Solo travel was never going to be easy for me.

I had wanted to travel the world since I was about twelve. My family took me around parts of Europe when I was younger, and I became fascinated by the fact that normal life could look completely different depending on where you happened to stand.

By twenty, I had finally saved enough money to start travelling independently around Southeast Asia. Then COVID arrived and the world shut down. Not long afterwards, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. I had already lived with severe peanut and shellfish allergies my entire life, so adding insulin, glucose sensors and the possibility of nighttime hypos made solo travel feel less like freedom and more like a complicated administrative error.

For a while, I assumed the dream had quietly expired. Every version of travelling in my head ended with overheated insulin, an allergic reaction or me trying to explain a CGM to airport security while everyone behind me sighed aggressively.

In 2025, I completed a Master’s degree in Psychology. I had also reached the point where I understood my diabetes well enough to stop treating every possible problem as evidence that I should stay home. I wasn’t suddenly fearless. I was simply fed up with fear having the deciding vote.

In early 2026, I left the UK and spent five months backpacking through Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia and Malaysia. I carried insulin through temperatures above 40 degrees, explained severe allergies across language barriers, treated more hypos than I care to count and stayed in enough hostels to develop strong opinions about communal bathrooms.

Some things went brilliantly. Others did not. My insulin was accidentally frozen in northern Vietnam. I had several stomach illnesses, lost a bank card and discovered that “only a little peanut” is not the reassuring sentence some people think it is. I also completed motorbike loops, trekked through jungles, crossed borders, made friends from around the world and volunteered with Action4Diabetes in Cambodia.

I started sharing the journey because the information I wanted before leaving was either painfully clinical or suspiciously inspirational. I needed someone to tell me what actually happens when a hostel fridge is unreliable, how it feels to eat abroad with an allergy card, and whether airport security genuinely cares about a backpack full of needles.

That is what this website is for. I share practical guides, honest mistakes and stories from places I think deserve more than a rushed photo stop. I love travelling beyond the obvious attractions, meeting local people and understanding how life, including life with diabetes, works in the places I visit.

I am not here to tell anyone that a positive attitude solves chronic illness. It doesn’t. Preparation, access to medication, support and a fair amount of stubbornness help. But if my experiences make somebody’s first trip feel less frightening, then every awkward fridge conversation was probably worth it.