me too

Warning: this post is about to get real serious. Moo's taken over as editor for this one, Mini Moo is currently enjoying the cold weather in England as I type this from my kitchen in Sao Vicente, Cape Verde, where the events of the past week or so have encouraged me to write these words.

Recently I was asked, 'do you wish you were a man?', as a joke. I responded, 'yes, sometimes.'

It was laughed off, but the fact is that it couldn't be truer when travelling.

I wanted to write this post for several reasons. Firstly, for the cathartic effect of venting. Feel free to abandon this post now if you're not ready for a rant.

Second of all, because its important that EVERYONE understands the stark differences between travelling as a female alone, compared to male solo travel.

Obviously this is a biased 'argument', if we're going to call it one. But I feel as though the solo female travel experience mustn't be overlooked or underestimated. And men, if you're reading this, its not an attack on your population. Its an insight into the female mind, which I know is like cocaine to you.

Do you know how it feels to walk into a bar and feel everyone's eyes on you until you leave? Calculating if you can walk to the toilet and back safely. Scoping out the nearest exits. Keeping your hand over your drink. Taking care not to smile too much. Taking care to smile enough. Don't look like a bitch, don't make him angry. Don't give him reason to get mad. But don't encourage him. Don't let him think you're leading him on.

Something as simple as accepting a drink from someone becomes the most complex of tasks.
"What? Lighten up, just take the drink and enjoy it. It doesn't mean you owe him anything."

Of course I know that, and I'd never ever feel guilty for refusing to return the 'favour'. But its a spiral; the lit fuse attached to a bomb that you're forever trying to blow out, without anyone in the room noticing.

You want to scream, BOMB! THERE'S A BOMB IN THE ROOM, GET THE FUCK OUT! But instead, you have to work undercover, defuse the bomb yourself, before he strikes the match.

"Where are you staying?"

"I can't remember"

"You must know where you are staying, how will you get home?"

"I have their number. They'll send a taxi."

"I can take you home. Here it is not safe. But you can trust me. Tell me your hotel name."

"No really, its a Portuguese name, I can't remember it."

What looks like a normal exchange between two strangers is actually a very calculated affair. Each answer has to be carefully constructed. Not so vague that you seem obvious. Not too explicit so that you can be found.

In these scenarios, your thought processes go into battle. The angel in you wants to believe there's good in everyone. Don't assume the worst of people. Give them a chance.

The devil in you wants you to run away, and fast. Think of all the things that could happen here. Get yourself out. Trust nobody.

"What is your name?"

"Jessica"

Angel: Why not give him your real name? What can he do with a first name?

Devil: He knows the hotels of the area - there aren't many. He knows the agents. One question, that's all it takes. In a town that is 10% tourist, 90% residential, he will find it.

Angel: And then what will he do? He just wants to walk you home, maybe he's trying to kiss you goodnight. He's attractive. You might enjoy it.

Devil: He wants to know where I sleep. He wants to come in. He will break in. Are these windows secure? Where would I run if he got in? Would the neighbours help me? If I refuse to kiss him, what will he do?

"How long do you stay here for?"

"A few days, I'm not sure yet."

"You don't know when you leave?"

"It's not been decided."

Angel: What? But you do know when you're leaving! You've got aaages here! Why not tell him that?

Devil: If he knows I have a long time here, he'll follow me around. I'll never escape him.

Last night, Laura (my current travel buddy) and I were at a bar in Mindelo playing cards. A bar that we'd found on tripadvisor. When we walked in, we noticed that the only female present was the barmaid. Stop me if I'm wrong, but I don't know any men that count the number of their counterparts when they walk into a place. Before we'd nodded hello, two beers were handed to us at the bar, courtesy of a brawl of drunk men behind us.

Trigger #1. If we accept these drinks, we're entering into something. If we don't accept them, we might look like snobs and cause offence.

So we decide to nod 'thank you' and sit down, quickly pulling out our monopoly cards to indicate that we're occupied.

Our beers barely met their mats before we'd been joined, completely uninvited, by a broad, bleary eyed local man. A sideways glance is exchanged between myself and Laura. Breathe in.

He attempts to join in with our game. Its obvious he has no intention of learning the rules, or even anything about us. In fact, for the entire exchange the only things he wanted to find out were our names, and where we were staying. Did he get to know if we were funny, intelligent, adventurous, ambitious, strong, outspoken, kind? No. Did he tell us we were sexy? Yes.

