August 11, 2026 • 46 mins
Solita host Julie Piñero has four nights in Galway on one mission: become a 'regular' at pub in Ireland. With advice from locals in her ear, 15 years of solo travel under her belt, and only 4 nights to make it happen, she's racing the clock to answer: how do you connect to a place when you're only just passing through, alone?
Special thanks to all of the Ireland impromptu-guests who agreed to Julie's interviews.
If you're in Galway, be sure to take a tour with Ana at Tribes Tours or follow her at @anabnas. If you take a trip to the Aran Islands, go to Inisheer and visit Máirtín at the Aran Currach Experience or follow them at @aran_currach_experience.
Follow @solita_travels on Instagram and Tik Tok to watch video of Julie's Ireland mission, along with extra reflections on solo female travel.
See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
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Speaker 1 (00:04):
What prompted you to solo travel for the first time.
Speaker 2 (00:07):
I wanted to see her and it was now or ever.
Speaker 3 (00:09):
You don't see that much anymore these days.
Speaker 1 (00:12):
This is the first time I've done it.
Speaker 4 (00:16):
They were very intrigued by me walking in there, because
I went pretty much crocodile dum d.
Speaker 5 (00:21):
Can I get the same sour got yesterday? The ginger sour?
So I'm at the diving board right now and I
think I'm going to jump in. This is insane.
Speaker 1 (00:35):
Were you nervous about anything?
Speaker 2 (00:37):
Yes? Everything.
Speaker 5 (00:47):
This is Solita stories of what really happens when you
travel alone, the beautiful, the messy, and the moments where
you say yes and surprise yourself. I'm your host, Julie Pine.
The first time I ever traveled by myself was on accident.
I was twenty one years old, studying abroad in Barcelona.
(01:10):
I planned a spring break trip to Italy with some
Americans from my program, and then a few days before
the trip they all dropped out. But I still wanted
to go, so I did. I visited Rome, Florence, Milan,
and Cinque Terre completely solita. I expected to feel lonely, but
I found that I met more people because I was alone,
(01:34):
I made more eye contact, I asked for help, I
got more invites, like the time I said yes when
a group of strangers invited me to dinner, where the
restaurant owner flooded us with free lemon cello. He ignored
the other patrons just so he could calmly sit and
tell us his stories. That whole night felt like magic.
(01:55):
When my semester in Barcelona ended, I wanted to keep traveling,
but I was as a broke student. So I asked
around and I discovered one of the cheapest ways to
stay in Europe was to walk across it on a
trail called El Camino Santiago Compostela, otherwise known as El Camino.
(02:15):
The main Gamino path is a five hundred mile walk
across the north of Spain. I carried everything on my back.
I slept in hostels for no more than eight euro
a night. I woke up at dawn. I ate cans
of tuna on the side of the road, and I
prayed in churches that my feet wouldn't give in too blisters.
(02:36):
And the beautiful thing about the Gamino is that even
if you choose to walk it alone, you're never really alone.
My first few days, I sinked my pace with an
elderly Irish man who was walking his own solo trail.
He was in his seventies, following in the literal footsteps
(02:56):
of his late daughter, she completed the Gamino alone a
few years back, and then she sadly took her own
life earlier that year. He walked with her Camino passport
in hand, which tracked her exact route with stamps from
the hostels and restaurants she visited. As we followed her
trail together, I started to notice that this elderly man
(03:20):
called the same person every night before bed. I assumed
it was a family member, maybe his wife, but when
I asked him, he told me it was his publican.
That's when I learned that in Ireland, the publican is
the guy who runs your local pub. So my new
friend was doing pillow talk with his bartender. I was tickled.
(03:43):
It was a ritual that screamed, go take on the world,
but hurry back. You belong here in this pub. I imagined
the Irish pub as this magical place where, of course
everyone knows your name, but also your mom's name and
your bad moods and your favorite song, and now the
stories of how you conquered Spain on foot. I finished
(04:07):
the Camino and I continued my travels across the world alone.
In Morocco, I learned to surf. During the quiet months
of Ramadan. In Tijuana, I made friends with Lucha libtefighters
and Argentina. I fell asleep on a bus, woke up
in the wrong town, and then lived there for over
a month. I was the girl on the back of
(04:28):
the vespa in Monaco. I flew to Edinburgh just to
see the clowns. And I've contracted dysentery and bedbugs more
times than I would ever admit on a podcast. Now
I prefer traveling by myself, even when I do have
people to go with. It's where I'm closest to my
own curiosities. And you know what, fifteen years later, I'm
(04:53):
still thinking about that irishman and his publican. What did
he have in that pub? And what is the DNA
of that feeling of belonging? Could I ever belong in
a pub in Ireland? How much could I even belong
in a new place when I'm just passing through Solita?
(05:14):
Now I know I can't answer these questions from the
Solita headquarters of my bedroom closet in Brooklyn. So in
the spring of twenty twenty six, when I get my
own chance to travel to Ireland, I make it my mission.
I'm going to become a regular at an Irish pub.
Speaker 1 (05:33):
What was it fifteen years ago?
Speaker 5 (05:35):
I was doing the Caminoda Santiiro, which is like a
pilgrimage walk.
Speaker 1 (05:39):
Across the north of Spain, the Camino the Camino.
Speaker 5 (05:43):
I started my Ireland trip in Dublin for one night
before traveling to a tiny mountain town called Kilfinnan for
an audio arts festival. That's where I met John and
we quickly became friends. John's in his late fifties. His
family's been in Ireland for generations and he inherited the
family farm, although he retired early, saying he was bad
(06:04):
at farming. John offered to drive me to the bus
station where I'd be catching my bus to Galway to
start my five days of solo traveling. So, of course
I took the opportunity to pick his brain about the
importance of publicans. Do people not usually have that much
of a relationship with Republicans? Oh?
Speaker 1 (06:21):
In a small tone, you do absolutely, yeah, you have
that relation. Oh god, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what.
Speaker 5 (06:26):
That's Well, when I'm in Galway, my mission is to
try to become a local at a pub.
Speaker 1 (06:33):
Okay, what did that involve? I don't know who's going
to win the match? What do you think it involves.
Do you think it's possible? Well? Probably probably not. How
long are you inna go before four nights? Okay? If
you go in there every night, you know you'll be
You won't be a regular, but you will be a
(06:55):
you will be known. How long do you think you
have to go to become a regular?
Speaker 4 (06:59):
I would say in your case, being a bit of
a looker, I would say if there was a man
behind the counter, i'd say the second night.
Speaker 5 (07:07):
Oh god, but that sounds like a bad regular.
Speaker 1 (07:10):
No, no, no, what's it like in New York? I mean,
do you know? No, I don't go.
Speaker 5 (07:14):
There's a bar in my neighborhood.
Speaker 1 (07:16):
It's a little too expensive.
Speaker 5 (07:17):
I would never go every night because it's just as
a part of the It's not lady.
Speaker 1 (07:24):
It's not lady. Why do you say that, I'm gone
be old fashioned over That's not the case. That's not
the case here. No, but I mean, I was.
Speaker 5 (07:33):
At a pub in Dublin and I had this really
friendly older gentleman buy me a drink, and when he
found out I was alone, he was like, Oh, I'm
going to stick by you because I actually I just
don't want you to be lonely. You're a woman here alone.
And I thought it was really well intentioned.
Speaker 1 (07:48):
Oh, I'm sure it was.
Speaker 5 (07:49):
It was well intentioned.
Speaker 1 (07:50):
I thought he was a sweetheart. And I also thought
it was like.
Speaker 5 (07:54):
It was showing something inappropriate. No, but like I didn't
need to be protected in that way, like I can
find for myself being alone, and I actually sort of
like being alone. In Spanish, a female alone translates to sola.
Solita is a little more complicated. That diminutive etha gives
(08:18):
the word a layer of pity. Ah she's alone, poor thing.
In Puerto Rico, where my family's from. It also invites
gossip or cheese me ahino solita, Ah, she came alone.
You'll never guess why solita gets wielded against women, as
if being alone is a mark of failure. But when
(08:42):
a woman reclaims the word for herself, say being a solita,
she's owning the power of solitude as a deliberate tool
of possibility. When I tell people I'm traveling alone, I
get one of two opposite responses. First is disbelief. They
(09:02):
say I'm brave, maybe reckless. They show concern, They ask
about safety, about loneliness, as if I shouldn't be doing it.
The other response is a resounding applause, which I will
credit with the popularity of the early aughts book and
movie Eat Pray Love. This response assumes that the world
(09:24):
is simply a backdrop from my journey of personal transformation,
which is a Western fantasy, and neither of these responses
leaves room for the reality. Traveling alone as a woman
is risky, and it's beautiful, and it's messy, and you'll
probably learn over and over that the world is not
(09:47):
your oyster. But I don't think that that should hold
women back from taking the plunge, and the numbers show
it hasn't. A study found that over three quarters of
all solo travelers identified as women in twenty twenty five US.
