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Daily Mail
a day ago
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE I'm a female solo traveller and have visited 70 countries - there's one I'll never go back to as it was so unsafe
Solo travel is having a moment - with nearly half of all Brits planning to go it alone in the next year. If you're one of those wanting to step out on your own for your next holiday, we've got you covered, as MailOnline caught up with experienced solo traveller Liz Parry, 50, to get her top tips for first-timers. Liz, who runs PR company Liz Parry PR, has travelled to 70 countries, and explains that she considers herself a 'late starter in terms of solo travel'. She says: 'The first time I really went on my own was a six month trip to South America when I was 30. 'I started with a month in a homestay in Cusco in Peru which was great and really threw me into the culture. Then I did the Inca trail and was meant to continue with a tour group but I quickly realised I didn't like the formula. 'I didn't like being told where to go and how long we had there so I ended up doing it myself. And after that trip, the passion just continued. 'I loved South America, so I started going back every year to a different country and then after about a decade I'd seen all the countries in Central and South America.' Read on to discover where Liz's favourite countries are, where she wouldn't go back to, and her top tips for first-time travellers... The best countries As a huge fan of the continent, it's no surprise that one of Liz's two favourite destinations is Colombia in South America. 'It's really misunderstood and it has this reputation for being dangerous,' she says. 'But it's this really fabulous country with amazing culture.' The solo traveller, who previously lived in Marrakech, also ranks Morocco as one of her favourite destinations. 'It's amazing,' says Liz. 'If you take the time to understand the local culture, then you can have such a rewarding experience.' The countries to avoid Although Liz is no stranger to going off-the-beaten track, and even once spent her birthday sleeping in the 'super creepy' prison on Devil's Island in French Guiana, there's one destination that left her feeling extremely unsafe. She reveals she wouldn't return to Venezuela. 'I think the most memorable place where I felt really fearful was in Caracas in Venezuela. The energy was just very foreboding,' explains Liz. 'I literally got into my hotel room and didn't leave. 'I called in food and ate it in the room. I just did not want to go and explore at all, I was really keen to get out of there. I think I stayed one night and then left.' And there's another country where Liz wouldn't want to get behind the wheel. She says: 'I certainly wouldn't drive again in Lithuania. 'I did a road trip from Estonia and by the time I got to Lithuania, the driving was so insane. It would be pouring with rain and you'd have three cars all overtaking on a blind bend with a bus and a lorry. 'I just turned the car around and went back. I felt emotionally drained by the situation.' The most underrated destinations While Mexico is a popular holiday destination, Liz urges travellers to explore the rest of Central America. 'Below Mexico, you've got Guatemala which is amazing and Panama which has the most fantastic islands. 'It's a joy to take an overland bus there. You can go through all the villages and see everything unfold.' Liz's top tips for first-time travellers Stay in hostels 'If you don't know somewhere very well, it's quite a useful experience to be able to speak to some people staying at a hostel. 'A lot of people that stay in hostels have been there an awfully long time and their recommendations are better than any guidebook.' Opt for a female-only dorm 'Female-only dorms are great for solo women travellers.' Liz likes to stay in Generator Hostels where available. Avoid flights that arrive at awkward times 'Don't take a really cheap flight that arrives at 2am in the morning. 'You'll have to find your way across the city in the darkness. Always pay close attention to the timing of flights.' Don't flash the cash 'Don't walk around with your phone in your hand looking at it constantly.' Do some research She loves Colombia which she describes as really misunderstood. Pictured above is the Rock of Guatape 'Gem up a little bit before you go, have a flick through the guidebooks and get to know a little about the culture and some key phrases.' Avoid tourist hotspots 'Try and stay away from the really touristic hotspots because you're going to pay an awful lot more money there. 'You're not going to have a particularly enriching experience.'
