Last year, I found myself in a bustling café in Delhi when a housefly landed on my glass of lassi. My husband, Peter, noticed the insect and quietly exchanged his lassi for mine, as if it were the most natural gesture.

“Ah,” said Diana, a fellow traveler, “the perks of being married.” I chuckled and took a sip from my untouched glass. After 14 years with Peter, such thoughtful gestures had become second nature to me. Little did I know that just six months later, we would be going our separate ways.

Our lives had drifted into a roommate-like existence, and the breakup felt inevitable. Still, it’s hard to spend so many years intertwined with someone and not feel unmoored after separation. Honestly, I doubted my ability to be alone. Before Peter, I had been in a series of relationships and had not experienced single life since I was 18 (I’m now 43).

After several lackluster months at home, I decided to revitalize my spirit with a vacation. I had taken a few solo trips previously, but only to Western cities like San Francisco and Berlin. For years, I had longed to explore China, a nation steeped in history and culture, but my prior travel companion had already visited, leaving it low on our agenda. Now, I finally had the opportunity to go.

I chose G Adventures, known for intimate group tours, and booked a 15-day journey from Beijing to Shanghai. The itinerary covered major landmarks — the Great Wall of China, the Chengdu pandas, and the Terracotta Warriors — along with some lesser-known sites: a hike to a mountaintop monastery, a farmstead lunch in Xi’an, and a cooking class in Yangshuo. I hoped these quieter experiences would offer the space and serenity I craved.

Upon my arrival in Beijing, I felt an unexpected surge of nerves before meeting my group. Having traveled with G Adventures six times before, I found the people enjoyable and friendly. This time, however, I lacked the comfort of having a partner by my side. After years in a couple, I realized how much I relied on my husband’s presence to ease social interactions. Striking up conversations or staying engaged was now solely my responsibility. I was determined to make a good impression, smiling warmly and trying to charm my way through. Thankfully, I clicked well with our diverse group of ten, which featured an interesting mix of ages, genders, and nationalities.

Our adventure began at the Mutianyu section of the Great Wall, located about 50 miles north of Beijing. Our guide advised us to start at the second entrance, where we could either hike, take a cable car, or a chairlift to the top. I chose the chairlift, a decision met with a fluster as I struggled with my many layers of clothing. I noticed another traveler effortlessly handing her jacket to her partner, who tucked it away in his backpack, reminding me once again of the advantages of partnership.

As I ascended above the Mutian Valley, my eyes fell upon the Great Wall winding through the mist, its form elegantly tracing the hilltops. This section was less crowded compared to Badaling, which is commonly visited. Although tourist stands dotted the approach, the Wall itself offered moments of serenity. The sweeping views were stunning; I could see the expansive landscape under a misty sky, evoking feelings of nostalgia among my fellow travelers, several of whom were also navigating recent breakups.

Walking a three-mile stretch of the Wall, it struck me that this was the first of the Seven Wonders of the World I had seen alone. All the others — Chichen Itza, Christ the Redeemer, the Colosseum, Machu Picchu, Petra, and the Taj Mahal — I had shared with Peter. While bittersweet, it also felt appropriate. I was single now, and if I wished to continue exploring the world, I had to embrace traveling solo.

Initially in Beijing, I clung to the group, opting not to venture out alone amidst the overwhelming crowds at Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. By day four, we traveled to Xi’an, famous for the Terracotta Army. The experience marked my first bullet train journey, and I was amazed by its cleanliness, quietness, and speed, whisking us over 675 miles in under five hours.

The Terracotta Army astounded me with its grandeur and intricacy, though the throngs of visitors dulled my enjoyment. I realized I preferred simply observing rather than seeking the perfect photo. After the noise and chaos, I yearned for solitude. Although my sense of direction was poor and I feared losing my way, I ventured to Xi’an’s city wall and the nearby Huancheng Park. Standing amongst unfamiliar faces in this new city, I felt a newfound bravery that surpassed the adrenaline of skydiving or bungee jumping in past travels.

In Huancheng Park, I chanced upon a heartwarming scene: groups of older women engaged in dance and exercise. An aerobics class, ballroom dancing, and badminton echoed through the area. I cherished this rare sight of women embracing their physicality in public, a stark contrast to my own mother, an immigrant from a patriarchal culture who would never dance in such a festive atmosphere. Their movements exuded freedom, grace, and confidence. I lingered, energized and uplifted by what I witnessed.

Next, we traveled south to Chengdu, where we visited the Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding. Arriving at dawn allowed us to watch the playful pandas as they fed and frolicked. From Chengdu, we proceeded to Emei Shan mountain to see the impressive Leshan Giant Buddha, a 71-meter statue carved into the cliffs.

Our penultimate destination was Yangshuo in Guangxi province, renowned for the picturesque Li River and its stunning karst mountains. Here, I faced my biggest challenge of the trip: a three-hour bike ride along the river. I had learned to ride a bicycle in my late twenties and had suffered a serious accident in 2016. Since then, I had relied on Peter to navigate safely through foreign roads, often shielding me from traffic, but now I was on my own.

The ride was demanding, but the breathtaking scenery was worth it: a shimmering river flanked by towering karst formations and the striking natural arch of Moon Hill. Completing the ride filled me with exhilaration and confidence.

My newfound energy was evident. That evening, at a lively bar called Riverside Garden, a man playfully gifted me a rose, a lighthearted tourist custom. The following night, I received another rose, this time accompanied by a round of drinks. The attention, while friendly and casual, reminded me that there can be joy in being single.

Later that night, I stumbled upon a group of women dancing in a courtyard. Encouraged by the atmosphere and a few glasses of wine, I joined in. Dancing with them lightened my spirit — an activity I would have likely avoided in Peter’s presence, as my carefree fun often embarrassed him. This realization made me appreciate the significance of being unanchored; while a partner can provide stability, they can also restrict freedom.

At the trip’s outset, our guide shared an insightful observation: “China is not just a holiday; it’s an experience.” Standing on the Great Wall, reflecting on the profound solitude I experienced at one of the world’s wonders, I had no idea that only days later, I would embrace the independence that being alone in a foreign land can offer. This solo journey through China taught me about courage — whether it’s bungee jumping into an abyss, dancing with strangers, or simply finding solace in a new park.