Women make eighty two percent of all travel decisions in
(10:07):
the home, so it makes sense that they turn their
decision making onto themselves. There was a huge uptick in
Google searches for the phrase solo female travel in twenty
twenty two, and then something broke open at the end
of twenty twenty five because those Google searches hid an
all time high, nearly tripling overnight. Experts say that the
(10:28):
broader shift points to women having more socioeconomic independence. Look
at women from ages twenty five to forty four, Morgan
Stanley predicts that in just five years, almost half of
those women will be single. They're not only free from
the financial responsibilities of having to raise a family, they
also don't have the built in travel buddies. But it's
(10:51):
not just women in childbearing ages. It's also women like Chris,
who I met in my hostel in Ireland.
Speaker 1 (10:59):
How long have you been solo traveling? First experience? And
how old are you?
Speaker 2 (11:03):
Sixty?
Speaker 1 (11:04):
And what prompted you to solo travel for the first time?
Speaker 2 (11:07):
I wanted to see her and it was now or ever?
Speaker 1 (11:10):
Were you hoping somebody would come with you?
Speaker 2 (11:12):
I had asked my son to come, but he couldn't
get the time off, so I didn't want anyone else.
I want to do what I want when I want.
Speaker 1 (11:19):
Were you nervous about anything? Yes?
Speaker 2 (11:22):
Everything?
Speaker 5 (11:25):
In a study of almost three thousand solo female travelers,
personal safety is the number one worry. Number two is
higher costs. The next few worries something bad will happen,
language barriers, and a worry about dining alone, feeling lonely
and getting lost. Hi, is this the best to gall it?
Speaker 6 (11:47):
Yeah?
Speaker 1 (11:47):
Great, you got to get her.
Speaker 5 (11:49):
What time is this and it's four thirty? Oh that's
six thirty. Oh shoot, I get my Times message. Is
it okay?
Speaker 1 (12:00):
Take this one? Thank you so much for your kindness.
Thank you.
Speaker 5 (12:05):
If you couldn't tell by me booking the wrong bus ticket.
I'm a type B traveler. The only thing I really
book when I arrive to a place is my accommodations.
I book a hostel in the center of Galway, walking
distance to dozens of pubs, and then the rest of
my plans I leave up to chance. And since I'm single,
(12:27):
why not crack the door open for a bit of fun.
On the bus to Galway, I open Hinge and I
edit my profile to say I'm traveling from New York
looking for someone to show me their favorite spots in town.
I start swiping and one of the first profiles is
a man named Mark. He's cute, he's creative, and he's Cuban.
(12:49):
I message him, saying, another Latino in Ireland, and within
an hour we've made plans to get coffee. The next day.
I step off the bus in Galway, drop my bag
off in the hostel, and head out for my first
walk around the city. And within four minutes of my walk,
I spot Mark from Hinge outside of a pub. I
(13:11):
avoid him for now and wait for tomorrow's date, but
obviously I voice note my best friend, how small is
this city? Literally just spotted him on the steps of
a pub. That's fucking crazy. I keep walking, and just
twenty minutes later I start to hear Puerto Rican SOUTHSA
(13:32):
music blaring down the street, music from my tiny archipelago
in the Caribbean here in Ireland. I run over, Are
you guys dancing?
Speaker 7 (13:43):
So yeah?
Speaker 5 (13:54):
New York, New York. They offer me a beer and
we dance for over an hour. They invite me to
come dance with them at a local pub. Later on
that week, a woman from Uruguay named Pamela tells me
that she works at a nearby bakery. I told her
I would definitely stop in the next morning for coffee.
(14:15):
Thank you. I visited Pamela for the same reason I'm
wanting to become a regular at a pub. It's something
that I chase in every new place I visit. I
travel the world hoping to see something new, but to
(14:38):
feel familiarity. One of the world's most famous travel writers,
Rick Steves, has written about it. He outlines three different
ways to travel. He says you can either travel as
a tourist, a traveler, or a pilgrim. A tourist is
there to consume. They seek relaxation, entertainment, and escape from
(15:02):
their regular life. On the opposite side of that spectrum
is the pilgrim. They're there to challenge themselves in search
of some sort of personal transformation. And then right there
in the middle between the tourist and the pilgrim is
the traveler. The traveler arrives to a due place wanting
(15:25):
to be a temporary local. They're willing to exchange comfort
for realness, hoping to immerse themselves in the experience of
what it might be like to actually live there. And
I don't really stick out as a visitor in Ireland
as a white Latina, I have the privilege of not
(15:45):
getting bothered by racial microaggressions or stereotypes or intrusive questions
about my heritage or appearance. White women have been at
the center of popular Western narratives of female solo travel,
so these nuance of identity are often under explored, and
I do think my diasporic identity plays into my desire
(16:08):
to become a temporary local. I grew up in the
continental US with two parents from Puerto Rico who had
only just moved from the archipelago a year before I
was born. I grew up feeling like I was neither
Kei Nida. Yeah, neither from here nor from there. So
(16:29):
when I travel, I'm always sort of seeking an understanding
of what it's like to belong to that place. Now,
the only thing missing is my regular pub, so I
hit the road to start looking for it. Yeah, that
(16:49):
one didn't really even have a bar or anywhere.
Speaker 1 (16:52):
In the city was kind of empty.
Speaker 5 (16:53):
Group is there an upstairs? I stop into it. Least
least seven pubs on my first night in Galway. I
need to find a pub within walking distance to my
hostel for safety late at night, but they're all full
of other tourists, so I give up on my search
for the night, and I go back to my hostel discouraged.
(17:16):
I lay in bed with a bad case of the
night one blues. It happens almost every trip. On the
first night, I'm tired, feeling out of place without my
usual comforts and routines, asking myself what am I doing here?
I'm spending my hard earned money on myself, hoping to
(17:40):
find something profound. I can't even find a pub. I
almost give up on my mission completely until the next night.
I've exhausted all the old school Irish pubs within walking distance,
and so when I pass a craft beer bar, I
walk in, Hey are you yeah?
Speaker 7 (18:01):
It is?
Speaker 5 (18:03):
I don't know what's like your specialty here. I've been
given three pieces of advice for becoming a regular at
a pub. One go regularly, two make friends with the staff,
and three have good crack which stay with me here
translates to creating good banter at the bar. So I
(18:23):
walk in and immediately I connect with the bartender, Sean.
Today is Monday, and Sean tells me that on Wednesday,
my last day in Ireland, he's quitting his job at
the pub to finally pursue his career as a writer.
And I can't help but cheer him on. I talk
to the woman at the bar next to me. She's
here every night because her dog is scared of other dogs,
(18:46):
so eleven pm is the only time she can take
her for a walk. I ask Sean for a drink recommendation,
and he pours me a sour beer, which feels scandalous
in the land of Guinness. I leave after two beers.
I don't like to get drunk when I travel by myself,
and on my way out the door, I say, see
you guys tomorrow. Did I just find my pub? After
(19:11):
the break? A whirlwind romance that stops before it starts.
One of the best parts of traveling by yourself is
(19:31):
asking for help. You really can't pretend that you know everything,
and being by yourself, people tend to go out of
their way to help you. When I go on a
free walking tour, which is one of my favorite things
to do in a new city, I ask my guide
Anna if she has any advice for my mission to
become a regular at a pub. Anna is an immigrant
(19:54):
from Brazil and she's been in Ireland for ten years.
She fell in love with this country. He came an
Irish historian and it turns out pubs actually shaped her welcome.
So when I tell her about my elderly Irish friend
from the Camino, she helps me fill in some of
the blanks I see.
Speaker 4 (20:14):
Everybody in the pub was actually just like, oh geez,
you know, like do you know Sheamus, He's just going
up now doing the Camino like Jesus Christ. Fair play
to him, you know, like the whole lot. And then
he would just ring from there and just share a
few of the stories with the public, you know, which
your men, the bartender or something. Then he would share
all the news around, you know, because you have to
think not just what you were doing on your side,
(20:34):
that you were just chatting with your meny he was
ringing the public and every time, but imagine the impact
of his actions back here in Ireland, like me coming
from Brazil, you know, the population of Ireland is the
same population of just my city alone.
Speaker 2 (20:47):
And I love.
Speaker 4 (20:49):
Being a small country liketist. And in Ireland there was
just this immediate gentleness, like they look you up and down.
They know, we're just like, oh, come in here, one
of us now.
Speaker 5 (20:57):
I tell Anna about my fascination with pubs, and it
turns out when she first arrived to Ireland, one of
the first few jobs she could get was as a publican.
Speaker 4 (21:09):
Okay, I can tell you a funny story about that. So,
So I used to work in a pub called the
Old Triangle in Lockray, just outside of go Away, like
small little town, you know, just all the drinking regulars
would be like, you know, older men and they're like
fifty sixty seventies plus ish kind of vibe. There'll be
like a karaoke every Friday night. There would be like
(21:31):
country music every Saturday night. It was hopping, you know,
like it was the place. They were very intrigued by
me walking in there because I went pretty much Crocodile
Dundee style. I really needed a job and I never
worked in a pub before, just arrived in Ireland, and
I said, listen, I do need a job. I'm competent.
I'll go for it, like see what I can do
if I get a trial. And first of all, I
couldn't understand what my boss was saying. He taught like
(21:55):
and I was like, I have no chance of working here.
