Going Sola: A Gringa Finds Courage in Colombia

In this guest post, Lauren Quinn –the creator of Lonely Girl Travels –shares her experience traveling alone in Colombia at a time when most tourists were afraid to go there.

Lauren was one of Lonely Planet’s Featured Bloggers for 2010. Besides being an intrepid traveler who has also made sola visits to places such as  Venezuela and Morocco, Lauren is an engaging and emotionally honest writer. But there’s more to her work than captivating prose. Lauren’s recent series on Cuba is full of practical tips for independent travelers.

By Lauren Quinn

The luggage carousel groaned under the humming neon lights. A squat man struggled with a cardboard box held together with rope; a blond woman in a cowboy hat intermittently yelled at her two sons in Spanish, and spoke English into her cell phone. Outside the glass, beyond the line of sullen-faced security guards, the Bogota morning sat grey and heavy.

An anxious fist squeezed my stomach. I’d arrived. And I was sola.

I’d done my research, booked my hostel, reassured my mother. Friends, travelers and chat-room denizens had told me that Colombia was definitely the place to cash in my rewards flight. But the reality of traveling alone in the notorious Latin American came cascading down as I watched my flight’s luggage topple and spin around the lonesome carousel. I was there. And there was no turning back.

Maiden Voyage. It was a ballsy move. I was a 5’10” tattooed gringa. It was my first solo trip; I’d left the US for the first time only one year prior. I wasn’t exactly the ideal candidate for backpacking solo around a country rife with machismo, infamous for paramilitaries, guerilla warfare and cocaine.

It was all waiting, outside those glass doors. I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder, passed through the security checkpoint, and went to a booth to arrange a ride in an official taxi. I looked longingly at the bilingual woman in the cowboy hat, cursing myself for having slept through high school Spanish classes.

Windshield wipers swatted back and forth as the cab glided through the somber morning. I took in the sights: suited men bustling down sidewalks, school kids waiting for buses, shopkeepers hosing down sidewalks, women carrying checkered-bag bundles. It didn’t look too dissimilar to any other city. I relaxed a little.

Beyond the Comfort Zone. I ended up learning a lot on that first solo trip. I learned self-reliance: how to get myself out of jams and communicate with a toddler’s vocabulary. I learned how to push myself beyond my comfort zone, to trek six days through the jungle and force myself to talk to strangers when I got lonely. I learned that asshole guys cover the world ‘round, and sometimes you just have to break down and cry.

But most of all, I learned that the world’s not something to be afraid of. Wide eyes and shocked mouths will tell you all the reasons you should stay home, where everything is safe and expected—especially when you’re a solo female.

Dangers abound and risks shouldn’t be taken lightly; men will sleaze on you, touts will harass you, pickpockets will pickpocket. But there’s too much beauty in the world to let any of that hold you back. It can wear you down at times, but it’s part of what it means to be female. And traveling, for me, is part of what it means to be alive.

Bogota became more human as we drove its streets that morning. When the cab pulled up beside the brightly painted “hostel” sign, I stepped out, ready for the adventure.

Follow Lauren on Twitter at @travelerlauren

Do you have any solo/sola travel experiences in Latin America?