Note: This post contains affiliate links. If you book through them, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only recommend things I have personally used or genuinely believe in.
I left my home to travel solo for the first time in 2013. Although it’s been only 13 years, it definitely feels like a lifetime ago. At 27, I was heartbroken, working with whatever little savings I had, constantly scouring the internet for online writing jobs, and hoping that buying a backpack and some sturdy shoes would bring out the “traveler” in me. I didn’t know how long I was going to live like that or where I would go next. After spending months searching for “cheap ways to travel” on the internet, I learnt about volunteering, and that’s how it all began.
My first ever “solo travel” experience was in Goa, and no, before you start judging, it wasn’t the usual Goa sojourn that would 6have automatically crept into your imagination as soon as I said it. As a matter of fact, I found out about a Bed and Breakfast in Candolim run by a couple of European guys who needed some basic help around the house in exchange for food and accommodation. After securing my place as a “volunteer”, I bought a one-way train ticket to Madgao and the rest, as we know it, is history.
But this post isn’t about nostalgia (even though I am having a bit of it while reflecting on how far I have come and writing the blog at the same time). It’s about how travel has changed me I have changed as a traveller, and what travel in my 40s looks like compared to when I was 27.
So, get your coffees and your teas and let’s get this show on the road, shall we?
👉 Must-read: Solo Travel in Laos: The Honest, Unexpected Truth
I Don’t Travel Without Knowing Where My Next Paycheck Is Coming From
When I first started travelling, I was perfectly happy not knowing what I was going to do next. I had very little money, very few responsibilities, and, frankly, no idea how long that particular phase of my life would last. I could volunteer somewhere for food and accommodation, spend a few weeks figuring out how to make some money online, and then decide where I wanted to go next.
I don’t think I could do that anymore (nor would I want to).
Life has changed quite a bit in the thirteen years since I bought that one-way ticket to Goa. I never got married, and I don’t have children, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have people who depend on me. I have responsibilities now. I need proper, stable work. I need to know that there will be money coming in next month, and the month after that, and that I can still do my bit for the people I care about.
And surprisingly, I don’t feel particularly sad about that version of my life.
I still get to live in Thailand for the fourth year in a row. I still get to travel. I still get to build a life that looks very different from the one I imagined when I was 27. The difference is that these days, I like having a little more certainty underneath all that freedom.
I suppose that’s one of the first things that has changed about me as a traveller. I no longer need to be completely untethered to feel free.
👉 Also read: Is Thailand Worth Visiting in 2026 for Non-Party People?
I Don’t Stay in Backpacker Hostels Anymore
Back in 2013, backpacker hostels were popping up all over. That’s how you meet other like-minded travellers, they said! That’s the whole point of travelling, they said! And for a while, it really did feel like that. There was something exciting about arriving somewhere new, grabbing the cheapest bed you could find, and knowing everyone else in the room was just as directionless as you were.
But that “charm” wears off pretty quickly at 2 am when you’re trying to sleep, and your slightly drunk roommate comes back from whatever night out they’ve had and starts attempting to climb into the top bunk like it’s an Olympic sport, usually taking half the room with them in the process. Then there’s the snoring. And sometimes, because life still enjoys surprising you, they come back NOT ALONE!
At some point, I just stopped wanting to be part of that equation. I don’t need luxury or room service or a stunning view (although I would never say no to it if it came in my budget). What I want is a door I can close, a bed I don’t have to go to war for, and a decent chance of sleeping through the night! Is that too much to ask for?
Not going to lie though, I still stay at hostels at times. During my 24-hour stopover in Vientiane, Laos, for instance, I stayed at the lovely House of Jars, right in the centre of town. But these days, I’ll only choose a hostel if it has positive reviews and a reputation for being quiet and not party-friendly. Now, it’s more about boutique hostels or poshtels than backpacker hubs.
I Don’t Lug a Giant Backpack And Try to Look “Cool”
When I started travelling at 27, the idea of being a backpacker was all the rage. And, I was very much part of that crowd. I still have the backpack I bought in 2013. In fact, I can’t quite bring myself to get rid of it (and I never will) because, well, it has been places with me and it has seen versions of me nobody else ever would know of. For the longest time, it was an extension of me. But now, it only goes on my back when I am literally “moving” from one place to another because I will never leave it behind.
I genuinely don’t see myself travelling like that anymore. Lugging a giant backpack through local transportation, trying to figure out where I am, deciphering signs in a language I don’t speak, and then finally arriving at my $4-a-night hostel bed sounds less like an adventure and more like something my lower back would strongly object to.
These days, I travel with a trolley. Part of this is just being smarter about packing. If a trip is seven to ten days, I can almost always get away with hand luggage. But the bigger reason is my body, and being honest about what it needs now.
Nobody warns you about this part of turning 40 as a woman. Bone density starts dropping. Perimenopause creeps in quietly. Muscles that used to carry a heavy pack without complaint now ask for a little more consideration. I used to think “travelling light” was about convenience. Now I know it’s about protecting a body I still need to rely on for the next forty years of adventures, not just this one trip.
👉 Must-read: Why Slow Travellers Fall in Love with Chiang Mai
I Don’t Plan Every Hour of Every Day
In my twenties, I travelled with a Lonely Planet and a checklist of all the must-see places wherever I was going next. On trips where I made an actual spreadsheet, there would either be separate tabs for restaurants and markets or every section would be colour-coded. I told myself I had to make the most of every waking hour and that rest was something I could do when I was back home.
If I looked back at any of those itineraries now, my present self would feel very, very tired!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m still a control freak and an obsessive planner when it comes to my next destination. I still start months before and pack and unpack a few times before settling on a final wardrobe. But how I plan now is very different. At the risk of sounding curated, my plans are now consciously mindful.
