Going Solo

One of the (many) joys of being a teacher are the long, luxurious summer holidays. Weeks of freedom billow out before you as you walk out of school on the last day, full of promise of endless possibilities. I have many colleagues who plan their summers with the skill and precision of a military commander, arriving on the last day of school with their bags packed, ready to head to the airport as soon as the final bell rings. They disappear off to far-flung destinations, planning to backpack their way across entire continents for two months, often landing back in London in the early hours of the morning of our first day back. They turn up at school, backpack still in tow, tanned and exhausted, full of tales of hikes through rainforest jungles, hair-raising bus journeys up mountain peaks, riding camels across deserts and plunges in lagoons beneath cascading waterfalls. I always listen with awe, but know it would never be my kind of summer. For me, summer is all about taking it slow, keeping things spontaneous, and going where the spirit moves me.

This year, the spirit has moved me to the Pacific Northwest. I’ve wanted to visit this part of the US for years; the history and the landscape have long been a source of fascination. Many moons ago, when I lived in New York, I remember spending hours in the New York Public Library, reading about the Pioneers and the Oregon Trail, in awe of the journey so many immigrants made in the nineteenth century to their new futures. I also read with horror the treatment of the Native Americans as part of this process, and wondered how in our contemporary times, these histories and communities coexisted. On a more superficial note, on my ‘places I want to visit’ bucket list is Powell’s Books, the world’s largest independent bookstore, and it just so happens to be in Portland, Oregon. A couple of months before the holidays, I came across an article online about travel in Oregon and it reignited my old desire to see those landscapes for myself. I idly researched some ideas for a road trip, and tried to recruit my best friend to join me. But she couldn’t come, and I didn’t want to do all the driving by myself, and so I shelved the idea. I’ve never travelled alone before, and was daunted at the prospect, so I thought I’d just spend the summer doing something closer to home instead. But then I heard all my colleagues talking about their adventurous summer plans, with many of them going solo, and I thought - well if they can do it, why can’t I? So, before I gave myself too much time to think about it, I booked my flights and decided to figure the rest out later. And so here I am, writing this, from my Airbnb in Portland.

I flew into Seattle a week ago, my eyes like saucers as I took in the incredible views across the Puget Sound as we came into land. I sailed through the almost empty airport, and hopped onto the Light Rail, which is built high above the streets, like something from a midcentury space odyssey movie, and offers fabulous views as it makes it way through the outskirts of the city and into the centre. I dumped my enormous backpack at my Airbnb, and then headed straight down to the waterfront, marvelling in the beauty and the scale of all the water and the trees so close to the city. I was mesmerised by it.

I have noticed, over the past few years, my connection to urban spaces starting to shift. Whenever I am in a city, I find myself gravitating towards the water or the trees, the spaces where nature has been allowed to flourish, and where the crowds and the concrete are absent. In London, at the weekend, you’ll usually find me reading a book beneath a willow tree in my local overgrown cemetery, swimming in Hampstead Heath’s Ladies’ Pond, or enjoying a coffee on a bench in one of Bloomsbury’s garden squares. I don’t want to shop, or sit in a restaurant, or be packed into a room looking at art with hundreds of other people. I just want to be outside. Here in the Pacific Northwest, things have been no different. Seattle’s downtown - the Pike Place Market, the Space Needle, etc - held no interest for me. I took the cursory photos, and then on my first full day in the city, I got straight on a ferry to Bainbridge Island. On arrival, I wandered up the hill from the ferry terminal to the charming little town of Winslow, where I had a look around the marvellous art gallery, which features local artists, browsed in the fantastic independent book shop, which had such wonderful, imaginative displays and very helpful staff (I bought a beautiful book set in Portland, called Glaciers by Alexis Smith), and got a delicious sandwich from Cafe Hitchcock (again, such lovely staff!) to go and eat by the water. As I sat on a bench and ate my sandwich, looking out across the Puget Sound, I marvelled at how fortunate I was to get to travel - to have the time, the funds, the freedom.

After lunch, I followed a marked walking trail, and found myself on the site of an old Japanese-owned berry farm, now a park - reading the information board, I learned much about the troubled history of more recent immigration in the Puget Sound - and then wended my way back down to the water, where I found the most magical inlet, surrounded by trees, with no one else in sight. I sat myself down on a rock, got out my book - the brilliant Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, whose insights as a member of the Potawatomi tribe into the connection between people and land, the importance of restoring this and the benefits to all of us in this process, have been so apt for my trip in this part of the world - and read uninterrupted for about an hour or so. Used to the crowds and busyness of the East Coast of the US, I couldn’t believe that no-one else was there. It was my own slice of heaven.

The next day, I headed off to Ballard, which had been recommended to me by friends at work due to its quirky shops and neighbourhood feel. I found the house that inspired the Disney movie Up! - a compelling indictment of gentrification in what is still a very industrial neighbourhood - and then came across the National Nordic Museum, which tells the story of Scandinavian immigration to the Puget Sound. I expected to just pop in, but I ended up spending the whole morning in there (with only about ten other people!), fascinated by the exhibitions and learning so much. I didn’t realise that a tenth of the Scandinavian population emigrated to the US in the 19th and early 20th centuries - and their presence has really shaped this region. I hadn’t made the connection between the Scandinavian landscape and climate and the Pacific Northwest, but of course it has much in common - and the skills and trades built around the natural environment that many Scandinavians had from their home countries were transferred to their new home when they came over. If you’re in the area, I strongly recommend a visit.

From the museum, I made my way over to Ballard locks, which are the busiest in the whole of the US! - and are a key site for salmon as they move through on their way to spawn. There’s a whole salmon education centre, which I found unexpectedly really interesting, and you can go under the locks and see the salmon through a window. I then crossed over to the Magnolia neighbourhood and walked up into Discovery Park, where I headed straight to the water, and West Point Lighthouse. This is such a beautiful place, situated on a gorgeous beach from which you can see the city centre rising up in the distance, and I loved paddling in the clear, cold water and letting my mind wander.

My time in Seattle was a wonderful introduction to solo travel. I had been dreading it, worried about being lonely and bored, but actually, I have loved being able to go completely at my own pace, do whatever I want, whenever I want, and not feel under any pressure to see all the sights. I am enjoying taking it slow, gravitating towards nature and beauty, and relishing finding the perfect spot to just sit and read for a while, with nowhere I need to be and no one else I need to worry about. Here in Portland, I have already been to Powell’s Books several times - I don’t need to worry about boring my companion with yet another browse of the shelves! - and spent long lazy mornings reading and pottering before heading out for the day, as I am battling with jet lag and finding I need a slower pace. There have been moments, of course, when I have wished I could be sharing the experience, or wanted to have a chat with someone, but they pass. Being alone does not need to mean being lonely - with such glorious surroundings, it’s actually a joy to have the time and quiet to just be able to sit and enjoy it all. Going solo might be how I always choose to travel in future!