I can't even understand your man bosh. I went for
I managed and I learned very quickly the gift of
the gap, you know, the chatting, the understanding and the locals.
They go to a pub, and they continue going to
a pub for a reason because they're well taken care
of there. It becomes a natural dance once you learn it.
(22:15):
I used to be the main person behind the bar,
you know, just you know, kind of locking up and everything,
and I would be there just pouring a few slow
pines for them, as they call it. And then I
realized at some point in my life that my social
life was basically just having the full on chats with
those like five six older leads and then in the
end of the night just being the taxi driver to
all of them. And it was just the most hilarious
(22:37):
thing because I would have my car full of them
leads and me being like the baby streit, just like,
oh let's go and behavior, oh gid, you cannot smoke
in here or go on or get out now. And
you know, I wasn't expecting for any payment to bring
them around, you know, and any of that. But one
day my boss will be like, whit a minute, you know,
because you always poke like a dinosaur. I was like,
wait a minute, have you you guys have no shame
of yourself, Jesus Christ, look at this young lady there.
Speaker 2 (22:59):
Just bring your guys around.
Speaker 4 (23:00):
You would pay a TAXI, why would you not pay her?
So everybody was just like, oh, Jesus personally go like
twenty quid into like the recal story. So it was
always such a lovely natural way of interacting. And then
I went to watch the Saint Patrick's parade in Lockray, right,
And then I realized when I was watching the parade
with a friend of mine that I knew all the
leads that were in the parade. They were driving the tractors,
(23:22):
drinking a pint of Gainness as they were driving on
the parade, and I was looking at it, and I
was like, God, I am really part of this because
I know all them leads, I know all their stories,
I know the whole lot. And that's the beauty of
becoming a local. In my case, I was working a
very different magic, but very very beautiful.
Speaker 5 (23:43):
If the marker of belonging in a place is walking
down the street and seeing a person, you know, I
might be able to check that box off. You know
what's funny is I think I saw you yesterday?
Speaker 6 (23:56):
Really?
Speaker 5 (23:56):
Yeah? Right? When I read arrived, the city was walking up.
It made the world feel smorlow. I was surprised to
learn that my Cuban hinge date Mark is from the
US and he's been living in Galway for over six years.
He was also a child actor, and he starred in
(24:19):
some of the shows and movies I watched religiously on
the Disney Channel as a kid. How's that for familiarity.
Two hours go by and we're seated at a table
inside of a coffee shop that looks exactly like the
coffee shops back home in Brooklyn, and it's a wonderful date.
At the end, we're both buzzing and he says, I
(24:42):
have a workout class now, but do you want to
hang out when I'm done. This would have been a
lot if I was back home, but since I'm only
in town for three more days, I say yes. Plus,
I'm travel Julie. I'm not regular Julie. Travel Julie is
more confident, more outgoing, more adventurous. I go back to
(25:04):
the hostel after the date to get ready for part two,
and I meet my new bunkmate. She's also traveling alone,
and she tells me that she's feeling lonely. She asks
me if I want to get dinner. I tell her
I have plans, and I feel a little guilty because
it's easy to escape into someone else rather than sit
(25:25):
with the challenge of being alone. I also sort of
feel like I'm cheating my way out of my mission.
If I do disappear into a whirlwind romance, I probably
won't go back to the pub. I will have found
my belonging as somebody else's plus one. But as fate
would have it, Mark texts me an hour later something
(25:48):
came up. He got an audition, which sometimes happens at
night because of the time change in LA he can't
meet me for part two of our date. I'm a
little disappointed, but luckily I do have a place where
I can go to get some support. How are you
(26:08):
going to see you again? I was here yesterday, Julie. Yeah.
I good to see you. Julie yeah. Can I get
the same sour a guy yesterday? The ginger sour? Thank you.
I tell Sean about my date. It leads us into
a deeper conversation about who we both are outside of
the pub. Sean likes to rave. His favorite writer is
(26:31):
James Joyce and he's a really big fan of Mayor Zorn.
Mom Donnie, the woman with the anxious dog, is back too.
She shows me her forearm tattoo and why she thinks
it's infected, and then her dog crawls into my lap
and stays there the whole night. Sean's last day is
tomorrow before he quits to pursue his writing career, So
(26:53):
on my way out the door that night, I say, tomorrow,
we celebrate you after the break. How my very last
night at the pub turns into a minor crime. The
(27:17):
next morning, I wake up with dog hair on my
sweater and a swell of gratitude that I have the
privilege to board a plane, visit a new country, and
be welcomed by strangers into intimate places like the pub.
But belonging goes both ways. I've spent all week asking
Galway to make room for me. I haven't asked what
(27:39):
my being here does to them. Can a place protect
what's its own while sharing it with curious visitors like me?
I found the perfect place to chase that question, and
it requires a field trip.
Speaker 2 (27:54):
Did you come to a little bridge, go over the
bridge and straight out to see you hit the.
Speaker 5 (27:58):
Ocean, but i driver directs me to the ferry that
will take me to the Aran Islands, twenty miles off
the coast of the Galway Bay. They're historically one of
the most isolated parts of Ireland, one of the last
to be colonized by the British, and for that reason
they're one of the few remaining places where you'll frequently
(28:18):
hear people speaking the Irish language. But today they're also
a massive tourist destination. I'm visiting the smallest of the
Aran Islands in a sheer because up until the late eighties,
cargo ships couldn't even pull up to its shore, so
everything that came onto the island had to be physically
(28:40):
handed through the side door of a cargo ship and
onto a small wooden boat the size of a canoe.
Speaker 7 (28:47):
Anchored about quarter of mile out the bay, and bob
and no waven and up and down with the swell,
trying to hand babies and livestock and everything in an
outro small cargo door.
Speaker 5 (28:59):
That's Martin talking about the caraffs or the canoe size boats.
The Karaff was their tiny bridge to the outside world
until the port opened up in the late eighties. As
I'm biking through the island. Martin flags me down from
the side of the road to invite me to the
museum he and his friends built celebrating the history of
(29:19):
the cararaff. There was something that was protected because you
guys were so inaccessible for so long.
Speaker 7 (29:26):
Exactly it was basically it never changed really really up
until those years eighty eight eighty nine, the islanders were
almost self sufficient. They didn't really rely on supplies because
they could make everything and anything. They had so many
different crafts and so many different traditions that were handed
down cultures through the generations.
Speaker 5 (29:47):
You guys went from being very self sufficient with these caraffs.
When did tourism start.
Speaker 7 (29:52):
It would have been going on to beck to the
forties or fifties or so. Yeah, it would have started
off obviously small numbers, tiny numbers.
Speaker 5 (29:59):
In the forties fifties, tourists would have to board a
cargo ship to visit in Ashear, only to be handed
off to a car off.
Speaker 7 (30:07):
There have been huge excitement trying to be the first
car alongside the cargo boat because you kind of would
have first DIBs on the tours Like they started off
very small, very slowly, very very gently, like an kind
of just basically expand and expanding every year since basically like.
Speaker 5 (30:25):
Yeah, today with the islands, new port ferries full of
tourists like me arrived to in Asher multiple times a
day every day. Tourism has a huge presence.
Speaker 7 (30:38):
I suppose we're kind of heavily reliant on it now
with the minute as well, because we don't have many
factories or anything like that. A lot of work through
tours and like new cafes and new restaurants and new bmb's,
So yeah, we're lucky really at the minute.
Speaker 5 (30:55):
It's hard to see it purely as luck when we're
standing in museums celebrating the boats that once kept in
a sheer self reliant. Now the island's economy relies on
visits from people like me. As a visitor, I am
always changing a place, rarely for the better. Look no
(31:18):
further than Mexico City, gentrified beyond recognition by a swarm
of digital nomads, and it doesn't really matter if they
identify as tourists, travelers, or pilgrims. And it makes me
wonder if I even have a right to this feeling
of belonging when I'm just another part of an industry
(31:41):
that extracts. I'm really grateful that I stopped in with Martin.
I try to buy a T shirt off of him,
but he doesn't have my size. And then I arrived
to the ferry three hours later, and there he is
standing by the fairy entrance. He found the right size
T shirt, he told me. He lets me pay for it,
(32:01):
and I give him a really big hug. I bored
the ferry back to Continental Ireland. When I arrive, it's
a thirty minute walk to the bus stop, but my
bus leaves in twenty minutes. So in that moment, I
decide to do something I have never done before. I
stick my thumb out on the side of the road
(32:21):
to hitchhike. Cars are zooming past me, all of them
making eye contact. Two older men in a car even
roll down their window just to laugh at me. More
than fifteen cars later, someone pulls over to the side
of the road. I immediately recognize them. It's a family
(32:42):
from the US that I had met on the ferry.
Oh my gosh, you really saved me. You don't see
that much anymore these days. This is the first time
I've done it. I asked them to drop me off
at the bus to Galway, which is when we realize
we're both headed in the same direction.
Speaker 8 (33:01):
I'm sure you don't want to stay to this, we're
going back to going.
Speaker 5 (33:04):
Oh you guys are yeah, you know what? Sure why?
