There is something quietly radical about setting off on a journey alone in your sixties. It is not about proving anything, or escaping anyone. It is about saying yes to the world again. Yes to curiosity. Yes to change. Yes to the pleasure of your own company. 

For some, solo travel in later life is something entirely new. For others, it is a return to a freedom once known and now rediscovered. Whatever the route, there is a certain kind of confidence that builds with age. You know your own rhythms. You know what matters to you. You know what you want to see, and what you are happy to leave for someone else. Travelling alone becomes less about ticking off destinations and more about experiencing them in a way that feels honest and unhurried. 

And yet, it would be untrue to say it is without its challenges. There can be nerves at the beginning. That moment at the airport or train station when the world feels just a little too large and you wonder, briefly, what on earth you are doing. There may be worries about safety, about getting lost, or simply about feeling conspicuously alone. These are not signs that you are unprepared. They are signs that you are doing something brave. 

What many people find, once they take that first step, is that the world opens up in surprising ways. Travelling solo invites a kind of attention that is hard to find in other forms of travel. You notice more. You are more open to chance encounters. You make friends in cafés, on buses, in museums, and on walking tours. You speak more freely with strangers, and they with you. People are often kind. Curious. Helpful. And while not every moment is perfect, there is a particular satisfaction in solving problems on your own. In figuring things out. In realising that yes, you really can do this. 

There is also a different kind of intimacy in travelling alone. You begin to see things not through the lens of someone else’s opinion, but through your own quiet perspective. The way the light moves across a street in Lisbon. The taste of a dish you would never have ordered if someone else were choosing. The long, thoughtful stretch of time in a gallery, with no one hurrying you on. These moments are not loud or dramatic. But they are yours. And that matters. 

Of course, it helps to be prepared. To plan in a way that brings peace of mind, without stripping away the possibility of spontaneity. To carry the numbers you need. To let someone know where you are. To trust your instincts. But once those things are in place, what remains is the journey itself. And for many, that journey becomes more than just a holiday. It becomes a kind of reconnection. To the world. To other people. And most importantly, to yourself. 

Travelling solo after sixty is not for everyone. But for those who feel the pull of it, who sense there is something waiting beyond the horizon, it can be one of the most life-affirming things you will ever do. Not because it is easy. But because it reminds you that you are still moving. Still learning. Still capable of being surprised. 

And sometimes, that is the greatest destination of all.