BBC News
13-03-2025
- BBC News
An ethical guide to hiking the Inca Trail
The fabled route leading to Machu Picchu is one of the world's most jaw-droppingly beautiful treks – but it's also plagued by controversies that travellers can avoid. At 2,840m above sea level, the trail leaves the rushing Urubamba River that carves Cusco's Sacred Valley and winds its way uphill. It ascends past Andean cloud forests to Warmiwañusca, the infamous "Dead Woman's Pass" at 4,215m, before descending to the ancient Inca citadel of Machu Picchu, one of the Seven New Wonders of the is the legendary Inca Trail, South America's most popular hike and one of the world's most jaw-droppingly beautiful treks. In an effort to protect the path, which was designed and built more than 600 years ago by Inca engineers, the Peruvian government limits the number of passes available to visitors during the trail's March-to-January opening (the trail opens 15 March 2025). As a result, every year permits for the 43km hike sell out quickly as travellers try to secure one of the roughly 200 daily passes allocated daily for tourists. Ironically, the Inca Trail's popularity contrasts with frequent protests that often leave hundreds of travellers stranded, as the porters tasked with hauling hikers' gear across the mountains petition for better working conditions. While these protests rarely reach English-language publications, the Porters' Voice Collective (an organisation aiming to elevate the rights of Inca Trail workers) released a documentary in 2024 detailing these struggles. How can such an idyllic place hike generate so much conflict? According to the trail's Indigenous guides, the problem is a lack of law enforcement governing porters' working conditions. Since mules are prohibited on the Inca Trail because their hooves would destroy the ancient stone paving and stairs, trekkers are required to hire porters to haul their camping equipment. Porters' days often begin at 05:00 and end after 22:00. While a 2022 law mandates that porters receive s/650 Peruvian Nuevo Soles (£140 or $176) for the four-day trek, very few trekking agencies abide by this and pay as little as s/350 (£75 or $95) per trek. Since the law was passed, trekking agency lawyers have been fighting it, and in the meantime refusing to pay the legal wage. In addition to trekking agencies not compensating porters properly, many companies require their porters to carry more weight than the 20kg maximum that is also stipulated in the law. "Most [male] porters carry about 30kg, and I've seen 40kg packs," says Natalia Amao Huillca, who has been guiding travellers along the Inca Trail since 2007. "About 80% of the injuries I see in porters are knee injuries. The others are mostly back injuries. They frequently ask me for pain pills in the evening." According to Cenovia Quispe Flores, who has worked as a porter for Evolution Treks Peru since 2018, "The law for women is 15kg," but she says she has seen women working for other companies carrying 25 to 30kg. To get around weight limits, many companies either send gear around the first checkpoint where porters' backpacks are weighed or simply pay those off who enforce these limits. "In theory, the checkpoint is strict, but in practice, it's not strict for everybody," explains Shandira Arque Lucana, who has guided hikers on the Inca Trail since 2016. She says that big companies cut deals with people working the checkpoints but that small companies don't have enough influence to evade enforcement. Even companies that want to play by the rules can find themselves stymied by the strict limit of 500 total people (which includes 300 non-tourist porters and guides) allowed on the trail each day. Sometimes there is extra weight but no way to add an extra porter."I've seen many porters working with hernias, bad knees and ankle problems," says Pedro, a guide who asked not to be identified by his real name. "I know a porter who became an alcoholic because he couldn't get treatment for his injured knee. He still works on the Inca Trail, and he dulls the pain with cañazo (a liquor made from sugarcane)". Porters also suffer from dehydration. They drink unclean water from streams and handwashing taps near bathrooms, though paying customers get filtered and boiled all this in mind, what should travellers know if they want to trek South America's most famous ruins in a responsible, ethical way? According to local guides, the first thing to remember is that there are other treks that lead to Machu Picchu."The Inca Trail is not the only option," says Liz Montesinos Pumayalle, who has worked as a guide on the Inca Trail for eight years and notes that mules are used