For years, I sat with unease. I, too, yearned to see the idyllic, otherworldly destinations influencers post on Instagram. But I’d also seen and read enough to wonder what I’d be contributing to when I rocked up. Reports about overtourism have a way of nestling in the back of your consciousness: islands and beaches closed, locals being priced out, sacred sites and environmentally fragile places facing queues you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy.

My desire to travel remained, but I refused to be part of the problem. My question went from “Should I go?” to “When should I go?”

Let’s talk shoulder season travel. These beautiful pockets between peak rushes when crowds have lessened significantly, and life hushes to an unhurried pace. Prices drop. Availability becomes a certainty. And the version of a place you get to know in those quiet in-betweens is the one that leaves your soul with a warm afterglow.

For a woman travelling alone, the lower volume does more too. It gives you room to move more freely, comfortably, to feel genuinely safer and more at ease in a way a packed high-season street doesn’t allow. This shift changes more than just logistics; it changes your entire nervous system.

Angkor, Cambodia
June—October

Two travellers cycling on a jungle path past the ancient Ta Keo temple ruins in Angkor, Cambodia, during the quiet rainy season.
With the crowds cleared, the landscape becomes a peaceful sanctuary where you can roam ancient ruins at your own rhythm. (Image by fbxx)

The crowds clear when the clouds roll in for the rainy season. What’s left is an enormous, largely empty landscape of sandstone and jungle, where you can roam one of the minor temples for what seems like a lifetime without coming across another person. I hired a tuk-tuk (kâng bey) for three days, and we worked out routes and timing together over coffee. We’d start before dawn each morning to reach the outer temples (“the big circuit”) with ample time for me to explore in peaceful solitude, capturing reflections in puddles left by tropical showers as morning light unveiled ancient wall carvings. I really did feel like Lara Croft.

Tip: Consider renting an electric bike if the weather permits!

A traditional Cambodian tuk-tuk carrying passengers down a quiet, tree-lined road in Siem Reap.
Hiring a tuk-tuk during the off-peak months means easier negotiations and the freedom to work out routes together over morning coffee. (Image by aldarinho)

Rooms in Siem Reap that are usually fully booked months in advance during peak season were available at a fraction of the cost, even when booking last-minute. For a solo woman, the lower visitor numbers also meant easier, less cut-throat negotiations or hard sells, as well as more attentive service.

✈️ Ultimate Travel Guide: 10 Things To Know About Siem Reap

Chiang Mai, Thailand
June—October

The historic and majestic stone facade of Wat Chedi Luang temple against a soft sky in Chiang Mai.
Navigating iconic sites like Wat Chedi Luang becomes an exercise in presence rather than a race through a crowd. (Image by Tim Durgan)

June sees the beginnings of the monsoon. It’s also when most visitors head South. Markets feel far less like a mosh pit. Things are so much calmer; interactions with locals feel lighter, less transactional. Premium-priced resorts take bookings at nearly half the usual price — and you’ll enjoy the facilities practically to yourself. Sure, it rains a little more, but the surroundings experience a rebirth of baby leaves and vibrant greens.

A woman selecting fresh fish at a stall in the Chang Puak Gate Market in Chiang Mai during a calm morning.
Markets feel less like a mosh pit and more like a community, where interactions with locals feel lighter and less transactional. (Image by chatchai)

When you’re navigating alone, having to figure out logistics when things are busy, hectic, and fully booked is exhausting. I’m a person who likes to arrive somewhere and see how things unfold. The shoulder season gives me that freedom without having to pre-book or pre-plan every step of my trip.

✈️ Chiang Mai Travel Guide: 9 Tips & Things To Know Before Going

Luang Prabang, Laos
May—September

A panoramic sunset view over the historic town of Luang Prabang, Laos, and the surrounding Mekong River valley.
Standing above the city at dusk, you can soak up the simple pleasures of everyday life without the friction of peak-season tourism. (Image by Sean Hsu)

The Mekong runs high and brown in September, while the monks’ alms-giving procession at dawn unfolds in genuine calm. No tour groups lined up three-deep with cameras at the ready. I stood at a respectful distance and felt unexpectedly moved as it dawned on me that I could soak up the simple pleasures of everyday life without tip-toeing around crowds.

A high-angle view of the Luang Prabang night market, showing the iconic red, blue, and white umbrella tops of the vendor stalls.
The absence of crowds at the night market changes more than just logistics; it allows you to truly hear the stories behind the patterns and fabrics. (Image by Sung Shin)

At another point during my visit, a lady at the night market spent a good half an hour explaining fabrics to me and what each regional pattern meant, asking where I was from and being tickled by my background. There was a quality of warmth and attention I’d never experienced while travelling during peak season.

✈️ 10 Tips For Women Travelling To Luang Prabang, Laos

You might get caught in the rain more. Transport might run less often. But what you won’t encounter is the constant feeling of being on high alert — whether for safety or simply competing for everything from rooms to someone’s attention. Instead, you get moments that are unplanned, unhurried, authentic, and I’d go out on a limb to say that’s what happens when a place isn’t at capacity.

As a woman travelling alone, that absence of friction has been one of the biggest game-changers for me on so many levels.