30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 14: A Rainy Day in Avignon

(Previous chapter of my journey: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 13: How Monet's Gardens in Giverny Stole My Heart)

After three days at the mercy of Paris's unpredictable trains, I rose at dawn, threw on my clothes without a thought for makeup, and hurried to Gare de Lyon station, determined not to let transport disrupt my plans again.

The quiet peace of arriving early at a station is a gift to travellers like me, who are prone to getting lost. It grants the luxury of time to slowly find your way. I finally located the correct platform, and now only had to wait for the clock to signal departure.

Just like that, my solo journey has entered its final four-day countdown. (Yes, when I first wrote this series, I envisioned a full 30 days alone, but plans change). This upcoming trip to the South of France was never part of the original blueprint. Honestly, I hadn't planned to stay in France for long, especially after all the warnings about Parisian safety. By a stroke of luck, a friend could join me to travel Italy (my next stop), and to sync with her dates, I found myself with four bonus days. Rather than revisiting Parisian streets, I decided to head south and let the sunshine write a new chapter.

The downside of solo travel is, of course, having no one to split costs with. But these two weeks alone in Europe have shown me that solitude isn't as daunting as I'd imagined. I've grown accustomed to this freedom that belongs only to me. Travelling with others, a missed train or a wrong turn can become a source of blame and spoiled moods. When you're alone, you're only accountable to yourself for your time and experiences. Even in moments of frustration, you understand there's no one else to blame because every choice is ultimately your own.

A friend messaged to ask if missing the Mont Saint-Michel tour had ruined my trip. Honestly, there was a brief moment of disappointment and self-reproach, but I quickly reminded myself: the only way to welcome the next adventure is to pack up your feelings and move on. Besides, most travel troubles boil down to financial loss or unmet expectations. If you can learn to hold those things lightly, you realise that the freedom to travel itself is already a luxurious privilege worth being grateful for.

I remember our guide in Amsterdam's Red Light District joking that he often saw couples arguing on the street, usually sparked by the area itself – the man wanting to linger at a window, the woman eager to stick to the itinerary, their desires for the moment at odds. Watching these couples turn red-faced, he'd observe this little human drama. In his view, when you've travelled so far together, why not just enjoy the moment?

The biggest lesson from travelling alone has been that 'all roads lead to Rome' (I'm looking forward to proving that soon in Italy!). There are a thousand ways to reach a destination; you can join a tour, hire a private guide, or wander freely. Isn't life the same? Methods may vary in wisdom and speed, but they all eventually lead you somewhere.

As a friend once told me: whether you're travelling, studying, or working abroad, you're just living your usual 24 hours in a different place. Fundamentally, it's no different.

After saying goodbye to Paris, my first stop was Avignon. I didn't know much about Southern France and had never heard of Avignon before. I came here mainly because I originally booked a 'Van Gogh's final footprints' day tour from here, planning to visit Arles, St. Remy, and Provence to see where the artist spent his final days. But a few days ago, I was notified the tour was cancelled and refunded. So, I quickly booked a wine tasting tour in Châteauneuf-du-Pape for tomorrow, simply because the ratings seemed good.

Stepping into Avignon, the southern sun embraced me immediately. I could finally take off my dark green coat that had been with me through laughters and tears. I arrived early to check into my hotel, but the room wasn't ready. The receptionist asked me to return in an hour. I sat at an outdoor table at a nearby restaurant, ordering a modestly priced glass of rosé to pass the time. Perhaps because I'd skipped breakfast, the alcohol went straight to my head, bringing a pleasant tipsiness and drowsiness. Seeing the hour was almost up, I headed back to the hotel, wanting only to collapse on the bed and let the weariness wash over me.

After a short rest, I made time for a walk. The famous sites here are intertwined with religious history. According to Wikipedia, Avignon is a city of art and history. Between 1309 and 1377, the papal court moved here from Rome, and seven popes resided here before Pope Gregory XI returned the papacy to Rome.

My feet trod on ancient cobblestones, slippery from recent rain, requiring careful steps through alleys and on stairways. The atmosphere was entirely different from Paris. Here everywhere were well-preserved old buildings, every corner photogenic. I took my phone out, wanting to collect this serene, ancient beauty frame by frame, as a gentle footnote to my memories. It felt like a gentle beginning to my last chapter in France.