instead of porters on all other trails. "People who want to connect with Indigenous communities should hike the Lares Trek. The Salkantay Trek (which has two options that connect to Machu Picchu directly and other routes that connect indirectly) is best for people who want to sleep in eco-domes or lodges, rather than tents." Amao Huillca notes that companies who hire many female porters often treat their staff better than those who only have one or none. "I like working with porter teams that are half women and have a woman head porter," she says. "Most companies send one or two token women porters." She says that because female porters are more inclined to go to a doctor when they're injured than their male colleagues, tourists who request women porters are more likely to trek with healthier porters. "One way to ensure that porters are treated and paid well is for there to be women porters," echoes Inca Trail guide Edson Lucana Mejía. He explains that it has historically been common for male porters to sleep in the dining tent, which doesn't have a floor and is often muddy. Women usually insist on individual tents, so in a team with more women, you can be sure that more porters have a decent place to sleep. Marco Antonio Carrión, who has been guiding treks on the Inca Trail for 20 years offers other recommendations. "Look for photos of porters with ergonomic backpacks and for reviews that mention something about how porters are treated," he says. "If a company is sustainable and treats the porters well, it will show in the online reviews." In addition, Carrión says travellers should ask if porters are required to wear their employer's uniforms. While it may be a small detail in some cultures, for many Indigenous Peruvians, traditional Quechua clothing is an important part of their allegations of mistreatment by certain Inca Trail operators, many guides and porters not only feel fulfilled, but also fortunate to work in such a stunning natural setting. "I love this work" says Quispe Flores. "I like the mountains and working with my friends, the other women porters. Working in agriculture is harder and doesn't pay." While it isn't always easy to determine which companies follow the law and which don't, Lucana Mejía has one message he wishes the many thousands of travellers hoping to hike the fabled route will remember: "Without porters, there is no Inca Trail." -- For more Travel stories from the BBC, follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram.
The Guardian
17-02-2025
- The Guardian
Thrill-seeking made me feel alive – until the day I hurtled down a volcano on a mountain bike
I'd just completed the spectacular four-day Inca Trail hike to Machu Picchu and, drunk on nature, was feeling dangerously invincible. Fresh Peruvian air still rejuvenated my lungs and the brain fog induced by my daily smartphone addiction hadn't yet crept back in. The disastrous events that followed began once I turned my phone back on. Responding to a Twitter solicitation for Peru recommendations, a man I'd never met posted: 'Go mountain biking down a volcano in Arequipa!' Those eight words would change my life. I didn't even know what Arequipa was, and yet within an hour of the tweet I'd resolved to change all my plans and go. I waved goodbye to my hiking buddy and swapped my flight to Lima, Peru's capital, for Arequipa, its second biggest city, noted for its striking volcanoes, valleys and adventure sports. As I'm a lifelong adrenaline junkie, the opportunity felt irresistible. I've skydived, sand-dune surfed, paraglided, bungee-jumped off New Zealand's tallest tower, been propelled from the water into the air by a jet pack and done Tough Mudder-style adventure events which included ice baths and an 'electroshock therapy' obstacle of 10,000 volts. These experiences shouldn't be taken as braggadocio that claims: 'I'm mad, me!' but more as a recognition of a lifelong problem. I had always found the pedestrian, repetitive monotony of daily life stultifying without a semi-regular thrill to remind me of my own mortality. Descending a volcano by mountain bike felt too seductive, a once-in-a-lifetime experience I couldn't let pass. I struggled to find a tour company that would take me as a solo rider. Three suppliers cancelled at the last minute the night before. It was almost as if the universe was telling me something bad would happen. Still, I ignored such signs and finally found a guide. My head brushed the roof of the 4x4 as I set out with my guide and a driver for the two-hour journey up the winding Pichu Pichu volcano which dominates the city's skyline, so tall at 4,200m that my ears popped on the ascent. As the SUV