Let me tell you, it’s a humbling and slightly terrifying experience to find yourself, a middle-aged woman, alone in an ER halfway around the world, where you don’t speak the language and everything feels unfamiliar.
I love solo travel. In February, I set out on a five-week adventure through
Vietnam, Cambodia, and Bali—on a mission to see the world and paint what inspired me. I wasn’t completely solo the whole time; I joined up with Women on a Roll for part of the Southeast Asia leg (more on that soon!). But today, I want to tell you about the part of the trip where things took a turn: when I got hurt in Bali.
Don’t worry—I'm completely fine now. No lasting injuries. But let me tell you, it’s a humbling and slightly terrifying experience to find yourself, a middle-aged woman, alone in an ER halfway around the world, where you don’t speak the language and everything feels unfamiliar.
Let’s rewind to how it all started.
The plan for the day was straightforward: a little whitewater rafting followed by a casual ATV ride—two things that sounded adventurous, but doable. I’ve rafted before. The ATV part? Well… I hadn’t done that in a long time, and I kind of forgot how much I dislike motorbikes. (Oops.)
The rafting was incredible. Picture this: lush jungle all around, birds calling from the treetops, and a peaceful river snaking its way through paradise. The rapids were no more than a level 1—just my speed. The only catch? The 300 steps down to the river—and of course, the 300 steps back up. (Surprise! That part wasn’t in the brochure.) But even so, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
After a delicious Balinese lunch, my driver took me to a highly-rated ATV company. The photos online showed smiling people of all ages cruising through wide jungle trails. Looked easy. Looked fun. Perfect, right?
Well… not quite.
It rains every day in the Balinese rainforest, so the trails were muddy, slick, and anything but level. These weren’t gentle paths—they were steep, rocky, and unpredictable. To be fair, the company was thorough with their safety briefing. They geared me up, explained the controls, and assigned me a guide who was kind, patient, and very encouraging. But the truth is: I was terrible at it. Every muddy hill we climbed had my heart pounding. I didn’t feel in control, and fear clung to me tighter than the mud on my boots.
The accident, in hindsight, felt inevitable.
My guide rode ahead, filming me and calling out, “Turn left! Turn left!” But I didn’t. I went straight—right up the embankment—and flipped the ATV. The whole thing happened in a blur. Fortunately, I was thrown to the side, and the machine didn’t land on me.
My knees and hands were bloodied, but superficial. The real pain was in my left side, where I hit the ground. I immediately feared broken ribs. My driver—an absolute angel—rushed me to the ER, helped translate, and stayed by my side the entire time. The ATV company paid for everything, and thankfully, the diagnosis was “only” badly bruised ribs and strained chest muscles. Still, it hurt to breathe for weeks.
What did I learn from this?
First: I might start choosing excursions that don’t involve gunning engines up muddy cliffs. A scenic walk or temple visit sounds just fine for now.
Second—and more importantly—when things go wrong on a solo trip, you find out how strong you really are. You also find out how kind people can be. Even in a foreign country, even when you're scared, alone, and vulnerable… you’ll be okay.
Solo travel isn’t something to fear. It's something to respect. And sometimes, even the misadventures become the stories we remember most.