We drive the two hours back to Galway after making
a detour to see the Cliffs of Mohair. On the
car ride back, we chat about the highlights of our
respective trips through Ireland. We don't touch American politics, which
(33:24):
I'm grateful for. And when we arrive back to Galway,
they invite me out to dinner, but I've got plans
to meet Mark from Hinge, or at least I thought, Hey.
Speaker 6 (33:37):
I hope you're not trapped on the island, and definitely
because as fate would have it, I am not able
to hang out tonight, unfortunately, And that is really sincerely,
no genuine reflection of wanting to hang out. I really
(34:01):
liked meeting yesterday. I'm connecting and I wish you were
here for like a couple of weeks, and I'm sorry
that my yeah, and I'm not able to make the time.
I'd like to make.
Speaker 5 (34:20):
Mark and I meet the next day for coffee. He
takes me on a beautiful walk by the river. We
walk with our shoulders brushing, and we stop across the
bank from an abandoned castle. As we're watching the water
flow by, he tells me about something called the black
Rock Diving Board. It's at Salt Hill Beach. Apparently locals
(34:42):
love to dive off of it into the freezing ocean
to swim. The idea is enticing, but I hadn't taken
my coat off the entire trip. The air alone in
Ireland is freezing, and it's also my last afternoon in Galway.
So I tell myself that I'll check it out on
(35:02):
my next visit. Yes, I am already planning my next visit.
I mean, I feel so comfortable in this city, my
pub and my publican, and the salsa community, and the
helpful strangers and this person that I want to see again.
I feel like I built a little home away from home.
So I decide right there, surely I'll be back. We
(35:26):
hug goodbye, and he gives me a recommendation for a
craft shop nearby, and then later in a voice message,
he finds out that my afternoon took a different turn. Hey,
so I'm at the diving board right now. After we
(35:47):
parted ways, I went to the craft shop and I
actually bought this print of a woman jumping off of
the diving board. And when I took it to the
ShopKeep to pay, she was like, oh, did.
Speaker 6 (36:00):
You go there?
Speaker 5 (36:01):
And I said no, I'm going to keep it on
my wall as a reminder to come back someday. And
she said, oh, well, you know you've still got time.
And so I booked it back to the hostel, changed,
got on a bus, got on the wrong bus actually,
so then I had to take an uber And now
I'm here in my sports bra and running pants. I
(36:25):
just tried it with a really nice man and he
told me that it's twelve degrees in the water, and
I think I'm going to jump in, you know. I figure,
I'm just going to do it while i'm here, just
take the plunge. But it was really lovely to meet you,
Like I feel like time really flew while we were talking,
(36:47):
and I think that's really special. I'm pretty rare and
you're a part of why this trip has felt really special,
and I'm going to hold on to that. This is insane.
Of course, I jumped off the diving board because as
(37:08):
much as I travel to feel like I live in
a new place, I also love the urgency of remembering
that I don't. That urgency is the engine of discovery.
And yes, I travel to discover new places, new customs
and perspectives, but I also travel to meet new parts
(37:30):
of myself. Who am I when I'm alone without the
context of what makes me me back home? Who am
I when I'm not people pleasing, when I'm not waiting
for permission, thinking things through a million times? Who am
I when I decide today is the day I take
(37:52):
the plunge. As much as I want to come back
to Galway, the truth is I rarely travel back to
a place once I visited. Even when I do feel
at home there, there's just so much of the world
I want to see. It's my last night in Galway.
(38:16):
The salsa dancers I met on my first afternoon invite
me to dance at a bar in town. We dance
for a few hours before I head to my pub
for the last time. It's bartender Shan's last night, and
I'm feeling excited to celebrate him. But when I walk in,
Sean isn't behind the bar, and my heart drops. All
(38:37):
this time building this connection. What am I supposed to
do now? This new bartender is a guy I've never
seen before, and he's gruff with dark circles under his eyes,
and he barks at me for my drink order. It's
clear that he's not having a good day. I don't
(38:58):
even try to engage with him. I'm drinking my beer
in silence, watching my dream of becoming a regular swirl
down the drain with the overflow of Guinness foam. But
then the song Waterfalls by TLC comes onto this speaker
(39:19):
who I heard this song today in the shower with Terry.
Speaker 4 (39:25):
I was like, I love his song.
Speaker 5 (39:27):
I forget I love this And to my surprise, this
new bartender starts singing, and then I start singing sort
of at him. I ask him if he's got any
more music by TLC in his rotation. He plays no
scrubs and I hype him up. He introduces himself. His
(39:48):
name is Killian, and then I watch him go to
the iPad and put on Pink Pony Club. We do
at a few more chapel Rone songs, and then Sean
appears and then its final and then the dog is
in my lap again, and somebody at the bar, buys
us all a shot of Yaeger, and an instant later,
(40:09):
the music is off, the lights are on, and the
door is locked. There's six of us left in the bar.
It's me, the two bartenders, their guy friend, and a
lesbian couple breaking up in the back corner. Iconic Killian
and Sean are stacking the barstools on the table, and
(40:31):
I keep hearing them say the word lock in, and
so I say, what's a lock in? And they say, well,
it's illegal, but it's when we close down the bar
and we keep drinking, and he hands me another Guinness.
I look around and the metal grates on the windows
(40:51):
are indeed completely closed from the outside. Nobody knows that
we're here, and I think to myself, I've done it.
I've become a regular. I'm so regular, I'm doing crime.
And with the lights on and the music off, we
really start chatting. We chat about leftist politics, about the
(41:16):
public school system in Ireland. We do talk about potatoes,
but I didn't bring it up. And I knew that
the Irish were quick witted, but I'm learning that they're
just as quick with their sincerity. And then the lesbian
couple emerges from the back corner of the bar. They're
wrapping up their marathon breakup and they announce that they're leaving.
(41:40):
And the second they're gone, it dawns on me. I'm drunk,
locked inside of a bar with three men I just
met and none of my friends know. I turn around
to face the door and Killian's holding it open. He
looks at me and he mouths, are you okay, and
(42:05):
in a very exaggerated way, I say.
Speaker 2 (42:08):
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah.
Speaker 5 (42:11):
Maybe it's a little people pleasey, but I really want
to stay. This is the adventure I was hoping for.
This is the feeling I wanted. But I also hear
a little voice in my head saying you should probably go.
And when you're Solita and you hear that little voice,
(42:34):
I've learned that you should listen. I turn back to
Killian and I see he still has the door propped open.
He's smoking a cigarette now and he mouths to me,
you can leave whenever you want. So I pick up
(42:56):
my coat, I say my goodbyes, I give Sean a
big hug, and I will never forget Killian holding the
door open, offering to walk me home, and all I
can muster to say to him is you're my publican.
That's my publican. I don't know that I will ever
(43:22):
feel what my elderly Irish friend felt when he called
his publican every night on the Camino. Three knights and
a lockin certainly won't get me there. But what I
did find was that my publican had my back. And
this is what I find over and over and over
when I travel alone, whether I'm in Ireland, in Morocco
(43:45):
or the Dominican Republic, I find that people are more
good than they are bad. And when you're alone, you're
more receptive to that message. You're more receptive to the
world as it is and not the lies that you've
been sold about it. And yes, you could anticipate the
(44:06):
worst case scenario, but I bet you couldn't even dream
of the best one. And that's what keeps me traveling, Solita.
That's why I want to keep sharing more of these stories.
So I started talking to more Solitas. Carl I got
Hella stories. This season, we got Hella stories. I can
(44:29):
wait four hours for the next bus, or this random
dude is offering me a ride on his motorcycle. You're
about to turn forty. What are you going to do
with your life when you get bad? You honked up
with the air Marshals.
Speaker 1 (44:41):
Yeah I did.
Speaker 5 (44:44):
I'm on a mission to demystify solo travel, starting by
tackling the biggest misconceptions.
Speaker 8 (44:51):
I went to Past nine to go to the West Bank.
I really wanted to see the part that you don't
get to see, and I just want to know how
the people live. So it's so interesting you say travel alone,
because even when I go somewhere alone, I end up
meeting people and I never feel like I'm actually traveling alone.
Speaker 1 (45:05):
Right.
Speaker 5 (45:06):
These are stories of solitas made so that solitas everywhere
feel a little less solita. Each episode, I sit down
with a woman who went out into the world and
came back with a story, not a glossy Instagram post,
an honest story.
Speaker 3 (45:24):
After all of this solo travel, it became my default thing.
I was like, I'm just gonna go feel something else,
somewhere else.
Speaker 2 (45:31):
It never fixed anything.
Speaker 3 (45:33):
Like flying away. Taking a flight never fixed anything. It
did allow me to know myself in different ways.
Speaker 5 (45:44):
I really hope this podcast helps you take the plunge
on your own solo trip. I'm at the point, Julie, honestly,
where if I do not solo travel, it's like being
emotionally constipated. We'll drop a new episode every Tuesday. Whether
you're a solo travel veteran or you're just warming up
to the idea, I hope you'll listen. Solita is a
(46:09):
production of iHeart Podcasts and No Floaties Productions. I'm your host,
Julie Binnetro. Our producers are me and Mary Do, with
consulting from Emily Maronoff and Kate Mansberger, Editing, mixing and
mastering by Mary Doo and engineered by Bihied Fraser and
Paul Bowman. Our theme song is by ballun Cover art
(46:31):
is by Me, with finishing touches by Studio Lee and
Our executive producers are Me, Julie Binnetro, and Jason English.