These days, my first day anywhere is deliberately empty. I get some local food, walk around the neighbourhood, figure out where the nearest supermarket is, and let myself get used to the sounds and smells of a new place before I ask anything more of it. The rest of the trip follows the same rhythm. I still have a list of what I want to see and do, but I hold it loosely. If a café conversation runs long, I find a market I don’t want to leave, or the weather asks me to stay indoors with a book for an afternoon, the itinerary bends.
I Wake Up When the Locals Do
I was never much of a party animal, but I still had my share of “let’s see what the nightlife is like here” nights in my twenties. These days, my liquor appetite has quietly disappeared and four years of early mornings as a teacher at a high school in Thailand have rewired my body clock for good. But that’s not really the point of this one. The real change is what I’ve started waking up for instead.
In Luang Prabang, the morning market opens well before 6 AM, long before most tourists are even awake. Vendors laying out vegetables still wet from the fields, women stacking fresh baguettes from the French-era bakeries, monks moving quietly through the stalls on their alms round. By the time most tourists are up, the market is already winding down. I’ve realised that the hour before a city performs for its visitors is often the most honest hour it has to offer, and I’d rather be awake for it than sleep through it.
I know waking up at 6 AM sounds like the opposite of slow travel. But slow was never about being lazy. It’s about being conscious, about choosing what you wake up for instead of just letting the day happen to you. And besides, who said waking up early means I don’t take an afternoon nap? (*wink wink*)
👉 Must-read: Luang Prabang: The Complete Travel Guide for Solo Travelers
I Don’t Need Company to Not Feel Lonely
When I first started travelling solo, I think I felt the need to constantly prove that I was having a good time. Hostels were an easy way to do that. There were always people around, someone to have dinner with, someone to go exploring with, someone to have a few cheap beers with at the end of the day.
And, honestly, I loved that version of me because that’s how I have met some of my dearest friends that I stay in touch with even after a decade, and that’s how I collected some crazy and some heartwarming stories of what it was like to be a solo, young, female traveler from India walking an unknown path.
These days, I don’t really feel that need anymore. Or, maybe I have finally learnt to stop performing. It is absolutely okay to be a traveler and yet be an introvert or an ambivert. Solo doesn’t mean isolated anymore. These days, “feeling lonely” is not really one of my top worries while travelling because I know that if I travel slow and consciously, I would almost always end up meeting locals and getting to know some of them and make friends and acquaintances with them.
And, on days that I don’t come across a single person to chat with, it will be okay still. On those days, I will take in the places around me, the life around me, I will sit quietly and people-watch or read a book or write in my journal. That need to constantly build connections and constantly be in the company of others is gone. The more I travel solo, the closer I become to my own self, the more comfortable I become spending time with myself. The less I engage in short talks and random conversations, the more I can observe what’s around me and notice more, be more aware.
👉 Must-read: How to Slow Travel Hua Hin: A Guide for Women Over 35
I Don’t Come Home and Fall Apart Anymore
For the longest time, the week after a trip ended was harder than any part of the trip itself. I’d land back in Thailand, or wherever “home” was at the time, and it would hit me almost immediately. My inbox felt unbearable. My own kitchen felt unbearable. I’d feel indifferent to people asking how my trip was, not because I didn’t want to tell them, but because nothing about my regular life felt worth returning to.
If I’m being honest, it wasn’t just “missing” the place I’d left. It looked a lot like depression, some days for close to a week, where I’d feel sad and disconnected from everything around me and just want to go back out there again.
These days, that doesn’t happen. I come home, unpack, go back to teaching, and instead of withdrawal, I get reflection. I think about the trip, write a few notes, maybe start drafting the blog post, and then I just go back to my routine without any of that emotional crash following me around for days.
I think it’s because I no longer separate travel from “real life” the way I used to, as if my actual life was the boring waiting room and travel was the only part that counted. Travel is real life. So is work, and routine, and the everyday. They’re just different parts of the same life, not two competing ones. If anything, what I feel now is mostly gratitude that I still get to do both.
A Quick Note Before You Go
I don’t think turning 40 has made me a different traveller. If anything, I think it has made me a more honest one.
I know now that I don’t need to rough it to prove that I’m adventurous, fill every hour to prove that I’ve made the most of a trip, or constantly meet new people to prove that I’m enjoying travelling alone. I can still travel on a budget, take local transport, get hopelessly lost and say yes to things that weren’t on my itinerary. I just know when I don’t want to do those things anymore. And honestly, there’s something quite liberating about that.
If this way of travelling sounds familiar, you might also enjoy my post on why I no longer travel with a checklist, where I wrote more about what happened when I stopped treating every destination like a list of things I needed to tick off. You can also browse my Thailand travel guides if you’re looking for destinations and experiences that lend themselves to a slower, more intentional kind of travel.
Additionally, you’ll find practical travel guides here, but also plenty of stories and reflections about the quieter side of travelling, from my time travelling through Uzbekistan to slow journeys through Laos and the occasional reminder that you don’t have to travel far, fast or constantly to have a meaningful trip.
If you’d like new posts delivered straight to your inbox, my newsletter goes out every Tuesday. It’s the easiest way to keep up without having to remember to check back. I’m also on Instagram, where I share the little moments that don’t always make it into a blog post, from quiet mornings and local cafés to unexpected detours and the everyday observations that don’t always make it onto the blog.
And now, I’d love to hear from you. What is something your 25-year-old travelling self would find completely ridiculous about the way you travel now? Tell me in the comments. And if you know someone who is also discovering that travelling in your 40s looks a little different, send this article their way.
