All by myself - Why solo holidays are the absolute bomb
Tracey revels in sun, sea and solitude post-divorce
Swimming through the shimmery turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea grinning like a deranged seal, I give myself a mental high five for my life choices. Sun, sea and solitude is exactly what I need right now. And maybe a pint of pina colada.
It's been a difficult couple of years since separating from my husband. Life has definitely taken its toll. My coat is no longer glossy, my eyes are dull and there's no wag left in my tail. In short, I'm knackered to the bone.
What I need is a little luxury holiday with...myself, so I'm spending a few days alone at the Calista Luxury Resort, just outside Belek on Türkiye's Turquoise Coast, perfect for a tired, middle-aged woman in desperate need of some R&R.
Apparently, holidays are a time to relax, a time to recharge and regroup with a partner, family or friends. But I didn't get the memo. From my first mates holiday at 16, when my parents naively allowed me and five friends to go Ibiza in '87 (the fools) I've hit holidays hard.
It doesn't matter if it's a cultural city break to Cologne, a little gîte in the Dordogne or a road trip across the States – I always get overexcited and eat too much, drink too much and come home pink, puffy and still in need of a holiday. This time I want – no, need – to return home relaxed, recharged and hopefully revitalised.
I've gone all-inclusive. I know, I know, shut up. All-inclusive holidays get a bad rap, and often for good reason. They can suck the soul out of a destination and keeps all the tourist bucks in the pockets of multinational companies. And I get it. For years I've shunned the debauchery of sky-high buffets and all-you-can drink booze, preferring to "get under the skin" of a destination. I've banged on and on about staying in authentic guesthouses, only eating where the locals eat, and using a papyrus map and a brass compass to find my way around (well, not quite but you know what I mean).
But this is a considered choice. For this holiday to actually work, I need a hiatus from real life, a rest from making decisions. I intend to spend hours grazing the buffets, sipping bottomless Mai Tais and lying on a sunlounger with Jilly Cooper's back catalogue. I don't want to have to think about a single thing...apart from myself.
But in reality, what will five days of solitude feel like? SPOILER: IT FEELS FUCKING GREAT! Can I actually exist on little more than rum cocktails and small talk with the bar staff? Will I be lonely? Will I look weird reading a book at dinner? But I needn't have worried. I take to holidaying alone in a nanosecond.
I have to say, being on holiday on my own agenda has been the ultimate treat. Since time began, women have been the packhorse which carries all the emotional and practical labour of a family holiday. It's always the women who are ensuring that everything goes smoothly and everybody has a lovely time. When my three children were small, there was no such thing as 'getting away from it all'. Holidays involved all the same work, just in a different setting. And when they got older it didn't get much easier – being away with three teenagers needed a peace treaty.
Now, if I want to wake up at noon and drink pina coladas from a giant inflatable flamingo in the pool, I can. I don't, of course – mainly because they had sold out of giant flamingos – but the option is always there. Instead on the first morning I wake up naturally early and wander down to an empty beach. I sit on the soft pale sands scanning the sea for signs of the dolphins and loggerhead turtles native to these waters.
There's plenty to do. Yoga, Pilates, Zumba, aquarobics, daily tennis clinics, jet skiing, I could return home an entirely different person. There's even a waterpark, should I feel the need to revisit the utter hell of previous family holidays. I don't, of course. I do, however, spend hours in the spa having the stress and tension of the last few months soaked and steamed out of me in the hammam.
However, I can't deny the slight rumbling of discontent about being in a different country and not exploring every ancient ruin, bazaar or art gallery in a 20-mile radius. I come close to booking a taxi to visit the ancient Greek city of Perge to explore its colonnaded streets and stone amphitheatre which dates back to 1000BC. But it's 35 degrees at midday and instead I settle back down on my lounger with a cold beer and another few chapters by the pool.
It's strange how quickly I fall into a routine. I wake up early and have a coffee on the balcony with the sparrows. After a gentle swim in an empty pool, I sit at the same table for breakfast, order a caffe latte and an orange juice before working my way around the many buffet stations. Fresh figs, yoghurt, pastries, an omelette,Turkish delight – every thing is game. I read my book, have more coffee, and consider another circuit around the pastry station, before retiring to my favourite lounger until lunchtime.
If I was here for longer, I might have been tempted to hire a car and head down the coast to Side, a seaside town where Mark Antony romanced Cleopatra. Less than an hour's drive along the coast from Belek, it's best known for the Temple of Apollo and Athena, the intact remains of a 1800-year old Roman temple.
As the days went on I found myself relaxing into a deep state. My mind was blissfully unbusy. I would spend delicious hours just pottering around my huge hotel room. I'd chat to the sparrows like an aged Snow White in a bikini, and browse the all-inclusive minibar for treats and get unduly excited when I realise I don't have to share the Pringles with anyone. By day four I was so relaxed I had to be poured into breakfast.
On my last night, I took myself out on a date to Turca, the Turkish restaurant. As I work my way through my banquet-for-one, I look around at the other tables filled with families and couples, some tense, some chatty. I realise that a holiday with others is almost always a dance of compromise, but a holiday alone offers the rare opportunity to be entirely selfish, something that does us good once in a while.
Now I'm fully acclimatised to the solo experience, I worry that I won't be able to reintegrate into society when I return home. I've really enjoyed my own company and feel fully recharged and ready to tackle real life again....well, maybe after one last pina colada…
First published in Platinum magazine