The funny thing about traveling by yourself is that you're actually not alone all that often. You meet people on the bus, at the train station, waiting for taxis, on walking tours and in hostels. The same misty-eyed travelers' look of confusion and awe plays across their faces and instantly you have something in common. Dazed and confused in a place you've never been.
You exchange the 'Where are you from'-s and 'Where are you going?'-s, stories of where've you been, wierd people you've met and places you've been that made you lose your shit. You go on random adventures to eat custard tarts in Belem and see turrets, playing royalty in castles and palaces in Sintra. You crawl through holes in large rocks that lead to small coves and beaches in Lagos and trawl through the thieves market in Lisbon.
And still there's the freedom of doing whatever you want, without agenda, without accountability to anybody. It still freaks me out a little. The world keeps expanding and getting smaller at the same time, but always I feel on top of the world and completely lost in it that it blows my mind. One week down, 11 to go. My life in one backpack. Though still alive, somewhere in the world.