The Traveler's Solitude

A journey through inner and outer worlds

Source: personal archives, 2024.

Every traveler has likely felt that deep solitude that arises when they suddenly become aware of their own strange presence in a foreign space. The company of others doesn’t change this feeling; for it is not the presence of the other that can free us from it, but rather the acceptance that every journey, in itself, is a form of isolation and a long inner exploration. We must learn to make space for this solitude and embrace what it has to teach us about ourselves and the world.

As Raymond Depardon rightly said: "It is only in isolation that we sometimes touch what is essential. In the silence of a desert or the anonymity of a big city, I seek those moments when everything falls quiet, when I can listen to what is within me."

Over time and through my travels, whether alone or with others, I’ve discovered that solitude can be the best traveling companion. It invites me to let go, to forget about time and the usual constraints. Once the passing anxieties and the boredom of lazy days without inspiration are overcome,a new space opens up, free from distractions and idle chatter, where we relearn slowness and contemplation. The physical journey then intertwines with an inner journey: our minds find their own path, touching new emotions that transcend the personal, revealing something fundamentally human.

Thinking back on my travels with friends, both nomadic and more settled,I realize I have kept few tangible traces of them. Few photos, few notes. My attention was elsewhere, caught up in conversations, in maintaining the balance of the group, or making sure everyone found their place and enjoyed the journey. Of course, the memories are still there, some still vivid, but they belong to a shared memory.

I remember my first trip to Japan in 2017. Six of us, each traveling with our own dreams and desires. Some, passionate about Japanese pop culture and its colorful mangas, led us into their universe: the strange gaming arcades in the heart of Tokyo, where players shut themselves in the dark for hours, cigarette in hand, searching for their escape. It was a world I would never have explored alone, but it did open my eyes to another Japan. While I prefer paintings to anime, I have no regrets about the countless pachinko games or the hours spent in bookstores flipping through mangas and quirky magazines. Yet, caught up in the excitement of our little group, I didn’t always have the chance to let my eyes linger where they truly wanted.

It is often said that the beauty of travel lies in sharing it. After all, what is life if we must live it alone? But isn’t this an illusion? For even in the company of a dear friend, our experience of a place or a moment remains unique, personal, and impossible to share entirely. I believe we always travel alone, even if we sometimes choose to join our solitudes. I often think of those nights in the desert, in the heart of the Arabian Peninsula, where I shared with my travel companion the spectacle of these endless dunes, like two lost souls finding comfort in a common silence.

Source: personal archives, 2024.

One June afternoon, after traveling through Central Asia for weeks, I stopped in a tea house in Bukhara, southern Uzbekistan, to escape the heat and have a bite. Barely seated, the owner came over, caring not so much about my order but rather who I was. When he learned I was French, his face lit up, and in perfect French, insisted we have a conversation. He sat at my table, ordered food and a bottle of vodka, carefully hidden in a blue plastic bag. This unexpected meeting, which broke several days of solitude turned out to be one of the most memorable of my journey. Had I been with others, this discovery might never have happened.

Accepting the solitude of travel is understanding a simple truth: we always set off for places where no one is waiting for us. There is nothing sad about this; on the contrary, it’s an invitation to reflect. Why do we travel? Why here and not elsewhere? What are we really searching for? And most importantly, are we ready to be surprised, by others and by ourselves? The more we surround ourselves with people, perhaps for reassurance, the more we become impermeable to what appears around us.

Others, like Henry David Thoreau, see external travel as a distraction that pulls us away from the only journey that truly matters: the one inward, to understand our immediate surroundings. I recall a line from Walden: "It is not necessary to travel around the world to contemplate the world itself; a small patch of earth can reveal the universe to one who knows how to look." Perhaps this is the gift of the true traveler: one who does not seek to escape into distractions or move forward endlessly, but who lets the mind wander through the countless small details of daily life: the colour of the leaves on the great tree in the yard, the coffee stain on the kitchen table, or the sun’s rays resting on the sheets in the morning.

I still need travel to learn to recognize this beauty. Perhaps one day, this need will fade. Until then, I encourage all travelers to take a few days of solitary wandering when the urge strikes, despite their fears. For it is quite possible they will return, if not changed, at least a little more open to the whims of the world.

References:

• Henry-David Thoreau, Walden, 1854

• Raymond Depardon, La solitude heureuse du voyageur, 2006