If you’ve ever romanticized the idea of solo travel, picturing yourself casually wandering through foreign cities with nothing but a backpack and boundless energy, you’re not alone. That’s exactly how I pictured it too—until I took my first backpacking trip outside the U.S. and reality hit hard.
Picture me: 21 years old, just finished 3 months of my first full-time software engineering internship, spending every hour fantasizing of my upcoming trip abroad. As my internship was coming to an end, I was teeming with excitement of what was to come, and it all started with 16 hours of flights (which I would come to learn is actually not too bad). I was exhausted but running on adrenaline because I had just landed in Leeds, UK, for the Leeds Music Festival, where I was finally going to see The 1975, my all-time favorite band. I’d been dreaming about this for months. And of course, I had the bright idea of kicking off my backpacking adventure right there. Sounds great, right? Well… about that.
The Backpack Situation: A Rookie Mistake
I’d like to say I packed sensibly for this trip, but I’m going to be honest—I did the opposite. In my mind, I was going to be prepared for anything: from rainy days to spontaneous hiking trips to nice dinners (because that’s totally what happens when you’re backpacking, right?). I was armed with a 70L Osprey backpack—a monster that took up most of my 5’2″ frame—and a 15L daypack strapped to my front. Together, they made me look like a turtle with a storage problem.
The first sign I’d made a mistake was when I tried to hoist that thing onto my back in the airport. It was like picking up a body. I should’ve realized then that I was over-packed. But instead, I powered through, thinking, I’ve got this! Spoiler: I did not.
The Bus Ride That Felt Like a Circus Act
By the time I got to Leeds, I was running on fumes, but I was too excited to care. I hopped on a bus, naively thinking it would be an easy ride to my hotel. The bus was packed, and as luck would have it, I ended up standing near the front, my massive backpack sticking out like a wrecking ball. Two little kids, definitely under seven and terrified, stood directly beneath my pack, and with every stop and swerve, I was doing this awkward dance to avoid knocking them out. I spent the whole ride clinging to the rail for dear life, bracing myself against every turn like I was in some twisted game of human Jenga.
I could feel everyone’s eyes and fear of me falling over onto them – if you don’t know Leeds is not exactly a place for backpackers. It was one of those moments where you want to laugh at how ridiculous the situation is, but you’re too tired to find it funny just yet.
Three Miles of Regret
When I finally managed to get off the bus, I realized I’d gotten off at the wrong stop—because why wouldn’t I? I was now miles away from my hotel, with no real idea of where I was going, dragging what felt like an anvil on my back. They also don’t have Lyft or Uber or readily-available taxis. Great. Like I mentioned – Leeds isn’t exactly a backpacker’s paradise, so I was the only person lugging a huge pack through the streets, crossing highway bridges, and stumbling up hills. The stares I got weren’t the curious, “Oh, look, a traveler!” kind of stares. They were more like, “What is she doing?”
By the time I reached my hotel, I was a sweaty, exhausted mess. I dumped my backpack onto the floor, hating everything I’d brought with me. I seriously considered tossing half my stuff right then and there. Not to mention this part of the UK speaks with an incredibly tough-to-understand accent. I preserved and sought out the closest place possible for some much-needed food.
Curry Tears: A Rite of Passage?
Across the street from my hotel was an Indian restaurant, and since the UK is kind of infamous for its amazing curry, I figured that’s where I’d have my first real meal. So I walked over, slouched in my chair, and ordered chicken tikka masala. The waitress asked how spicy I wanted it, and considering I have zero spice tolerance, I asked for mild. Easy. No problem.
Fast forward ten minutes, and I’m sitting at the table, full-on sobbing into my meal because it was so spicy. I swear, “mild” must have a different meaning in the UK, because it felt like my mouth was on fire. I chugged water like it was my job, and I was physically in pain from this curry. To be fair, it was delicious. I just wasn’t prepared to have my taste buds obliterated on my first night.
The sight of me, red-faced and tear-streaked, sitting alone in a restaurant in Leeds after 16 hours of travel and a three-mile backpack haul, sobbing over spicy food—I can’t imagine what the waitress must have thought. But in that moment, all I could do was laugh at how absurd it all was. And maybe chug another carafe of water.
Packing Lessons From the Road
That night, after recovering from my emotional battle with dinner, I reflected on everything that had already gone wrong. I was sore, jet-lagged, and still kind of annoyed at myself for packing way too much. Over the next few weeks, as I traveled through Europe, I ended up shedding weight. I left behind clothes, my reusable water bottle, and even my neck pillow. Less is definitely more when it comes to backpacking. Plus, the more stuff I got rid of, the more space I had for actual souvenirs—things I actually wanted to carry.
That trip, from the heavy pack to the spicy curry, was a crash course in solo travel. Nothing went smoothly, but that’s where the best stories come from, right? I learned that you don’t need much to get by and that sometimes, the funniest moments come from the absolute worst situations.
Final Thoughts
My first solo backpacking trip wasn’t glamorous, but it was exactly what I needed. It toughened me up, forced me to let go of the idea of perfection, and taught me how to roll with the punches. And hey, it didn’t scare me off. If anything, it made me love travel even more.
And yes, I did finally see The 1975. It was every bit as amazing as I imagined, and Matty Healy touched my right hand. Best day ever.