If you like this episode, please tell a friend and
don't forget to rate, review, and subscribe to Solita on
the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, and wherever you get your
favorite shows.
What prompted you to solo travel for the first time.
Speaker 2 (00:07):
I wanted to see her and it was now or ever.
Speaker 3 (00:09):
You don't see that much anymore these days.
Speaker 1 (00:12):
This is the first time I've done it.
Speaker 4 (00:16):
They were very intrigued by me walking in there, because
I went pretty much crocodile dum d.
Speaker 5 (00:21):
Can I get the same sour got yesterday? The ginger sour?
So I'm at the diving board right now and I
think I'm going to jump in. This is insane.
Speaker 1 (00:35):
Were you nervous about anything?
Speaker 2 (00:37):
Yes? Everything.
Speaker 5 (00:47):
This is Solita stories of what really happens when you
travel alone, the beautiful, the messy, and the moments where
you say yes and surprise yourself. I'm your host, Julie Pine.
The first time I ever traveled by myself was on accident.
I was twenty one years old, studying abroad in Barcelona.
(01:10):
I planned a spring break trip to Italy with some
Americans from my program, and then a few days before
the trip they all dropped out. But I still wanted
to go, so I did. I visited Rome, Florence, Milan,
and Cinque Terre completely solita. I expected to feel lonely, but
I found that I met more people because I was alone,
(01:34):
I made more eye contact, I asked for help, I
got more invites, like the time I said yes when
a group of strangers invited me to dinner, where the
restaurant owner flooded us with free lemon cello. He ignored
the other patrons just so he could calmly sit and
tell us his stories. That whole night felt like magic.
(01:55):
When my semester in Barcelona ended, I wanted to keep traveling,
but I was as a broke student. So I asked
around and I discovered one of the cheapest ways to
stay in Europe was to walk across it on a
trail called El Camino Santiago Compostela, otherwise known as El Camino.
(02:15):
The main Gamino path is a five hundred mile walk
across the north of Spain. I carried everything on my back.
I slept in hostels for no more than eight euro
a night. I woke up at dawn. I ate cans
of tuna on the side of the road, and I
prayed in churches that my feet wouldn't give in too blisters.
(02:36):
And the beautiful thing about the Gamino is that even
if you choose to walk it alone, you're never really alone.
My first few days, I sinked my pace with an
elderly Irish man who was walking his own solo trail.
He was in his seventies, following in the literal footsteps
(02:56):
of his late daughter, she completed the Gamino alone a
few years back, and then she sadly took her own
life earlier that year. He walked with her Camino passport
in hand, which tracked her exact route with stamps from
the hostels and restaurants she visited. As we followed her
trail together, I started to notice that this elderly man
(03:20):
called the same person every night before bed. I assumed
it was a family member, maybe his wife, but when
I asked him, he told me it was his publican.
That's when I learned that in Ireland, the publican is
the guy who runs your local pub. So my new
friend was doing pillow talk with his bartender. I was tickled.
(03:43):
It was a ritual that screamed, go take on the world,
but hurry back. You belong here in this pub. I imagined
the Irish pub as this magical place where, of course
everyone knows your name, but also your mom's name and
your bad moods and your favorite song, and now the
stories of how you conquered Spain on foot. I finished
(04:07):
the Camino and I continued my travels across the world alone.
In Morocco, I learned to surf. During the quiet months
of Ramadan. In Tijuana, I made friends with Lucha libtefighters
and Argentina. I fell asleep on a bus, woke up
in the wrong town, and then lived there for over
a month. I was the girl on the back of
(04:28):
the vespa in Monaco. I flew to Edinburgh just to
see the clowns. And I've contracted dysentery and bedbugs more
times than I would ever admit on a podcast. Now
I prefer traveling by myself, even when I do have
people to go with. It's where I'm closest to my
own curiosities. And you know what, fifteen years later, I'm
(04:53):
still thinking about that irishman and his publican. What did
he have in that pub? And what is the DNA
of that feeling of belonging? Could I ever belong in
a pub in Ireland? How much could I even belong
in a new place when I'm just passing through Solita?
(05:14):
Now I know I can't answer these questions from the
Solita headquarters of my bedroom closet in Brooklyn. So in
the spring of twenty twenty six, when I get my
own chance to travel to Ireland, I make it my mission.
I'm going to become a regular at an Irish pub.
Speaker 1 (05:33):
What was it fifteen years ago?
Speaker 5 (05:35):
I was doing the Caminoda Santiiro, which is like a
pilgrimage walk.
Speaker 1 (05:39):
Across the north of Spain, the Camino the Camino.
Speaker 5 (05:43):
I started my Ireland trip in Dublin for one night
before traveling to a tiny mountain town called Kilfinnan for
an audio arts festival. That's where I met John and
we quickly became friends. John's in his late fifties. His
family's been in Ireland for generations and he inherited the
family farm, although he retired early, saying he was bad
(06:04):
at farming. John offered to drive me to the bus
station where I'd be catching my bus to Galway to
start my five days of solo traveling. So, of course
I took the opportunity to pick his brain about the
importance of publicans. Do people not usually have that much
of a relationship with Republicans? Oh?
Speaker 1 (06:21):
In a small tone, you do absolutely, yeah, you have
that relation. Oh god, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what.
Speaker 5 (06:26):
That's Well, when I'm in Galway, my mission is to
try to become a local at a pub.
Speaker 1 (06:33):
Okay, what did that involve? I don't know who's going
to win the match? What do you think it involves.
Do you think it's possible? Well? Probably probably not. How
long are you inna go before four nights? Okay? If
you go in there every night, you know you'll be
You won't be a regular, but you will be a
(06:55):
you will be known. How long do you think you
have to go to become a regular?
Speaker 4 (06:59):
I would say in your case, being a bit of
a looker, I would say if there was a man
behind the counter, i'd say the second night.
Speaker 5 (07:07):
Oh god, but that sounds like a bad regular.
Speaker 1 (07:10):
No, no, no, what's it like in New York? I mean,
do you know? No, I don't go.
Speaker 5 (07:14):
There's a bar in my neighborhood.
Speaker 1 (07:16):
It's a little too expensive.
Speaker 5 (07:17):
I would never go every night because it's just as
a part of the It's not lady.
Speaker 1 (07:24):
It's not lady. Why do you say that, I'm gone
be old fashioned over That's not the case. That's not
the case here. No, but I mean, I was.
Speaker 5 (07:33):
At a pub in Dublin and I had this really
friendly older gentleman buy me a drink, and when he
found out I was alone, he was like, Oh, I'm
going to stick by you because I actually I just
don't want you to be lonely. You're a woman here alone.
And I thought it was really well intentioned.
Speaker 1 (07:48):
Oh, I'm sure it was.
Speaker 5 (07:49):
It was well intentioned.
Speaker 1 (07:50):
I thought he was a sweetheart. And I also thought
it was like.
Speaker 5 (07:54):
It was showing something inappropriate. No, but like I didn't
need to be protected in that way, like I can
find for myself being alone, and I actually sort of
like being alone. In Spanish, a female alone translates to sola.
Solita is a little more complicated. That diminutive etha gives
(08:18):
the word a layer of pity. Ah she's alone, poor thing.
In Puerto Rico, where my family's from. It also invites
gossip or cheese me ahino solita, Ah, she came alone.
You'll never guess why solita gets wielded against women, as
if being alone is a mark of failure. But when
(08:42):
a woman reclaims the word for herself, say being a solita,
she's owning the power of solitude as a deliberate tool
of possibility. When I tell people I'm traveling alone, I
get one of two opposite responses. First is disbelief. They
(09:02):
say I'm brave, maybe reckless. They show concern, They ask
about safety, about loneliness, as if I shouldn't be doing it.
The other response is a resounding applause, which I will
credit with the popularity of the early aughts book and
movie Eat Pray Love. This response assumes that the world
(09:24):
is simply a backdrop from my journey of personal transformation,
which is a Western fantasy, and neither of these responses
leaves room for the reality. Traveling alone as a woman
is risky, and it's beautiful, and it's messy, and you'll
probably learn over and over that the world is not
(09:47):
your oyster. But I don't think that that should hold
women back from taking the plunge, and the numbers show
it hasn't. A study found that over three quarters of
all solo travelers identified as women in twenty twenty five US.
Women make eighty two percent of all travel decisions in
(10:07):
the home, so it makes sense that they turn their
decision making onto themselves. There was a huge uptick in
Google searches for the phrase solo female travel in twenty
twenty two, and then something broke open at the end
of twenty twenty five because those Google searches hid an
all time high, nearly tripling overnight. Experts say that the
(10:28):
broader shift points to women having more socioeconomic independence. Look
at women from ages twenty five to forty four, Morgan
Stanley predicts that in just five years, almost half of
those women will be single. They're not only free from
the financial responsibilities of having to raise a family, they
also don't have the built in travel buddies. But it's
(10:51):
not just women in childbearing ages. It's also women like Chris,
who I met in my hostel in Ireland.
