I Wouldn’t Leave My Hotel After Dark on My First Solo Trip. Now I Go Out Alone on Purpose.

On my first solo trip, there was a door I didn’t walk out of.

It was Seoul, July 2023. I was 33, a girl from a town of 350 people in rural Utah, alone in a city of ten million — and for the first few nights, once it got dark, I stayed in. I told myself it was sensible: see the city in daylight when I felt safe, sleep early, wake early, make the most of it. All true. Also a very respectable place to tuck a little fear.

A few trips later, I was walking a foreign city alone at night on purpose, so at ease it took me a second to notice it was remarkable at all.

The difference wasn’t the city. It was me. And I can show you almost the exact spot where it happened.

Why I stayed in (and why that wasn’t weakness)

Let me be honest about the reasons, because the honesty is the useful part.

I didn’t know if it was safe after dark. I didn’t know the cultural rules — whether a woman out alone at night would read as ordinary or as a target. I was braced to be judged for being by myself, and underneath that, a smaller worry we don’t admit often enough: that I wouldn’t actually have any fun alone — that I’d go out and just feel lonely somewhere more expensive.

So I stayed in, and I’m not mad at her for it. That first-trip caution wasn’t a character flaw; it was data-gathering. I was getting my own read on the place before I trusted it — a completely reasonable way to start. (If you want the actual safety breakdown for Seoul — transit at night, what to watch for — I wrote that all out in a full guide to Seoul safety. This post is the other half: what changes inside you.)

The first time I went out anyway

The thing that finally got me out after dark wasn’t a burst of courage. It was a booking.

I’d been in Seoul a few days — long enough to feel my footing — and I booked a guided evening tour of a moon village through an experience app. “Moon village,” daldongnae, is what Koreans call the hillside neighborhoods that climbed up where the land was cheap, closer to the moon, the saying goes. The one I visited was Ihwa Mural Village, on the slope of Naksan Park, threaded along the old Seoul City Wall that still rings the city.

Going out at night with a small group, a guide, and a plan turned out to be the gentlest possible on-ramp. I wasn’t technically alone — which was the point. I got to practice being out after dark with the training wheels still on. We wandered the painted lanes, climbed to the park above the city, and looked out over Seoul lit up below, the old wall running off into the dark. It was fascinating, and it was busy, and the people everywhere made it feel safe rather than exposed.

Then, at the end, the guide invited anyone who wanted to stay out for a drink. A handful of us did. And there it was — the thing I’d been afraid I couldn’t have alone: company, conversation, a city at night, all of it. What I felt wasn’t a triumphant montage. It was quieter: I wasn’t missing out on my own trip just because I’d come by myself.

That feeling — I don’t have to live a smaller version of this because I’m solo — is most of why I travel the way I do.

The stream that measured my whole arc

If you want to watch my confidence grow in real time, watch one place: Cheonggyecheon.

Cheonggyecheon is a stream that runs right through downtown Seoul — and it almost wasn’t. For decades it sat buried under an elevated highway, until the city tore the freeway down and brought the water back in the early 2000s. Now it’s a long, sunken ribbon of green in the middle of the city, with walkways and stone steps that lead right down to the water. It’s built for you to sit in it, feet in the stream, which is exactly as good as it sounds.

I found it on a tour — a market tour, where the guide walked us past and explained what it was. I filed it away.

Then I went back by myself, in daylight. I sat on the steps with my feet in the water for hours, in the shade, greenery on both sides and the city humming somewhere above me. There’s a food market right there, so I could pop up for a snack and come back down. I have rarely felt so peaceful — and it was a different milestone than the tour. That was me, alone, choosing how to spend my time and loving it.

And then, on a later trip, I did the thing that would have been unthinkable to the woman who hid in her hotel on night one: I went back alone, after dark. The walkways are lit, the water moves, and it’s full of people well after dark. The crowds that once would have intimidated me now read as what they are: a couple thousand people out enjoying their own city, which is about the safest a place can feel. (In December, the stream also hosts the Seoul Lantern Festival.)

Tour, then daylight alone, then night alone. Same stream, three different women — all of them me, a few trips apart.

