THE ART OF A SOLO PHOTO TRIP
Some cities just ask to be wandered. Not explored, not visited, just to be the subject of aimless pottering. I recently took a trip to Paris and made this my aim: to start at a point and saunter through the arrondissements with no set plan and no rigid route. So much of the charm of Paris comes from the unexpected: those narrow streets you happen upon in which the sun dances across Haussmann architecture, the boulevard that opens onto a square holding a market, and the slow way of life that exists between the two and these opportunities are only discovered through the art of simply moving through the city without structure.
I've been lucky to visit the French capital a couple of times before, before I began photography, so while I have seen the main sights by eye, I've never really photographed them, which left me conflicted. Do I make a hit list of the landmarks or do I try and avoid them. In the end, I did a bit of both: I'd start my day at the landmark in question and then wander through Paris in the way I feel it's meant to be explored: without intention or plan. And what allowed me to be this flexible was that I did this alone.
This is my third solo photography trip, and it's something I cannot recommend highly enough: that's whether your aim is to photograph or simply for a break. Being alone in a place unfamiliar feels like reading a book, every turn of a page uncovers something new and the journey you take throughout the story allows you to experience moments and emotions without distraction, without comparison and without compromise: we all read at our own pace and in our own way and that allows us to consume the story in the way our mind needs us to.
This is my third solo photography trip, and it's something I cannot recommend highly enough: that's whether your aim is to photograph or simply for a break. Being alone in a place unfamiliar feels like reading a book, every turn of a page uncovers something new and the journey you take throughout the story allows you to experience moments and emotions without distraction, without comparison and without compromise: we all read at our own pace and in our own way and that allows us to consume the story in the way our mind needs us to.
My first solo trip was to New York, back in 2023. It was somewhere i had visited multiple times before: even just a few months prior. When I was younger, New York had been a place I had dreamt of living and a five-day trip alone felt like that was a nice way to experience the feeling of simply existing in the city as a local. It was exhilarating and exciting and sometimes a little anxiety-inducing and at the end of the trip I came away with not only a batch of photographs I was happy with, but also a huge sense of accomplishment.
Spending significant time by yourself isn't something many of us are encouraged to do. Eating alone, travelling alone or wandering a city alone can even be viewed as lonely. I found the opposite. I came away feeling more comfortable in my own company than ever before. Not to be too philosophical, but spending time in your own company can be extremely beneficial; having only yourself to rely on to navigate obstacles and unfamiliar places builds self belief and confidence and from a photographic perspective, nobody else's schedule dictates your own. That is not to say it's for everyone: some may come away hating the entire process, but I always recommend it's worth giving a go.
My next trip, in 2025, was to Venice, a city like no other. Venice was much less familiar to me: I'd only been once, many many years ago, for just a few hours. It was a fantastic trip and allowed me to immerse myself in photography while embracing a much slower pace. If New York is a sprint, Venice felt like a stroll. Slow - albeit early - mornings, taking a ferry during sunrise and meandering through the narrow alleys, down cobbled streets and amongst the brightly colours buildings of Burano. I think travelling alone with a camera gives you permission to do things slowly, to linger and to assess, in a way you can't with others.
In Paris, one afternoon along Canal Saint-Martin, the city transformed into a summer playground. Young Parisians crowded the bridges and canal edges, jumping into the water while hundreds of others watched from the banks. At first glance, it looked almost impossible to photograph. But after spending time there, patterns began to emerge. Friends passing a water pistol between bridge and canal. A lone figure preparing to leap. Someone shouting encouragement beneath the shade of the bridge while swimmers drifted through shafts of afternoon light. None of those moments could have been planned. They only appeared because I stayed and waited. I took dozens of photographs of the same bridge, I returned to a spot multiple times because something felt unfinished. I stayed for half an hour because the energy kept changing. That sort of time dedicated to finding the right photograph existed because I was alone.
Photography has changed the way I travel. Years ago I would have chased the obvious views, pushing colour and contrast in an attempt to make every location appear more dramatic than it really was. This time, I found myself drawn toward quieter scenes. Less spectacle, more observation. Less "lets capture this famous landmark". More "what does this place feel like?". Travelling alone for photography encourages this as there is no expecatation to keep moving. You have the time to absorb the energy and so you notice more. You notice reflections in canal water. You wait for someone to enter an empty frame. You see the way warm evening light wraps around limestone buildings or how a single Metro sign anchors an entire composition. These moments are much easier to miss if you're making your way through instead of staying put.
Solo travel is often framed as an act of independence, but for photographers I think it's something slightly different. It's an act of awareness and attention. Without distraction, you can become more aware of rhythm, or light or coincidence. You notice the ordinary things that help fill in the gaps to a place.
My time in Paris was intense: it was stiflingly hot and incredibly busy due to Fête de la Musique, but it almost made it feel like a one-in-a-moment Paris. Some of the hottest temperatures on record, during a once-a-year music festival. It was a Paris that rarely exists in that form. Paris will still be there next year. The monuments will look much the same, the cafés will still spill onto pavements and the Metro signs will still glow red against the evening sky. But this version of Paris won't. The heat, the music drifting through the streets during Fête de la Musique, the canal crowded with swimmers escaping record temperatures. Those combined moments belonged to this particular week. The photographs I bought home weren't just of Paris, they were of my Paris. The Paris I explored alone.