Speaker 1 (10:59):
How long have you been solo traveling? First experience? And
how old are you?
Speaker 2 (11:03):
Sixty?
Speaker 1 (11:04):
And what prompted you to solo travel for the first time?
Speaker 2 (11:07):
I wanted to see her and it was now or ever?
Speaker 1 (11:10):
Were you hoping somebody would come with you?
Speaker 2 (11:12):
I had asked my son to come, but he couldn't
get the time off, so I didn't want anyone else.
I want to do what I want when I want.
Speaker 1 (11:19):
Were you nervous about anything? Yes?
Speaker 2 (11:22):
Everything?
Speaker 5 (11:25):
In a study of almost three thousand solo female travelers,
personal safety is the number one worry. Number two is
higher costs. The next few worries something bad will happen,
language barriers, and a worry about dining alone, feeling lonely
and getting lost. Hi, is this the best to gall it?
Speaker 6 (11:47):
Yeah?
Speaker 1 (11:47):
Great, you got to get her.
Speaker 5 (11:49):
What time is this and it's four thirty? Oh that's
six thirty. Oh shoot, I get my Times message. Is
it okay?
Speaker 1 (12:00):
Take this one? Thank you so much for your kindness.
Thank you.
Speaker 5 (12:05):
If you couldn't tell by me booking the wrong bus ticket.
I'm a type B traveler. The only thing I really
book when I arrive to a place is my accommodations.
I book a hostel in the center of Galway, walking
distance to dozens of pubs, and then the rest of
my plans I leave up to chance. And since I'm single,
(12:27):
why not crack the door open for a bit of fun.
On the bus to Galway, I open Hinge and I
edit my profile to say I'm traveling from New York
looking for someone to show me their favorite spots in town.
I start swiping and one of the first profiles is
a man named Mark. He's cute, he's creative, and he's Cuban.
(12:49):
I message him, saying, another Latino in Ireland, and within
an hour we've made plans to get coffee. The next day.
I step off the bus in Galway, drop my bag
off in the hostel, and head out for my first
walk around the city. And within four minutes of my walk,
I spot Mark from Hinge outside of a pub. I
(13:11):
avoid him for now and wait for tomorrow's date, but
obviously I voice note my best friend, how small is
this city? Literally just spotted him on the steps of
a pub. That's fucking crazy. I keep walking, and just
twenty minutes later I start to hear Puerto Rican SOUTHSA
(13:32):
music blaring down the street, music from my tiny archipelago
in the Caribbean here in Ireland. I run over, Are
you guys dancing?
Speaker 7 (13:43):
So yeah?
Speaker 5 (13:54):
New York, New York. They offer me a beer and
we dance for over an hour. They invite me to
come dance with them at a local pub. Later on
that week, a woman from Uruguay named Pamela tells me
that she works at a nearby bakery. I told her
I would definitely stop in the next morning for coffee.
(14:15):
Thank you. I visited Pamela for the same reason I'm
wanting to become a regular at a pub. It's something
that I chase in every new place I visit. I
travel the world hoping to see something new, but to
(14:38):
feel familiarity. One of the world's most famous travel writers,
Rick Steves, has written about it. He outlines three different
ways to travel. He says you can either travel as
a tourist, a traveler, or a pilgrim. A tourist is
there to consume. They seek relaxation, entertainment, and escape from
(15:02):
their regular life. On the opposite side of that spectrum
is the pilgrim. They're there to challenge themselves in search
of some sort of personal transformation. And then right there
in the middle between the tourist and the pilgrim is
the traveler. The traveler arrives to a due place wanting
(15:25):
to be a temporary local. They're willing to exchange comfort
for realness, hoping to immerse themselves in the experience of
what it might be like to actually live there. And
I don't really stick out as a visitor in Ireland
as a white Latina, I have the privilege of not
(15:45):
getting bothered by racial microaggressions or stereotypes or intrusive questions
about my heritage or appearance. White women have been at
the center of popular Western narratives of female solo travel,
so these nuance of identity are often under explored, and
I do think my diasporic identity plays into my desire
(16:08):
to become a temporary local. I grew up in the
continental US with two parents from Puerto Rico who had
only just moved from the archipelago a year before I
was born. I grew up feeling like I was neither
Kei Nida. Yeah, neither from here nor from there. So
(16:29):
when I travel, I'm always sort of seeking an understanding
of what it's like to belong to that place. Now,
the only thing missing is my regular pub, so I
hit the road to start looking for it. Yeah, that
(16:49):
one didn't really even have a bar or anywhere.
Speaker 1 (16:52):
In the city was kind of empty.
Speaker 5 (16:53):
Group is there an upstairs? I stop into it. Least
least seven pubs on my first night in Galway. I
need to find a pub within walking distance to my
hostel for safety late at night, but they're all full
of other tourists, so I give up on my search
for the night, and I go back to my hostel discouraged.
(17:16):
I lay in bed with a bad case of the
night one blues. It happens almost every trip. On the
first night, I'm tired, feeling out of place without my
usual comforts and routines, asking myself what am I doing here?
I'm spending my hard earned money on myself, hoping to
(17:40):
find something profound. I can't even find a pub. I
almost give up on my mission completely until the next night.
I've exhausted all the old school Irish pubs within walking distance,
and so when I pass a craft beer bar, I
walk in, Hey are you yeah?
Speaker 7 (18:01):
It is?
Speaker 5 (18:03):
I don't know what's like your specialty here. I've been
given three pieces of advice for becoming a regular at
a pub. One go regularly, two make friends with the staff,
and three have good crack which stay with me here
translates to creating good banter at the bar. So I
(18:23):
walk in and immediately I connect with the bartender, Sean.
Today is Monday, and Sean tells me that on Wednesday,
my last day in Ireland, he's quitting his job at
the pub to finally pursue his career as a writer.
And I can't help but cheer him on. I talk
to the woman at the bar next to me. She's
here every night because her dog is scared of other dogs,
(18:46):
so eleven pm is the only time she can take
her for a walk. I ask Sean for a drink recommendation,
and he pours me a sour beer, which feels scandalous
in the land of Guinness. I leave after two beers.
I don't like to get drunk when I travel by myself,
and on my way out the door, I say, see
you guys tomorrow. Did I just find my pub? After
(19:11):
the break? A whirlwind romance that stops before it starts.
One of the best parts of traveling by yourself is
(19:31):
asking for help. You really can't pretend that you know everything,
and being by yourself, people tend to go out of
their way to help you. When I go on a
free walking tour, which is one of my favorite things
to do in a new city, I ask my guide
Anna if she has any advice for my mission to
become a regular at a pub. Anna is an immigrant
(19:54):
from Brazil and she's been in Ireland for ten years.
She fell in love with this country. He came an
Irish historian and it turns out pubs actually shaped her welcome.
So when I tell her about my elderly Irish friend
from the Camino, she helps me fill in some of
the blanks I see.
Speaker 4 (20:14):
Everybody in the pub was actually just like, oh geez,
you know, like do you know Sheamus, He's just going
up now doing the Camino like Jesus Christ. Fair play
to him, you know, like the whole lot. And then
he would just ring from there and just share a
few of the stories with the public, you know, which
your men, the bartender or something. Then he would share
all the news around, you know, because you have to
think not just what you were doing on your side,
(20:34):
that you were just chatting with your meny he was
ringing the public and every time, but imagine the impact
of his actions back here in Ireland, like me coming
from Brazil, you know, the population of Ireland is the
same population of just my city alone.
Speaker 2 (20:47):
And I love.
Speaker 4 (20:49):
Being a small country liketist. And in Ireland there was
just this immediate gentleness, like they look you up and down.
They know, we're just like, oh, come in here, one
of us now.
Speaker 5 (20:57):
I tell Anna about my fascination with pubs, and it
turns out when she first arrived to Ireland, one of
the first few jobs she could get was as a publican.
Speaker 4 (21:09):
Okay, I can tell you a funny story about that. So,
So I used to work in a pub called the
Old Triangle in Lockray, just outside of go Away, like
small little town, you know, just all the drinking regulars
would be like, you know, older men and they're like
fifty sixty seventies plus ish kind of vibe. There'll be
like a karaoke every Friday night. There would be like
(21:31):
country music every Saturday night. It was hopping, you know,
like it was the place. They were very intrigued by
me walking in there because I went pretty much Crocodile
Dundee style. I really needed a job and I never
worked in a pub before, just arrived in Ireland, and
I said, listen, I do need a job. I'm competent.
I'll go for it, like see what I can do
if I get a trial. And first of all, I
couldn't understand what my boss was saying. He taught like
(21:55):
and I was like, I have no chance of working here.
I can't even understand your man bosh. I went for
I managed and I learned very quickly the gift of
the gap, you know, the chatting, the understanding and the locals.
They go to a pub, and they continue going to
a pub for a reason because they're well taken care
of there. It becomes a natural dance once you learn it.