How the confidence compounds

Each time I’ve gone back to Seoul for solo days, it’s been easier — not because I willed myself braver, but because confidence isn’t a mood. It’s evidence. Every trip banks a little more proof the fear can’t argue with.

Three things stacked up. I got more confident about safety, because I’d seen it now, not just read it. I got more confident in my own abilities — I’d gotten lost and un-lost myself, eaten alone, navigated a language I don’t speak, and survived all of it. And I figured out what actually works for me, which might be the most underrated of the three.

Knowing what works for me means I build trips I can genuinely enjoy alone. On a later trip I booked a 24-hour Buddhist temple stay — a wonderful solo activity, pensive and just structured enough that I never felt like I was floating around by myself. That’s not because I only do structured things solo; the stream is the opposite of structured. It’s that I’ve learned the mix. I’ll still ease into a new place the gentle way I always have, too: a walk to the convenience store near my hotel after dark, low stakes, just to feel the night air and prove the block is fine. Small reps. They add up.

The quiet part: confidence is permission, not force

Here’s the reframe that did the most for me, and not the one I expected.

I used to think getting braver meant pushing through everything — going out even when it felt off, doing the thing because I’d paid for it. It’s the opposite. The real confidence came when I gave myself permission to opt out. I decided I’d trust my gut and not go anywhere that felt wrong — even if I’d spent the money, even if I’d hauled myself across the city to get there. Sunk costs are not a safety strategy.

Once “I can always leave” was genuinely on the table, going out stopped feeling like a dare. Confidence wasn’t forcing myself into the night; it was trusting myself in it — enough to handle whatever it held, including the decision to turn around and go home. (It helps that I mostly skip drinking when I travel solo. One less variable.)

What going out at night is really about

None of this is actually about nightlife. I’m not telling you to go close down a club in a city you landed in yesterday.

It’s about not letting your life shrink to the size of your fear — or the size of your guest list. Most women my age have partners, kids, jobs, calendars that don’t line up with mine. If I waited until someone was free and willing for everything I wanted to do, I’d do a fraction of it. I’m not willing to live a smaller life because I’m not partnered, or because the right person to go with hasn’t appeared. I never want access to my own life to depend on whether someone else says yes.

Going out alone at night is just the most concrete proof I’ve got that it doesn’t.

If you’re still in the hotel room

If you’re reading this from behind a door you haven’t walked out of yet: give yourself grace. You don’t have to become a night person in a foreign country to count as brave. There’s no prize for forcing it.

But if you want to ease in, do what I did. Book something that gives you a reason to be out after dark with other people around — a guided evening walk, a night market tour, a food crawl. Let it show you what the city feels like at night while you’ve got company and a plan. Notice that you’re fine. Then go back to the part you loved — by yourself, in daylight. And then, when you’re ready, after dark.

That’s not a leap. It’s a staircase. I took it one step at a time, with my feet in a stream.

More life. Anyway.

Frequently asked questions

Does solo travel get easier the more you do it? Yes — noticeably. Confidence compounds because it’s built on evidence, not willpower. Each trip banks proof that you can navigate, eat alone, get lost and recover, and enjoy your own company. A few trips in, the things that terrified you on trip one barely register.

How do I get over the fear of going out alone at night while traveling? Start with structure and company: book a guided evening tour or a night market walk so your first outings after dark come with other people and a plan. Ease in with low-stakes reps — a convenience-store run near your hotel, a busy, well-lit area. And give yourself standing permission to opt out of anything that feels off; knowing you can always leave is what makes going out feel safe. (For city-specific safety, see my Seoul safety guide.)

Is it normal to not go out after dark on your first solo trip? Completely. Hanging back the first few nights isn’t failure — it’s smart data-gathering while you get your read on a new place. Trip-one caution is the starting line, not a verdict on whether you’re cut out for this.

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Still on the near side of your first solo trip? That’s exactly who I made The First Solo Trip Playbook for — the free, step-by-step plan that turns “I couldn’t” into “I did.”

Not sure where to start? Here are the best first solo travel destinations for women — and once you’ve picked one, how to plan the trip in less time than you think.

Related: You don’t need a different life to start living more of this one.