My First Solo Trip to London (And What It Gave Me Back)

For my first travel blog post, we’re throwing it back to two years ago, I was planning on what I could do for my Birthday and had the stark realisation that I hadn’t travelled beyond Harrogate to Hartlepool since pre-covid!

Here's a little timeline context so we can let the truly ridiculousness of this sink in together…

2 years ago --> 2024

Pre-covid --> 2019

5 years… FIVE years 

I didn’t leave the country; I didn’t even leave the North! No air miles, no London trips… nada

I don’t remember the exact moment that I realised I hadn’t travelled further than North Yorkshire to Teesside but what I do remember is the pure fear of another half decade passing me by and I’d miss out on adventure, on living my life to its fullest.

Let’s face it, if she’s going to be the cool rich aunt, she’s gunna need some stories, at least some that don’t involve men.

There’s no specific anchor as to why this happened, I certainly don’t live a still life, but looking back now, I can’t help but feel like I was living on autopilot. Cruising along taking life as it comes. When I should have been asking myself what I want, what truly lights my soul, and then going for it.

This coupled with being a little scared to do the big things alone, I never pushed the desire for adventure past the stumbling block of being without a plus one. And in truth, during that time of my life, it didn’t even enter my mind that it was a problem.

I’m grateful for that sickening feeling two years ago, and I don’t regret the five-year gap either, because without both, I never would have planned the ultimate Single Pringle birthday trip to London.

Now in its third year, it’s a tradition built around what genuinely excites me, and the glimmers that give me the biggest dopamine hit.

Plans with no pressure, and not a plus one in sight

My biggest tip for your first solo weekend away is to plan ahead, but stay busy in a way that still leaves from to breathe. The aim isn’t to overwhelm the trip, it’s to avoid too much empty space before you’ve found your rhythm.

That’s exactly what I did the second I stepped off the train.

I headed straight to my hotel to drop my bags, along with the puffy coat and umbrella, I absolutely did not need. I was greeted with bright sunny skies and to be honest, I was far too warm. I have no idea what I was thinking, I sleep with a fan on in winter, what possessed me to over prepare like this is beyond me.

Let’s blame the five-year travel hiatus.

No longer weighed down, I headed straight to my favourite place in London, the Victoria & Albert Museum. Walking around a museum alone is incredibly freeing. You move entirely at your own pace, and any self-consciousness melts away because everyone else is far too absorbed in what’s around them to notice you.

It was the perfect day-one activity: calm, absorbing, and with no pressure to be anywhere else. Check-in wasn’t until later, and the only fixed plan on my schedule was dinner at The Ivy Tower Bridge. The rest of the day was simply plans without pressure.

I’d booked a hotel near the Tower of London, which meant walking across Tower Bridge another moment of soaking it all in without rushing, without the worry of onlookers because they were doing the same.

For dinner, I brought a book, a security blanket, something to shield me from the imagined awkwardness of dining alone. I barely read a page. I was seated on the front terrace with uninterrupted views of Tower Bridge, and any need for distraction quickly disappeared. When the view looks like that, time takes care of itself.

After dinner, I walked back to the hotel and headed to their rooftop bar for a nightcap. Despite by thorough internet research, I’d underestimated just how lively it would be. I’ envisioned a vibey cocktail bar, it was edging towards nightclub territory. But I have a strong habit of romanticising my life, so I stayed. After all, it was just one drink.

I took my seat and ordered an Old Fashioned, my drink, again looking out over the twinkling London skyline, satisfied that no one around me is bothered that I’m sitting alone.

Or so I thought.

I was brought back to the reality of it all when after the third (and not at all final) time the waiter came over to check that everything was alright, firstly the drink, which is not at all out of the ordinary.

Then, was I happy with where I was sitting.? A little more peculiar, then came another handful of cheery check ins, with each one the waiters’ approach moved along the scale from helpful accommodating waiter to oh my lord this lady is alone we must not leave her for one second.

I finished my drink and retreated down to my room, frankly quick amused with the situation.

Day two’s cocktail experience was much more my speed. After another day of exhibitions, (this time it was Disney 100) I headed to a bar that matched the vibe I’d originally had in mind. Calm, relaxed, and pre-theatre perfect.

And this is where solo travel really started to show me what it offers. Not in big, dramatic ways, but in small, unplanned moments. The ones you don’t negotiate, explain, or talk yourself out of. You just notice them. And you follow them.

After the theatre, noodles in hand, I headed for the Underground. My travel app gave me a couple of options, the nearest station was less than a minute away and would get me back to the hotel with one change, or I could take a slightly longer walk to Embankment for a direct tube. Both routes would get me back in roughly the same time.

I paused for a moment but decided I wanted to soak up more of the London evening, so walked to Embankment. As I was about to head into the station, I noticed a sliver of the London Eye peeking out above it, glowing bright pink, like it was calling me over.

I stopped, food in hand, torn. I’d already gone slightly out of my way in the name of the moment, maybe that was enough. But it was as if my legs made the decision for me. Enough doesn’t really exist when you’re following a feeling.

And there it was: the London Eye, lit up in Barbie pink. Let’s be real, if it was lit in any other colour I’d probably already be back on my hotel bed, eating noodles, my shoulders dancing, head bobbing along as I ate.

Standing there, letting the pink glow wash over me, another glimmer from the weekend clicked into place. If I’d been with someone else, I probably wouldn’t have seen London Eye Barbie at all, and I definitely wouldn’t have had noodles in hand.

The post-theatre evening would have likely turned into the familiar back-and-forth of two people not quite saying what they want, eventually landing on, “It’s up to you.”

When I returned from my trip, I felt a deep calmness. It had been a busy weekend.

I’d clocked more steps over those few days than I usually do in a week. But I felt rested. Like I’d reset myself.

I’d filled my cup to the brim, and I felt all the better for it, as if I’d spent the weekend in a spa.

I was grateful for the way I’d followed my instincts, even when they nudged me just outside my comfort zone. For choosing movement over stagnation, curiosity over fear.

New experiences have a way of waking something up in you, and that weekend did exactly that, it lit a flame I didn’t realise had dimmed.

From that point on, the idea of travelling alone didn’t feel daunting. It felt expansive.

And before long, that quiet confidence would carry me even further. All the way onto a plane, on my own.

But that’s a story for another blog.