On another occasion a few days previous to this, we had taken a half day tour of Sal island with a group of other travellers. Half way through the trip, we decided to sit in the back of the 4x4 rather than outside in the trunk - mostly to nurse our raging hangovers and escape the wind. We'd been sat there for no longer than a few minutes with our tour guide driving, when he asked us abruptly,

"Are you girlfriends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have sex?"

"No. We're just friends."

"Do you like Cape Verdean men?"

*pretending not to understand* "We really like the island. Great weather."

"But the men, do you like the men here? Do you like me?"

"We're just enjoying ourselves."

Conversation carried on for a while as we tried to deter his attempts at flirting with our humour, turning our noses up at the thought of marriage and exaggerating our love for single life and freedom. Then suddenly;

"Can I ask you one question?"

"You can ask it, but we might not answer"

"Do you not like sex?"

I mean, really? Who wrote the rules here? Who said it was okay, as a paid tour guide driving a car full of travellers around the island, to engage in a conversation about sex with two girls you've just met?
I'm not suggesting that its improper to discuss sex. Not at all. What I'm suggesting, no, what I'm ENFORCING, is that its not polite to open your conversation with it. Establish a friendship before discussing the intimate details of your life with me, or expecting me to divulge mine.

At the end of our tour, we asked if we could be dropped home first. We were due to be the last passengers, but insisted that we were 'so tired' and needed to sleep. After telling us where he'd be tomorrow night, asking for our numbers and insisting we see him again, he let us out of the car.

Once safely inside our apartments we deleted his WhatsApp request and made note to avoid the bar he'd be at all week. That's the fact of the matter. We AVOIDED places in fear of seeing him again. Its worth mentioning too that we'd had to move apartments on our second day on Sal, for fear of being watched every time we entered and left our place by a group of drunk men that never seemed to go home.

Anyway, back to last night at the bar.

After a few improvised rounds of monopoly with our unwelcome friend, he beckoned to the waitress for another round of drinks. We didn't want to assume they were for us, but when presented with them we said no. Thank you, but no.

This is important. No is a very simple word, and it shouldn't have to be said more than once.

How many times did we say it to this man? At least 20.

Resisting the urge to fight him when he talks over me, bellowing "LISTEN," I get out of my chair smiling, shake his hand, thanking him for the 12th time for the beer, and edge away, in sync with Laura. In this situation, I am not allowed to be angry. I'm not allowed to accuse him of harassing me. Because it would not be safe. I would rather passively overlook his aggression than confront it like I am entitled to, like I am bursting at the seams to.

Our brisk walk to the door is chased by hollering and shouting, "PLEASE COME BACK."

We hit the fresh air and step up the pace, trying not to run. A minute down the road and we notice a car to our left, slowly following us down the road. The window rolls down. Neither of us look. We know how to handle this situation, we know it too well. Its the guy from the bar. And he's got a friend. Blowing kisses out the window and shouting 'please!', we desperately try to ignore them while searching the distance for a taxi. We walk into a well lit park with people, where the car can no longer follow us. We notice him drive up the road and round the corner, stopping where we would have to walk if we continued. Thankfully, in this scenario, a taxi came along, and delivered us home safely.

But the product of these events?

When we got home, we did not sleep for 2 hours. We were sweating in our rooms, but bolted the windows shut. We covered all cracks in the curtains. We considered sleeping in the spare room, further away from the balcony. We put a knife in the bedside drawer.

This morning, we phoned our airline and paid to change our flights to leave tomorrow, returning to the first island (Sal). We went to breakfast and asked to talk to our hotel owners. We had to tell them we'd been harassed, and that we were now only staying 3 nights instead of 10.

We booked an apartment in a gated complex on Sal for much more money than we would have liked, just so we could sleep at night.

This is by no means the first time I've dealt with this in my life. There was the time in Thailand that I said I was a lesbian to avoid the advances of a fellow traveller. The time in China I pretended to be on the phone when a taxi driver agreed to take me to my destination, because I suddenly noticed he had another man in the car. The time in Cambodia where I had to team up with a group of American guys to cross the border without trouble. The time in Vietnam that I pretended to be tired to avoid spending an evening with my increasingly flirtatious tour guide. The time in Indonesia that I said I was married to deter a man on the bus from his advances. The time in Thailand where, at a busy street market buying breakfast, I was physically assaulted by a man putting his hand up my skirt.

I am an avid traveller. I am a strong, independent woman. I absolutely love my traveling life. But I am also vulnerable.

Respect that. Alleviate that.