy boyfriend; while a third takes at least a trip a month with her partner. Back when I was single, I struggled to make travel plans with coupled-up friends, because - duh! - they had already booked their next city break, winter sun week or UK weekend away with their partner.

Above: Barcelona with my fave travel buddy (me). Yes, I had to ask a passing pensioner to take this

At times, I feel like the last committed person on earth still longing to travel alone. It doesn’t help that there’s a ticking time bomb threatening my solo travel habit - the cherished trips that I like to think of as “me-me-me time” - which is that we might, in the next couple of years, have kids. As I understand it, it’s even more frowned upon (though not impossible) to repeatedly ditch your husband and baby in order to go and knock back pálinka with strangers in Budapest, or jet off last minute to see that Broadway show you’ve had your eye on in New York. Imagine the above conversation with added undertones of ‘Who’s looking after the baby?’ You see? Unsustainable.

So perhaps that’s why I’m treasuring every opportunity for utterly selfish, completely freewheeling, gloriously peaceful solo travel. This type of freedom is not going to last forever.

If you asked my partner what he thinks of all this, I’m nearly certain he’d tell you it’s fine. He still comes on about one in five trips with me, and we have a great time. (I’m sure having bursts of living the bachelor-pad life again for a few days aren’t exactly painful, either.) That’s because he was single, for a time, before he met me, and he’s as well acquainted as I am with the perks of a bit of alone time. It can feel a bit of a masquerade as we all try to maintain the illusion that we’re devastated to be away from our romantic partners for even a day.

If other people also enjoy time alone to reflect and prioritise ourselves, why don’t I see many other loved-up folks travelling alone? It’s possible that I’m not the only one who fears the judgment of colleagues, family members and community in general. We probably end up opting for couples’ trips without even contemplating the alternatives. Yet it’s one in a long line of ways people are expected to change their tastes and priorities overnight when we meet someone we want to merge lives with. (Others might include going out less, suddenly being broody, seeing friends less often or spending less on ourselves).

Get back to me in another year, but I hope I keep getting to flit off abroad on my own once in a while. My itch for that kind of trip is a key part of what makes me ‘me’; scratching it doesn’t feel entirely optional. And I always come back full of stories, energy and appreciation for what’s waiting at home.

MAFS madness: If it’s not Cam and Jules, I don’t want it

Commitment-crisis culture fixes of the week:

*TV: Married at First Sight The fairytale optimism! The disappointed aisle faces! The rimming enthusiast paired with a prudish Essex girl! I’d love to think I’m better than this reality TV show, but I’m demonstrably not. Also great for prompting early-in-relationship discussions about everything from lip filler to what constitutes cheating.

*Book: Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata I adored this deliciously weird novel and its almost robotic narrative style. Narrator Keiko has always found it hard to relate to other humans, but over the years she’s learned to ‘mask’ effectively, imitating their speech and habits. Now her friends are on her case about settling down. Could a kindred weirdo spirit from work, another ‘foreign object’ be the answer?

*Poem: did you lose weight? by Haley Jakobson I loved this poem from Instagram poet Jakobson, which dives into the superficiality and archaic values of female small-talk. Substitute weight-loss questions for ‘How’s the dating going?’ and it still stands.