Sometimes it’s a relief to make a journey alone, on other trips it’s more interesting to share the experience. Two writers, who have travelled the world for work and pleasure, tell us what they think. Amanda Morison extols the virtues of exploring en masse, while Gabriella Le Breton presents the case for wandering solo.

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The groupie, Amanda Morison (@travelmorison)

Can someone with children be objective about the joys of group travel? I have four young boys, and as drinking a cup of coffee on my own is a rare event, I’m arguably not in the best position to set off solo to the Antarctic. But would I want to when the most fun to be had is when travelling as a pack? Paul Theroux and Bill Bryson, hear me out.

In my gap year, my best friend and I camped in youth hostel gardens and entered a hitchhiking competition with newly liberated East Germans. On group press trips I’ve danced on tables in the British Virgin Islands and been pushed up arid hillsides in Morocco. Compare that with still frequent solo trips, when I dine with my best friend, Kindle, and return unusually bright-eyed after an early night or two and, well, there’s not really any comparison.

Left to my own devices I might simply wallow on a sun-lounger, but friends introduce you to parts of the world you never knew existed. Downtown Hong Kong is a stroll away from lush hiking trails, something I didn’t know until a cousin who lived there told me to pack my walking boots. When we took the children to New Zealand it was a duty and pleasure to explore as much of the South Island’s spectacular scenery as we could.

Safety in numbers is a consideration, especially in countries where women travelling on their own are, at best, a novelty. But everything from a sunset to a joke is better shared. Even Robert Louis Stevenson enlisted a herbivore in his endearing Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes. Though to be fair, that was mainly because Stevenson’s sleeping bag was so vast it needed a donkey to carry it.

Going it alone, Gabriella Le Breton (@GabyLeBreton)

Growing up with peripatetic parents, I’ve always been something of a loner, so after university I packed a rucksack and hit the road. I met up occasionally with friends at vague rendezvous points, but most of the time I travelled alone – for nearly four years.

Today, as a travel journalist, I do sometimes travel with other writers but still prefer adventuring alone. And, despite the radical differences in context and style of my travel then and now, the reasons remain largely the same. Travelling on my own heightens my senses – without others to chat to, I engage entirely with my surroundings. Walking in silence through the Himalayas, I’ve heard the call of an eagle soaring above me, and the rush of an avalanche, which would have been otherwise unnoticed. As I contemplated a glacial calving front in Greenland, a perfectly white Arctic hare bounded right up alongside to contemplate me. Riding a chairlift alone, I notice the artistry of each snowflake.

Ironically, travelling alone encourages interaction with people. When journeying in a group, you present a relatively closed façade, whereas you’re drawn into conversations when alone. These chats and the resulting interactions, from an impromptu fishing trip in Belize to a stay with an elderly lama in his remote Tibetan temple, are among my travel highlights. 

I fear that all solo travellers are, fundamentally, rather selfish types. The luxury and flexibility of determining when and where I want to go are hard to relinquish. I hate feeling rushed in a museum, having to forgo a food market or enduring a long lunch on a powder day. I’ll often wander aimlessly around a city, stumbling on unexpected treasures without feeling responsible for anybody trailing in my wake. And call me a bad person, but when I find one such treasure, having it all to myself often makes it even more special.

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This article has been tagged Opinion, Destination