From the airport to the dinner table, here are the reasons why you should travel solo

Like booking a dentist appointment without the crutch of a parent to pick up the phone, travelling solo can feel, to many, like a tough task – dispiriting in its perceived loneliness, formidable in the dangers it can present, unsettling in the silence of the hotel room at night. But, as Anthony Bourdain, the bad-boy cook who turned frequent flyer, stated: “Travel is about the gorgeous feeling of teetering in the unknown.”

Of course, exploring new regions without a companion or group can show its hurdles – no-one to split the price of a room with; hurtling yourself into strange-seeming streets without a confidante on which to lean – but there’s a sensation that comes with that discomfort, an experience whose myriad pathways can lead you into neighbourhoods, gallery hallways and local drinking spots that you might not have set foot in were you with a friend who’s tuned-in to the rigid rhythms of an itinerary and a well-thumbed Lonely Planet. And, perhaps most notably, even though you may be in destinations unfamiliar, you’ll likely find clarity of mind when it’s just you, your thoughts, and new city grids or country hills in front of you.

Hotel rooms are open, vast spaces that call for many, many things: the silence of a perfect night’s sleep; reading, watching, thinking, doodling, procrastinating; the mini-fridge door to be opened throughout the night, as you reach for small libations. They are spaces for your pleasure, and those king-size beds with unoccupied expanses and clean sheets beg for your occupancy – and your occupancy alone. Your limbs can stretch to infinity, your slumber will not be disturbed by a whirl of snores, you can wake up to the sound of no alarm but that of birdsong or rushing traffic outside. It is just you and a space of potential – and that’s all you will ever need.

Our favourite pads to check-in to when we’re solo travelling are: the Aman Tokyo; Public, in New York; and Santa Clara 1728, in Lisbon – the amenities, the bells and whistles and the premium finishes are all there, but each has a view of the cityscape that’s just too good to share.

Have you ever trudged through the long halls of an art gallery or a museum with an encyclopaedic art-enthusiast of a friend? It can be a thankless task, a never-ending flurry of colour theories, Kusama’s dots, lectures in El Greco, and deep explanations about chiaroscuro. The Canon-toters surround you, the Renaissance saints all blur into one, the iPhone flashes bounce off the Van Goghs, and your fellow travel mate is darting between the Impressionist rooms to the post-modern sculptures, lining your head with art theory, as though they were a lecturer at The Slade.

Yet, have you ever taken a solo expedition to the Tate, say, or the Guggenheim, or Louisiana Museum of Modern Art? It can be a fine thing, an experience that is exactly what the curators want you to have: an hour or two of pure contemplation, breezing past walls of canvases, stopping for a moment to ogle and think about the horrors of the Bacon, the soup cans done by Warhol, or the dots on a Riley. Like a casino, not a clock is in site, the tourists have moved on to their next destination on the bucket list, and the master fresco awaits. Art can be a wonderful thing.

The romantic idea of group dinners, even small ones, can often be a false notion, a glossy dream sequence that chefs and cookbooks and the magazines tell you is a fine way to spend a night. The picture that is painted usually abides by the following formula: bottomless wine that flows like the Danube; sharing plates, the kind of which were last seen in Rome’s glory days; chatter that blasts up the decibel levels; and fully fed bellies. The reality, however, leans more towards spilt Beaujolais on iPhones, an inability to hear your neighbour, and that inevitable difficulty of splitting the bill nine ways.

The one-cover dinner table, however, is guaranteed gold. Hospitality venues – good hospitality venues, the ones that lionise the greatness of offbeat cuts, the beautiful rhythm of lunch service, the virtues to be found in well-made bread – adore travelling gourmands. They appreciate the idea that a single person has taken the time to come to their venture, their home, to meditate over plates of food, whether high-priced or inexpensive. If the stars align, they’ll offer you a counter seat, so you can watch the bartenders mix libations or the cooks work the pots and pans, they’ll likely give you laser-focused attention, and there could also be a few additional plates sent by the chef.

We’ve taken a liking to Bao, that quintessential London hangout; Sukiyabashi Jiro, in Tokyo, is a meal of hushed immersion, so you wouldn’t want a dining partner anyway; and Momofuku Noodle Bar is a slurp-heavy, judgement-free zone. Order what you want, don’t split the dishes, and bliss-out on whatever comes your way. As Tony said, “Enjoy the ride.”

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