On the final night of our trip to Europe last year, Mat and I treated ourselves to dinner at an exquisite little place in Amsterdam called Restaurant Johannes. This visit was the product of some brief TripAdvisor research, an easy online booking form (always welcome in foreign countries) and the financial freedom of having come in well under budget at the close of the trip. The experience was perfect. I’m now convinced that there is no better way to spend the last evening of a great adventure than over a delicious tasting menu and many glasses of good wine. In fact, I am now determined to make a tradition of it.
I realise now that I’ve not been particularly good at ending trips before this. On my first overseas venture, to New Zealand – a great big group of College friends on the back of a great big Jetstar sale – I wasted the last couple of days in a right sour funk. Most all of my friends had dispersed: one half of the group had long since split off northward, whilst the rest of us made ourselves cosy in Queenstown. But even by the end, most of the Queenstown crew had either caught their early flights home or begun the drive back to Christchurch to drop off their Wicked Van in time for the main return flight (in true College kid form, we’d arranged ourselves in quite a hodge-podge of comings and goings). The trip had been amazing. Spending two more days in Queenstown after that big group bubble popped, though, and I suddenly felt such a strong pang of desertion that I really quite ruined my remaining time there. I was that child who turns bitter and gloomy after a friend has been taken home by a parent the morning after a sleepover.
A year later, my cousin and I finished off an incredible South-East Asia trip with five ‘relaxing’ days in Phuket – or perhaps, more pertinently, in the beach resort town of Patong. It didn’t take very long for me to realise that Patong is so stupendously not my kind of place. This place was a stark contrast to the low-key, local travel we’d been doing for four weeks straight with our wonderful little Intrepid Travel group. I wanted that back. I wanted out. But get out I could not, and so I counted down those five days like a captive waiting release from a veritable tourist trap. Couple that with an unprecedented case of excruciating acid reflux that lasted the entire Phuket stay, and it became an altogether pretty miserable way to cap off the trip.
It goes on. After two months of travelling Europe for the first time, the sheer emotional exhaustion of solo travel finally got to me. I cut the trip short by a few weeks (though not quite short enough that I wasn’t counting down the days before I could just go home already). I did another month solo in Central America a couple of years later, and almost got it right by meeting up with friends in Anaheim for a YouTube convention and a trip to Disneyland afterward. I had one more long, solo day just waiting around the hotel lobby and LAX to finish with, though, and it felt like torture. Plus, I was pining hard for a guy who hadn’t exactly given me high hopes for the continuation of a budding relationship when I returned.
Lucky for me, that particular bit all turned out in the end. And this brings us back to Amsterdam and an exquisite little place called Restaurant Johannes.
I think of that night in Amsterdam and my heart lifts with blazing joy. Tucked away off a canal at the foot of The 9 Streets district, Restaurant Johannes was intimate and welcoming, and an absolute delight on a bright, balmy August evening. Mat and I were at the end of a six-week trip and exhausted in the best possible way; Johannes’ wonderful staff took in our tired little bodies and looked after us so well. We surrendered easily to the delicious seven-course menu with wine matching and all the marvellous little surprises in between. It was kind of magical. I wasn’t counting down the hours until I boarded my flight the next day. I was present and content and relaxed. This was how it was meant to feel. This was finally the perfect ending I didn’t even realise I’d been missing out on.
And of course, as it’s become plainly obvious to me in writing this (I swear it wasn’t the way I saw this post going), it was never really about the food. Sure, a fine dining degustation with full wine matching helps. A lot. But I understand now that the feeling that had plagued me at the conclusion of every trip previous is one that is pretty hard to admit: loneliness. By some way or another, it was loneliness that was my downfall. Loneliness! I know myself extraordinarily able to thrive on my own, so it feels like loneliness should be at odds with my travel style. The Solo Female Traveller is meant to wend her way through the world, fierce and fearless and independent. She gets lonely? She just goes out and makes a bunch of new friends!
But perhaps, not quite.
My love of travel has always trumped my fear of loneliness, and I think it always will. And all things considered, it’s certainly never come close to ruining a trip. Sometimes the lonely path is the only way to get out there and see the world. It’s just those damn pesky endings where it really grabs you, I suppose. The profound thing about that Amsterdam evening was the fact that it was shared – and so had the preceding six weeks of adventure across Europe – with a person who trumped even my desire for travel. And what an incredible feeling that is.
That is the tradition I want to make.