rolled over the volcano's ancient lava-encrusted bumps, a familiar feeling returned to my gut: nervousness, excitement, the feeling of being alive. My guide offered me four routes, increasing in order of difficulty. He tried to get me to buy the fourth – the hardest (and most expensive). I opted for the third. At the summit I geared up: knee pads, elbow pads, helmet, extra layers. Initially the descent – down a spiralling gravel path which wrapped around Pichu Pichu – was glorious. I belted Life by Des'ree as we whizzed down the winding track. Adrenaline surged through me. My guide showed me three 'shortcut' off-road descents straight down from the spiral. I declined each for being too steep until it started to get awkward – I'd literally paid him to take me off road, and I was staying on road. I agreed to the fourth descent. Suddenly the hills felt perilous; I was almost at a 90-degree angle. My singing abruptly stopped. My colon travelled to my larynx. I screamed at an emasculating pitch and surprising volume. 'Well done, Mr Gary!' my guide said, laughing, as I completed a steep descent. 'Remember: don't brake on the hill.' The bike then picked up an alarming pace. I felt panic travel through me. I resisted braking for most of the descent till it felt too dangerously fast. I saw my guide, who'd stopped ahead of me on the narrow rocky trail, rapidly nearing. Fearful I'd knock him over, I braked too hard into a skid. Furious amounts of dry dust erupted from the hilly dirt ground in protest. My back wheel flipped up, throwing me over the handlebars. In a wallop, my entire body weight landed on my right wrist. Through the clouds of dirt, I briefly saw the outline of my bike in the air. The dust cleared enough for me to see it hurtling towards me before landing on top of me, instantly winding me. At altitude. Arid soil filled my mouth; the first thing I did was spit. I could barely breathe. My hearing faded back in. 'Mr Gary? Mr Gary, are you OK?' I was too winded and in shock to respond. 'Catch your breath, Mr Gary,' my guide said. The first word I choked out was an expletive. The first feeling was sheer embarrassment. Then disappointment. Then pain. My guide insisted my wrist definitely wasn't broken; he's a former paramedic, and if it was broken, it would have swollen more, he said. He even tried getting me back on the bike, but I was in too much pain. Deflated, I asked him to radio the van-of-shame to drive me the rest of the way down the volcano. I slipped and slid down the dusty narrow trail, swearing each time I bumped my wrist. The next day, in agony, I headed to a private clinic. My wrist was definitely broken. Broken so badly that, eight months on, my wrist still isn't fully functional. Looking back on that last adrenaline-fuelled ride, I feel both idiotic and philosophical, sad and cautious. I should have eased in more gently on an easier route. Cycling fast both on and off road has long been my passion, but at the age of 42 I have reluctantly conceded that my mountain-biking days are probably over. Doing the same thing and expecting different results is madness. Twenty minutes of euphoria just isn't worth the risk of two months in a plaster cast then many more in physio. And it's not just mountain biking I've turned the page on. Gently letting go of the thrill-seeking side of myself is a reluctant metamorphosis, but one that recognises both a 36-hour rave at Berghain and a broken bone will take longer to recover from as I ease into middle-age. Each action has an equal and opposite reaction, and that reaction lengthens and intensifies, arguably from your 40s onwards. Each activity will now require a clear-headed risk assessment by speaking it through with someone less gung-ho than me. Four-day hiking with tents? Yes. Canyoning? Maybe. Free solo rockclimbing? Absolutely not. I'm currently deciding whether to ride the world's largest zip-line system in Mexico next month. Jury's still out. The old me would've already booked it. Quitting adrenaline-seeking activities has made me take a closer look at my thrill-seeking need and what it says about me. I was recently diagnosed with ADHD by a psychiatrist. I'm still figuring out what this means for me, and how to manage it, but it contextualises my risk-taking. While it's a popular aphorism for wellness memes and trite wall-hangings, the spontaneity of the 'carpe diem' or 'yolo' mindset is all well and good till you're in a foreign hospital being told you need bone-resetting surgery costing £4,000 – and your travel insurance won't pay. I've realised: sometimes living for tomorrow is healthier than living for today. Gary Nunn is a freelance journalist and author