(22:15):
I used to be the main person behind the bar,
you know, just you know, kind of locking up and everything,
and I would be there just pouring a few slow
pines for them, as they call it. And then I
realized at some point in my life that my social
life was basically just having the full on chats with
those like five six older leads and then in the
end of the night just being the taxi driver to
all of them. And it was just the most hilarious
(22:37):
thing because I would have my car full of them
leads and me being like the baby streit, just like,
oh let's go and behavior, oh gid, you cannot smoke
in here or go on or get out now. And
you know, I wasn't expecting for any payment to bring
them around, you know, and any of that. But one
day my boss will be like, whit a minute, you know,
because you always poke like a dinosaur. I was like,
wait a minute, have you you guys have no shame
of yourself, Jesus Christ, look at this young lady there.
Speaker 2 (22:59):
Just bring your guys around.
Speaker 4 (23:00):
You would pay a TAXI, why would you not pay her?
So everybody was just like, oh, Jesus personally go like
twenty quid into like the recal story. So it was
always such a lovely natural way of interacting. And then
I went to watch the Saint Patrick's parade in Lockray, right,
And then I realized when I was watching the parade
with a friend of mine that I knew all the
leads that were in the parade. They were driving the tractors,
(23:22):
drinking a pint of Gainness as they were driving on
the parade, and I was looking at it, and I
was like, God, I am really part of this because
I know all them leads, I know all their stories,
I know the whole lot. And that's the beauty of
becoming a local. In my case, I was working a
very different magic, but very very beautiful.
Speaker 5 (23:43):
If the marker of belonging in a place is walking
down the street and seeing a person, you know, I
might be able to check that box off. You know
what's funny is I think I saw you yesterday?
Speaker 6 (23:56):
Really?
Speaker 5 (23:56):
Yeah? Right? When I read arrived, the city was walking up.
It made the world feel smorlow. I was surprised to
learn that my Cuban hinge date Mark is from the
US and he's been living in Galway for over six years.
He was also a child actor, and he starred in
(24:19):
some of the shows and movies I watched religiously on
the Disney Channel as a kid. How's that for familiarity.
Two hours go by and we're seated at a table
inside of a coffee shop that looks exactly like the
coffee shops back home in Brooklyn, and it's a wonderful date.
At the end, we're both buzzing and he says, I
(24:42):
have a workout class now, but do you want to
hang out when I'm done. This would have been a
lot if I was back home, but since I'm only
in town for three more days, I say yes. Plus,
I'm travel Julie. I'm not regular Julie. Travel Julie is
more confident, more outgoing, more adventurous. I go back to
(25:04):
the hostel after the date to get ready for part two,
and I meet my new bunkmate. She's also traveling alone,
and she tells me that she's feeling lonely. She asks
me if I want to get dinner. I tell her
I have plans, and I feel a little guilty because
it's easy to escape into someone else rather than sit
(25:25):
with the challenge of being alone. I also sort of
feel like I'm cheating my way out of my mission.
If I do disappear into a whirlwind romance, I probably
won't go back to the pub. I will have found
my belonging as somebody else's plus one. But as fate
would have it, Mark texts me an hour later something
(25:48):
came up. He got an audition, which sometimes happens at
night because of the time change in LA he can't
meet me for part two of our date. I'm a
little disappointed, but luckily I do have a place where
I can go to get some support. How are you
(26:08):
going to see you again? I was here yesterday, Julie. Yeah.
I good to see you. Julie yeah. Can I get
the same sour a guy yesterday? The ginger sour? Thank you.
I tell Sean about my date. It leads us into
a deeper conversation about who we both are outside of
the pub. Sean likes to rave. His favorite writer is
(26:31):
James Joyce and he's a really big fan of Mayor Zorn.
Mom Donnie, the woman with the anxious dog, is back too.
She shows me her forearm tattoo and why she thinks
it's infected, and then her dog crawls into my lap
and stays there the whole night. Sean's last day is
tomorrow before he quits to pursue his writing career, So
(26:53):
on my way out the door that night, I say, tomorrow,
we celebrate you after the break. How my very last
night at the pub turns into a minor crime. The
(27:17):
next morning, I wake up with dog hair on my
sweater and a swell of gratitude that I have the
privilege to board a plane, visit a new country, and
be welcomed by strangers into intimate places like the pub.
But belonging goes both ways. I've spent all week asking
Galway to make room for me. I haven't asked what
(27:39):
my being here does to them. Can a place protect
what's its own while sharing it with curious visitors like me?
I found the perfect place to chase that question, and
it requires a field trip.
Speaker 2 (27:54):
Did you come to a little bridge, go over the
bridge and straight out to see you hit the.
Speaker 5 (27:58):
Ocean, but i driver directs me to the ferry that
will take me to the Aran Islands, twenty miles off
the coast of the Galway Bay. They're historically one of
the most isolated parts of Ireland, one of the last
to be colonized by the British, and for that reason
they're one of the few remaining places where you'll frequently
(28:18):
hear people speaking the Irish language. But today they're also
a massive tourist destination. I'm visiting the smallest of the
Aran Islands in a sheer because up until the late eighties,
cargo ships couldn't even pull up to its shore, so
everything that came onto the island had to be physically
(28:40):
handed through the side door of a cargo ship and
onto a small wooden boat the size of a canoe.
Speaker 7 (28:47):
Anchored about quarter of mile out the bay, and bob
and no waven and up and down with the swell,
trying to hand babies and livestock and everything in an
outro small cargo door.
Speaker 5 (28:59):
That's Martin talking about the caraffs or the canoe size boats.
The Karaff was their tiny bridge to the outside world
until the port opened up in the late eighties. As
I'm biking through the island. Martin flags me down from
the side of the road to invite me to the
museum he and his friends built celebrating the history of
(29:19):
the cararaff. There was something that was protected because you
guys were so inaccessible for so long.
Speaker 7 (29:26):
Exactly it was basically it never changed really really up
until those years eighty eight eighty nine, the islanders were
almost self sufficient. They didn't really rely on supplies because
they could make everything and anything. They had so many
different crafts and so many different traditions that were handed
down cultures through the generations.
Speaker 5 (29:47):
You guys went from being very self sufficient with these caraffs.
When did tourism start.
Speaker 7 (29:52):
It would have been going on to beck to the
forties or fifties or so. Yeah, it would have started
off obviously small numbers, tiny numbers.
Speaker 5 (29:59):
In the forties fifties, tourists would have to board a
cargo ship to visit in Ashear, only to be handed
off to a car off.
Speaker 7 (30:07):
There have been huge excitement trying to be the first
car alongside the cargo boat because you kind of would
have first DIBs on the tours Like they started off
very small, very slowly, very very gently, like an kind
of just basically expand and expanding every year since basically like.
Speaker 5 (30:25):
Yeah, today with the islands, new port ferries full of
tourists like me arrived to in Asher multiple times a
day every day. Tourism has a huge presence.
Speaker 7 (30:38):
I suppose we're kind of heavily reliant on it now
with the minute as well, because we don't have many
factories or anything like that. A lot of work through
tours and like new cafes and new restaurants and new bmb's,
So yeah, we're lucky really at the minute.
Speaker 5 (30:55):
It's hard to see it purely as luck when we're
standing in museums celebrating the boats that once kept in
a sheer self reliant. Now the island's economy relies on
visits from people like me. As a visitor, I am
always changing a place, rarely for the better. Look no
(31:18):
further than Mexico City, gentrified beyond recognition by a swarm
of digital nomads, and it doesn't really matter if they
identify as tourists, travelers, or pilgrims. And it makes me
wonder if I even have a right to this feeling
of belonging when I'm just another part of an industry
(31:41):
that extracts. I'm really grateful that I stopped in with Martin.
I try to buy a T shirt off of him,
but he doesn't have my size. And then I arrived
to the ferry three hours later, and there he is
standing by the fairy entrance. He found the right size
T shirt, he told me. He lets me pay for it,
(32:01):
and I give him a really big hug. I bored
the ferry back to Continental Ireland. When I arrive, it's
a thirty minute walk to the bus stop, but my
bus leaves in twenty minutes. So in that moment, I
decide to do something I have never done before. I
stick my thumb out on the side of the road
(32:21):
to hitchhike. Cars are zooming past me, all of them
making eye contact. Two older men in a car even
roll down their window just to laugh at me. More
than fifteen cars later, someone pulls over to the side
of the road. I immediately recognize them. It's a family
(32:42):
from the US that I had met on the ferry.
Oh my gosh, you really saved me. You don't see
that much anymore these days. This is the first time
I've done it. I asked them to drop me off
at the bus to Galway, which is when we realize
we're both headed in the same direction.
Speaker 8 (33:01):
I'm sure you don't want to stay to this, we're
going back to going.
Speaker 5 (33:04):
Oh you guys are yeah, you know what? Sure why?
We drive the two hours back to Galway after making
a detour to see the Cliffs of Mohair. On the
car ride back, we chat about the highlights of our
respective trips through Ireland. We don't touch American politics, which
(33:24):
I'm grateful for. And when we arrive back to Galway,
they invite me out to dinner, but I've got plans
to meet Mark from Hinge, or at least I thought, Hey.
