When I think about travelling solo, my mind gives mixed responses—sometimes I’m excited, sometimes I’m so flooded with anxiety I dismiss it straight away. And the anxiety, more often than not, is about my own safety. Not my itinerary, not my budget, not whether I’ll feel lonely—but whether I’ll be safe.

It’s something women who travel are constantly made aware of: that our freedom often comes with caveats. That if we were boys, we wouldn’t have to think twice. As a female traveller, I constantly think about safety. Whether I’m in a bustling Southeast Asian city or a quiet mountain village, the same questions play in the back of my mind: Can I trust this driver? Is this guesthouse safe? Should I sit closer to other women? Is anyone following me?

This is the reality for, dare I say it, every woman who travels. Because if I were a boy, I wouldn’t have to clutch my keys like a weapon walking back to my hostel at night. Something I remember my mum telling me to do in my teens. I wouldn’t spend 20 minutes cross-referencing reviews for whether a guesthouse “felt safe for solo female travellers.” I wouldn’t pack an interior door lock and personal safety alarm in my backpack. I wouldn’t worry that being too polite to a stranger could be mistaken for an invitation. I wouldn’t have to lower my headphones every few minutes just in case someone was following me.

When I think about what travelling would feel like if I were a boy, the answers shift dramatically. The weight lifts. The calculations disappear. The freedom expands.

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Why Solo Female Travel Comes With Extra Anxiety

While backpacking through Asia, I was often approached by men if I was on my own. There was one particular moment on Khao San road in Thailand where my boyfriend walked 20 yards further down a street to a bin whilst I waited at the top of the road to wait for the taxi. I was on my own for all of a few seconds when a European man came over to me and tried to get to know me. And I mean really tried because I was giving him nothing to work with. But the moment my boyfriend appeared, the man instantly walked off mid talking at me. As if the presence of a man validated my boundaries in a way I apparently couldn’t on my own.

Let me be clear: I never felt unsafe in Asia. In fact, I loved it. I met kind strangers, generous locals, and warm communities. But looking back, I realise how much of that perceived safety may have been influenced by the fact I was travelling with a male partner. If I were truly alone, would I have felt as comfortable walking back from a night market after dark or hopping into a tuk-tuk in a new city? I’m not so sure.

This isn’t to say women shouldn’t travel solo—quite the opposite. It’s that we’re often expected to be extra cautious when we do. There are plenty of solo female travel content creators online who rave about how safe they felt travelling alone in countries like Thailand, Vietnam, or Cambodia. And I believe them. I follow incredible solo female travellers who go to places deemed “off-limits” and return with nothing but brilliant stories. But even those women, I’m sure, carry a baseline awareness that their safety isn’t guaranteed. Because violence against women can happen anywhere, to anyone. But safety isn’t just about what happens—it’s about what we have to think about happening.

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Violence Against Women Is a Global Reality

The truth is, violence against women isn’t a travel issue—it’s a global one. And it’s on the rise.

According to UN Women, one in three women globally—around 736 million people—have experienced physical or sexual violence in their lifetime. These numbers don’t shrink when we leave our home countries. In fact, the lack of familiar support systems, language barriers, and local laws can make navigating unsafe situations even harder while abroad.

And those are just the cases we know about. During and after the pandemic, reports of gender-based violence surged in many countries. The fear isn’t paranoia—it’s pattern recognition.

Solo travel safety tips for women are everywhere online, and they’re important. But they also highlight just how unequal the travel experience is. Most male travellers aren’t reading blogs on “how to stay safe walking alone at night” or “how to deal with unwanted attention while backpacking.”

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Privilege and Perspective: Acknowledging My Position

I also recognise that I write this from a place of privilege. As a white British woman, I carry one of the world’s strongest passports. I can cross borders that many others can’t. I’m not likely to be racially profiled at borders. I’m not likely to be targeted because of my race, religion, or nationality in the same way many other women are. I am often presumed to be “innocent” or “worthy of help” in ways Black, brown, trans, or visibly queer travellers often aren’t. My privilege doesn’t cancel my fears—it just means they are different fears.

Women of colour, LGBTQ+ travellers, and those from less privileged backgrounds face additional layers of risk—discrimination, xenophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia, and more—that I don’t. My experience matters, but it isn’t universal.

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Should You Travel Solo as a Woman?

Yes. If you want to, absolutely. Solo female travel can be life-changing, empowering, and joyful. But it’s okay to admit that it also comes with fear. That doesn’t make you weak—it makes you honest.

My biggest anxiety about travelling solo isn’t boredom or loneliness. It’s my own personal safety. That anxiety doesn’t disappear just because other women have had safe experiences. We can hold both truths at once: that many places are safe enough to explore—and that the risk, however small, is always there.

This is the double-edged sword of female travel: the freedom and the fear. I want to see the world on my own terms, but I also want to come home. I want to say yes to adventure, but I also want to say no and have it mean something. I want to be open to the world without it mistaking that openness as availability.

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The Double Standard of Female Freedom

If I were a boy, I wouldn’t have the emergency alarm set on my phone or an internal door lock. I wouldn’t second-guess my outfit and whether it would make me a target. I wouldn’t rehearse how to say “I have a boyfriend” in a way that feels authoritative.

But I’m not a boy—and I still want to see the world. So I travel with care, with confidence, and with the knowledge that being a woman abroad means being both powerful and vulnerable. Until the world shifts, I’ll continue navigating both.

Because women shouldn’t have to be brave to travel—we should just be able to travel.

As always enjoy your Travels & stay safe.

Em x

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