Key Takeaways
- On the second Wednesday of the month, Kristin Addis from Be My Travel Muse writes a guest column featuring tips and advice on solo female travel. It’s
- My male friends who travel have been invited into the homes of locals for meals just as often as I have. They’ve enjoyed the same far-fetched and hear
- So why do people make such a big deal out of solo female travel?
On the second Wednesday of the month, Kristin Addis from Be My Travel Muse writes a guest column featuring tips and advice on solo female travel. It’s not a topic Route for Less typically covers in depth—and since there are countless solo female travelers seeking reliable, grounded guidance—we felt it essential to bring in an expert voice. In this month’s column, Kristin draws from her own extensive experiences to explore what makes solo travel uniquely different for women compared to group travel or solo male journeys.
My male friends who travel have been invited into the homes of locals for meals just as often as I have. They’ve enjoyed the same far-fetched and heart-warming experiences that I have. We come home with many of the same engaging stories. We both have the same-sized backpacks. We both have family members and friends at home who worry about us. We face the same daily challenges as travelers.
In many ways, we aren’t so different.
So why do people make such a big deal out of solo female travel?
Because, like it or not, women and men do have different concerns when it comes to traveling—especially when alone.
As a solo woman, I often lack the freedom to move through spaces without attracting attention from locals. In many cultures, women don’t enjoy the same autonomy we’re accustomed to in Western societies—and my presence alone can provoke genuine concern, confusion, or even disapproval. At 28, I’m already considered unusually unmarried—or even “past age”—in numerous countries I’ve visited.
In Borneo, a woman approached me while her husband fixed my flat motorbike tire. “Sister,” she said, “you’re alone? You have no brother, no husband?” While her concern was heartfelt and kind, I hear variations of this question constantly: Surely I must have a husband somewhere—or at least a boyfriend? Where are my children? What *am* I doing?
I found that answering honestly—“I actually find being single quite liberating!” or “I don’t plan to have children”—often led to stunned silence or dismayed expressions. So I began using gentle, culturally pragmatic responses: “My partner is back home” or “He’s joining me soon.”
While both men and women must prioritize personal safety while traveling, certain risks disproportionately affect women. For instance, I was groped in the dark while walking along a dirt road in Nepal—a region widely regarded as safe—just after sunset. Even if I’d carried pepper spray, it wouldn’t have helped: the assault was over before I registered it. When I reported it to a local officer, his first question was, “What were you doing alone?”
Even after a year and a half of solo travel, that moment sparked anger—but also clarity. Yes, I *am* different from a male traveler. I can’t walk around at night without weighing the sobering possibility of sexual harassment or assault. While this concern exists everywhere—including at home—female travelers often face heightened vulnerability in unfamiliar cultural contexts.
Similarly, dress choices carry greater weight. Though it may seem obvious, misjudging local norms can have real consequences. Once in Sumatra, Indonesia, I stepped out of my hotel wearing short sleeves—only to be met with catcalls and aggressive gestures from men lining the street. The experience was so unsettling that I retreated indoors and didn’t leave for three days. Staying mindful of attire isn’t just about respect—it’s part of mental and physical self-protection.
Unfortunately, women often need to navigate additional layers of social expectation: restrictions on dress, limitations on being seen unaccompanied, or curfews enforced by community norms. In some places, these constraints range from socially awkward to genuinely unsafe.
Does this mean women shouldn’t travel solo? Absolutely not. It simply means thoughtful preparation—researching local customs, understanding safety dynamics, and trusting your instincts—is non-negotiable.
Modern psychology suggests women often possess heightened intuition and strong nonverbal cue recognition. More often than not, that gut feeling is accurate. Honor it.
(It’s also worth remembering: the world beyond home isn’t inherently more dangerous. I’m from Los Angeles—a city where gun violence, robbery, and assault occur regularly. I wouldn’t walk alone at night there, despite having grown up there. This isn’t about fear-mongering—it’s about context-aware confidence.)
Male solo travelers certainly face their own challenges—but women often shoulder extra responsibilities: safeguarding personal security, defending life choices others question, and asserting boundaries in cultures where assertiveness from women isn’t expected. That’s precisely why solo female travel deserves dedicated attention—and why this column exists: to help you travel smarter, safer, and more authentically, all through routeforless.com.