Speaker 6 (33:37):
I hope you're not trapped on the island, and definitely
because as fate would have it, I am not able
to hang out tonight, unfortunately, And that is really sincerely,
no genuine reflection of wanting to hang out. I really
(34:01):
liked meeting yesterday. I'm connecting and I wish you were
here for like a couple of weeks, and I'm sorry
that my yeah, and I'm not able to make the time.
I'd like to make.
Speaker 5 (34:20):
Mark and I meet the next day for coffee. He
takes me on a beautiful walk by the river. We
walk with our shoulders brushing, and we stop across the
bank from an abandoned castle. As we're watching the water
flow by, he tells me about something called the black
Rock Diving Board. It's at Salt Hill Beach. Apparently locals
(34:42):
love to dive off of it into the freezing ocean
to swim. The idea is enticing, but I hadn't taken
my coat off the entire trip. The air alone in
Ireland is freezing, and it's also my last afternoon in Galway.
So I tell myself that I'll check it out on
(35:02):
my next visit. Yes, I am already planning my next visit.
I mean, I feel so comfortable in this city, my
pub and my publican, and the salsa community, and the
helpful strangers and this person that I want to see again.
I feel like I built a little home away from home.
So I decide right there, surely I'll be back. We
(35:26):
hug goodbye, and he gives me a recommendation for a
craft shop nearby, and then later in a voice message,
he finds out that my afternoon took a different turn. Hey,
so I'm at the diving board right now. After we
(35:47):
parted ways, I went to the craft shop and I
actually bought this print of a woman jumping off of
the diving board. And when I took it to the
ShopKeep to pay, she was like, oh, did.
Speaker 6 (36:00):
You go there?
Speaker 5 (36:01):
And I said no, I'm going to keep it on
my wall as a reminder to come back someday. And
she said, oh, well, you know you've still got time.
And so I booked it back to the hostel, changed,
got on a bus, got on the wrong bus actually,
so then I had to take an uber And now
I'm here in my sports bra and running pants. I
(36:25):
just tried it with a really nice man and he
told me that it's twelve degrees in the water, and
I think I'm going to jump in, you know. I figure,
I'm just going to do it while i'm here, just
take the plunge. But it was really lovely to meet you,
Like I feel like time really flew while we were talking,
(36:47):
and I think that's really special. I'm pretty rare and
you're a part of why this trip has felt really special,
and I'm going to hold on to that. This is insane.
Of course, I jumped off the diving board because as
(37:08):
much as I travel to feel like I live in
a new place, I also love the urgency of remembering
that I don't. That urgency is the engine of discovery.
And yes, I travel to discover new places, new customs
and perspectives, but I also travel to meet new parts
(37:30):
of myself. Who am I when I'm alone without the
context of what makes me me back home? Who am
I when I'm not people pleasing, when I'm not waiting
for permission, thinking things through a million times? Who am
I when I decide today is the day I take
(37:52):
the plunge. As much as I want to come back
to Galway, the truth is I rarely travel back to
a place once I visited. Even when I do feel
at home there, there's just so much of the world
I want to see. It's my last night in Galway.
(38:16):
The salsa dancers I met on my first afternoon invite
me to dance at a bar in town. We dance
for a few hours before I head to my pub
for the last time. It's bartender Shan's last night, and
I'm feeling excited to celebrate him. But when I walk in,
Sean isn't behind the bar, and my heart drops. All
(38:37):
this time building this connection. What am I supposed to
do now? This new bartender is a guy I've never
seen before, and he's gruff with dark circles under his eyes,
and he barks at me for my drink order. It's
clear that he's not having a good day. I don't
(38:58):
even try to engage with him. I'm drinking my beer
in silence, watching my dream of becoming a regular swirl
down the drain with the overflow of Guinness foam. But
then the song Waterfalls by TLC comes onto this speaker
(39:19):
who I heard this song today in the shower with Terry.
Speaker 4 (39:25):
I was like, I love his song.
Speaker 5 (39:27):
I forget I love this And to my surprise, this
new bartender starts singing, and then I start singing sort
of at him. I ask him if he's got any
more music by TLC in his rotation. He plays no
scrubs and I hype him up. He introduces himself. His
(39:48):
name is Killian, and then I watch him go to
the iPad and put on Pink Pony Club. We do
at a few more chapel Rone songs, and then Sean
appears and then its final and then the dog is
in my lap again, and somebody at the bar, buys
us all a shot of Yaeger, and an instant later,
(40:09):
the music is off, the lights are on, and the
door is locked. There's six of us left in the bar.
It's me, the two bartenders, their guy friend, and a
lesbian couple breaking up in the back corner. Iconic Killian
and Sean are stacking the barstools on the table, and
(40:31):
I keep hearing them say the word lock in, and
so I say, what's a lock in? And they say, well,
it's illegal, but it's when we close down the bar
and we keep drinking, and he hands me another Guinness.
I look around and the metal grates on the windows
(40:51):
are indeed completely closed from the outside. Nobody knows that
we're here, and I think to myself, I've done it.
I've become a regular. I'm so regular, I'm doing crime.
And with the lights on and the music off, we
really start chatting. We chat about leftist politics, about the
(41:16):
public school system in Ireland. We do talk about potatoes,
but I didn't bring it up. And I knew that
the Irish were quick witted, but I'm learning that they're
just as quick with their sincerity. And then the lesbian
couple emerges from the back corner of the bar. They're
wrapping up their marathon breakup and they announce that they're leaving.
(41:40):
And the second they're gone, it dawns on me. I'm drunk,
locked inside of a bar with three men I just
met and none of my friends know. I turn around
to face the door and Killian's holding it open. He
looks at me and he mouths, are you okay, and
(42:05):
in a very exaggerated way, I say.
Speaker 2 (42:08):
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah.
Speaker 5 (42:11):
Maybe it's a little people pleasey, but I really want
to stay. This is the adventure I was hoping for.
This is the feeling I wanted. But I also hear
a little voice in my head saying you should probably go.
And when you're Solita and you hear that little voice,
(42:34):
I've learned that you should listen. I turn back to
Killian and I see he still has the door propped open.
He's smoking a cigarette now and he mouths to me,
you can leave whenever you want. So I pick up
(42:56):
my coat, I say my goodbyes, I give Sean a
big hug, and I will never forget Killian holding the
door open, offering to walk me home, and all I
can muster to say to him is you're my publican.
That's my publican. I don't know that I will ever
(43:22):
feel what my elderly Irish friend felt when he called
his publican every night on the Camino. Three knights and
a lockin certainly won't get me there. But what I
did find was that my publican had my back. And
this is what I find over and over and over
when I travel alone, whether I'm in Ireland, in Morocco
(43:45):
or the Dominican Republic, I find that people are more
good than they are bad. And when you're alone, you're
more receptive to that message. You're more receptive to the
world as it is and not the lies that you've
been sold about it. And yes, you could anticipate the
(44:06):
worst case scenario, but I bet you couldn't even dream
of the best one. And that's what keeps me traveling, Solita.
That's why I want to keep sharing more of these stories.
So I started talking to more Solitas. Carl I got
Hella stories. This season, we got Hella stories. I can
(44:29):
wait four hours for the next bus, or this random
dude is offering me a ride on his motorcycle. You're
about to turn forty. What are you going to do
with your life when you get bad? You honked up
with the air Marshals.
Speaker 1 (44:41):
Yeah I did.
Speaker 5 (44:44):
I'm on a mission to demystify solo travel, starting by
tackling the biggest misconceptions.
Speaker 8 (44:51):
I went to Past nine to go to the West Bank.
I really wanted to see the part that you don't
get to see, and I just want to know how
the people live. So it's so interesting you say travel alone,
because even when I go somewhere alone, I end up
meeting people and I never feel like I'm actually traveling alone.
Speaker 1 (45:05):
Right.
Speaker 5 (45:06):
These are stories of solitas made so that solitas everywhere
feel a little less solita. Each episode, I sit down
with a woman who went out into the world and
came back with a story, not a glossy Instagram post,
an honest story.
Speaker 3 (45:24):
After all of this solo travel, it became my default thing.
I was like, I'm just gonna go feel something else,
somewhere else.
Speaker 2 (45:31):
It never fixed anything.
Speaker 3 (45:33):
Like flying away. Taking a flight never fixed anything. It
did allow me to know myself in different ways.
Speaker 5 (45:44):
I really hope this podcast helps you take the plunge
on your own solo trip. I'm at the point, Julie, honestly,
where if I do not solo travel, it's like being
emotionally constipated. We'll drop a new episode every Tuesday. Whether
you're a solo travel veteran or you're just warming up
to the idea, I hope you'll listen. Solita is a
(46:09):
production of iHeart Podcasts and No Floaties Productions. I'm your host,
Julie Binnetro. Our producers are me and Mary Do, with
consulting from Emily Maronoff and Kate Mansberger, Editing, mixing and
mastering by Mary Doo and engineered by Bihied Fraser and
Paul Bowman. Our theme song is by ballun Cover art
(46:31):
is by Me, with finishing touches by Studio Lee and
Our executive producers are Me, Julie Binnetro, and Jason English.
If you like this episode, please tell a friend and
don't forget to rate, review, and subscribe to Solita on
the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, and wherever you get your
favorite shows.
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