Discovering Freedom One Mile at a Time
Solo journeys and the road to independence.
I have traveled extensively, both for work and leisure. My work has taken me to corners of the world that I couldn’t even dream of visiting. Overall, I have been in twenty countries and stepped foot in three continents.
While I consider my travels extensive, I recognize that they might not seem like much to a seasoned traveler. However, for the little girl who grew up in post-communist, post-war, conservative Albania, this is a significant accomplishment.
As a little kid, the only times I traveled were when my mother, an actress, would take me along on her work tours. I was still in preschool, and these were not leisure trips; actors had to tour various cities under challenging conditions and climate.
As a teenager, I was rarely allowed to attend events without company and had limited opportunities to travel even within my own country.
As girls and women, our freedoms were severely limited. My mother was an exception to some extent, enjoying a bit more freedom than most, primarily because of her job as an actress. But even her freedom had its bounds.
We would walk with our heads held high, our gazes directed either up or down, but never towards coffee shops or restaurants. These places were predominantly occupied by men, and daring to look their way would invite judgment. I don’t recall anyone explicitly instructing me to do this; it was simply an unspoken rule that we all followed.
This stood in stark contrast to the environments where we would spend time after dinner with my parents and their acquaintances. While these places were more family-oriented, it was still rare to see a group consisting only of women. If such a group was present, a male figure — be it a brother or a husband — was usually nearby, either at another table or waiting outside.
During my last two years of high school, the situation began to improve. Although the memories of war were still fresh, life was gradually resuming, and I was growing up. I recall occasionally seeing women alone at the beach we used to go to with my group of female friends, the size of which varied from time to time.
That beach was located a bit farther from the city and to get there one either needed a car or had to take a mini-van that transported people. The experience of riding the mini-van was different from taking the bus. The mini-van traveled beyond the city limits, requiring a certain level of independence for anyone going there, especially alone.
I remember seeing those women lying on the sunbeds, with a book, soaking up the sun. They had a freedom very few women at the time had. I daydreamed I could be like them. I vividly remember my thoughts of admiration.
Then, life happened and I forgot all these things until about a year ago.
During the Covid lockdowns, I moved from Budapest to Vienna.
After the lockdowns lifted, I found myself hesitant to venture beyond what I considered to be a safe perimeter — essentially, only places that were familiar to me. For example, taking a train from Vienna to Budapest or vice versa was fine, as these were either work-related trips or journeys to places I already knew well.
Then, an unexpected twist happened that forced me out of my comfort zone. I mistakenly booked a concert ticket thinking the event was in Vienna. On the day of the event, I discovered that the concert was actually a few hours away from the city. I didn’t want to miss out, so I decided to go regardless. That turned out to be an adventure and an amazing experience. In hindsight, I’m glad I did it.
The sense of serendipity continued on my train ride back to Vienna. I found myself seated next to two young girls. As we struck a conversation, I learned that both were high school students and were learning musical instruments — one the flute and the other the violin. Our discussion ranged from school to music, and when they discovered that I was traveling alone, their eyes lit up with curiosity. That moment wonder reminded me of the awe I used to feel watching independent women at the beach. While I didn’t connect the dots immediately, the full realization hit me weeks later during a trip to Baden bei Wien.
My trip to Baden was for a race in which I had enrolled a few weeks prior. Baden is easily accessible from Vienna, reachable within just 30 minutes by train. The walk from the central station to the city center was stunning. Halfway through it, I stumbled upon an outdoor photo exhibition featuring the work of many photographers, including Erik Johansson — whose work I immediately fell in love with.
I had never seen anything like it before. Later that day, I also explored some of the forest paths that Beethoven used to walk during his visits to Baden, where he took thermal baths and hikes as part of his recovery regimen.
Despite having registered for the race, I hadn’t really trained for it. So, right up until the race started, I was uncertain about completing the 10k distance I had initially signed up for. I even considered switching to the 5k race at the last minute, especially since the course was somewhat hilly. Eventually, I told myself that I could do 5k instead, and if necessary, I could drop out of the race at any point. I had done so before. I have no shame in stopping a run or race if I don’t feel good; in fact, the only times I’ve injured myself have been when I pushed through despite my body telling me to stop.
On race day, I woke up and filled the bathtub with cold water. I soaked in it for a few minutes while listening to a playlist I had prepared for the race. Afterward, I applied a special gel to improve my blood circulation and put on compression stockings, which I must use due to my venous insufficiency. Once I was fully dressed, I headed to the starting point.
The cyclists took off first, followed by the 20k runners, and then the rest of us. At the 2.5-kilometer mark, there was a turning point for those in the 5k race, I didn’t feel like stopping. I kept going and to boost my spirits, a song that my friend Mats had shared with me, started playing. The song is in German — Mats eventually translated the lyrics to help me learn the language — and it talks about various ‘what-if’ scenarios. I find it incredibly beautiful.
When I reached the halfway point at 5 kilometers, I was suddenly overcome with emotion and burst into tears. Tears of joy. Whether it was a runner’s high or something else, I felt an immense sense of pride and was incredibly grateful to be there.
The realization hit me: my long-held desire for independence and solo travel had finally happened. There I was, running a race in a foreign city, in a foreign country — a race that I had consciously planned and traveled to, all by myself. This wasn’t a work-related trip or a last-minute journey due to a mistake; it was a deliberate choice. Back in my hotel room, a bathtub filled with cold water awaited me, a small but meaningful gesture I had prepared in advance as a post-race recovery treat.
At the 6-kilometer mark, a retiring teacher struck up a conversation with me. We were among the last runners, and he needed the distraction of conversation to take his mind off the physical exertion. I welcomed the chat. We discussed various topics, and I was so absorbed in his stories that I didn’t even realize we had crossed the finish line.
Mission completed!
I might have been among the last to finish, but the experience was nonetheless incredible. Post-race, I had breakfast with a gorgeous view, then did some wandering around the city, including immersing myself in an outdoor photo exhibition. Afterward, I visited Beethoven’s museum and felt closer to the genius of the composer and his Ninth Symphony. I then finally sat down to taste some local wine in the city center.
Sitting there and sipping that glass of wine, I found myself contemplating life and relationships. I thought about how uncomfortable I used to feel sometimes sitting alone in a café without the distraction of a book or a laptop. At that moment, without a computer or anything to read, I felt complete in my own company. Had I not mistakenly booked that concert ticket or taken that decision on a solo trip for a race, it might have taken me much longer to discover my true capabilities.
Yet, as I am there contemplating my freedoms, I’m reminded that not all women have the same opportunities. On the same day of my race, the news outlets were extensively reporting about Mahsa Amini, who fell into a coma and later died in intensive care after being arrested for violating the mandatory hijab law in Iran.
Now sitting alone in a coffee shop, restaurant, or traveling solo doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable; it makes me feel truly privileged. This life continues to surprise me, and each experience, just like endless soundscapes, adds new notes to the symphony of life.
Looking back, I see how far I’ve come and how far we have come as a society and women. But many women around the world are still fighting for such freedoms — freedoms that many of us take for granted and are not universally shared.
Thank you for taking the time to read about my experiences. If you’d like to connect or explore more of my work, feel free to follow me on Twitter and Linkedin.
P.S. If you are interested, here is the link to the Spotify playlist I compiled for the Baden run.
