Eight months after I retired from practicing law, my husband died unexpectedly. I was 68 and still grieving three years later when two couples who were friends and had rented a house in Provence, thoughtfully invited me to join them. I appreciated it but wavered. Would I be a fifth wheel? Would it be difficult to travel without my husband, who was always fun and knew what to do in unexpected situations abroad? Could I navigate a foreign country with only knowing a few words of French?

I missed traveling, which I had always enjoyed. I had fond memories of the French Riviera on a graduate student/newlywed trip with a $6-a-day budget in 1970. A house in Provence was more upscale and sounded heavenly. Perhaps it was just what I needed to get me out of my doldrums. So, I accepted the invitation and soon I became excited. 

But it seemed a waste to fly to Europe for only seven days. Impulsively, I booked an earlier flight and arrived in Nice one week before my friends. That week on the French Riviera was my first solo adventure.

Solo in the South of France

Using Marriott points, I booked a week at a 5-star hotel in Nice.  A handsome young Italian waiter in the restaurant always took time to chat with me. He told me the hotel had been a palace before World War II, when Nice was part of Italy. It was exactly in the middle of the tourist district. The staff members were especially kind to a single, mature American woman with a poor command of high-school French. They gave me a beautiful room off the main traffic area. I felt like they were watching out for me, offering me advice on where to go and making me feel pampered and safe. 

The staff members were especially kind to a single, mature American woman with a poor command of high-school French.

My husband didn’t like to pack and unpack, so he always wanted to go on cruises when we traveled. It felt different but lovely to be in a hotel in the middle of the action, waking up when I liked and having a less structured agenda. In the mornings, I wandered through the nearby city’s open-air market, where multi-colored tents and awnings covered several blocks. 

Each day brought a new surprise. One day, my senses were awakened as I strolled aisle after aisle of farm-fresh, ripe-to-bursting fruits and vegetables in vibrant reds, greens, yellows, and oranges. The next day, stalls were piled high with restored antiques and gleaming silver flatware, trays, and ornamental pieces. On the last market day, young girls in flowing dresses and older women in black offered huge bouquets of dazzling blooms. The scene looked like the inspiration for an Impressionist painting. Don, my late husband, would have enjoyed the market, especially the flowers, but I am a historian by training, and it was nice that I had more time to linger and chat with the vendors about the history of a particular piece.

Several afternoons, I walked to my hotel’s chic private beach club on the stone-covered shore of the Mediterranean. I swam, sunbathed, and ate late lunches of charcuterie or fresh fish swimming in butter and capers. During a couple of evenings, I sat under a navy blue umbrella sipping rosé and conversing with a Swedish fashion designer I’d met. I was amazed at how easy it is to talk to someone from another country who is also exploring and wanting to learn about new cultures.

Cannes, Here I Come!

One day, feeling adventurous, I took the train down the coast to Cannes, chatting with a charming English couple. The Cannes Film Festival was ongoing, so I sat at an outdoor brasserie, watching glamorous women parading on the red carpet in their glittering gowns. Would I have sat and ordered another aperitif if I had been with my husband, who likely would have been bored by this? Probably not. But on my own, I did.

If he were able to talk withe me, my husband would have told me to “put on a pretty dress, laugh, and have a good time.”

At the end of my week in Nice, newly confident as a solo traveler in France, I rented a car and drove through the fragrant, flower-covered countryside of Provence to meet my friends. We spent the week dining in outdoor restaurants in small villages, visited the Picasso Museum, formerly the Chateau Grimaldi in St. Paul de Vence, explored medieval churches, and drank buckets of delicious 5 Euro wine. My dear friends included me in everything. I did not feel like a fifth wheel, as I feared. But occasionally, seeing my friends dancing and laughing, I was acutely aware of the absence of my husband. Don would have loved Provence and the camaraderie of our little group. But I knew that if he were able to talk to me, he would have told me to “put on a pretty dress, laugh, and have a good time.”

Travel for One, Done Well

Buoyed by my success traveling alone in France, I wanted to explore more. The next July, when I saw an email advertising six days at the Nantucket Inn, I considered it an omen and immediately responded. Growing up on the Jersey Shore, my happy place was the beach and Nantucket was a bucket-list beach. My wonderful late husband had a fair complexion and disliked the sun and the beach, so this was a chance to do something I loved without having to compromise.

While at the sprawling white inn, I relaxed on a wide sandy beach most afternoons. I took the public bus system all over the small island, including to picturesque Sconset, which is full of flower-covered cottages reminiscent of the Cotswolds in England, with white picket fences and a wild, unspoiled coast. I explored downtown Nantucket’s cobblestone streets, filled with shops and art galleries, too, and now an oil painting of the shining moon over the sea hangs prominently in my den.

In addition to being fun and educational, traveling solo can be therapeutic. Once, I broke my ankle and had to trudge around in a clunky, black boot. It was depressing. Then I saw an email that offered six nights in Cancun for half the usual points. I couldn’t hit “Book” fast enough. My late husband had been a university professor and trips always had to be scheduled during school vacations. That was no longer a problem. 

When the email came for a discounted trip to Cancun, I couldn’t hit the “book” button fast enough.

I also had enough airline miles for the flight. Can you say, “FREE VACATION!”? I took a cab from the airport and checked into the 5-star hotel on the beach. With limited mobility, I didn’t venture beyond the hotel, but that was enough. Every night I sat in bed, enjoyed different pay-per-view movies, and sipped my margarita. After six days, I returned home, my mind calm and my body rested.

It was only after retirement and becoming a widow that I learned how wonderful it can be to vacation alone. I was now confident that I could handle any situation. Of course, I loved my travels as a couple, but they were simply different. It’s also exhilarating to be spontaneous and not have to compromise to fit another person’s schedule and interests. 

I cherish the memories I made on my solo vacations. One day soon, the inspiration will come, and I’ll be off again.