No matter how careful you are, women travellers are never truly safe

The disappearance of backpacker Amelia Bambridge is a reminder for all female travellers. There isn’t a place in the world where being a woman isn’t inherently dangerous

Last Wednesday, 21-year-old Amelia Bambridge was at a beach party on the Cambodian island of Koh Rong. According to her sister, she had been saving for her trip, which began in Vietnam, for two years and was having “the best time ever”. CCTV footage shows her arriving at the party around 2am and friends report seeing her there at 3am. She has not been seen again since.

Two hundred soldiers and police officers have been involved in the subsequent search for Amelia, who is from Sussex. Her family have arrived on the island and six local men are being questioned. On the beach where she was last seen, her bag, phone and credit cards have been found.

On Monday, her father says he hopes for a miracle, but doesn’t expect to see his daughter alive again. Now Cambodian police fear she has drowned after claiming searches on land and sea had failed to provide any information about her disappearance. However, the police have vowed that the hunt will continue until she is found.

In recent years we’ve seen a recurrent trend of young, female, British backpackers going missing while travelling abroad, or being sexually assaulted and even murdered. In 2018, 22-year-old Essex backpacker Grace Millane was murdered in New Zealand and in 2016, Mia Ayliffe-Chung, 21, from Derbyshire, was stabbed to death at her Australian hostel in front of dozens of witnesses. In 2014, Hannah Witheridge, 21, from Norfolk, was murdered while backpacking in Thailand along with her male friend, David Miller. Before her death, Hannah was also raped.

The day after I turned 21, I went to Costa Rica for a week by myself. My mum’s friend was living a few miles away from my accommodation, but I spent a lot of time without her. I grew up with a strict, cautious dad and his safety rules had stuck. I insisted on seatbelts in cars, helmets on bikes, I didn’t carry lots of money on me and I listened to my instinct when it came to things I did and didn’t do. Amelia’s father also says he “spoke to her about safety, safety, safety, safety,”.

But even after taking those actions, I was never truly safe. My bikini top and shorts could have been deemed provocative, “asking for it”. A two minute walk from a restaurant to my room after dark may also have been an empty dirt path with waiting, watching eyes. The camera I wore around my neck was a beacon blaring out my backpacker status.

I was young, not stupid, and had anything happened to me, I wouldn’t have deserved it. It wouldn’t have been my fault. Wearing the clothes I wanted and walking the route I wanted should have been a right, not a risk. But I was always at the mercy of a terrible decision by an awful stranger or a violent group of men.

Amelia was not alone the night she went missing. She left for the party with six friends and Mia was surrounded by around 30 people as she was stabbed. It goes to show that the danger I was in at the same age as both girls was not simply because I was travelling solo. It was because I was travelling as a woman.

The same applies for travelling here in the UK. I’d never get on an empty tube, tram or train carriage. A friend of mine was once set upon by a group of men who boarded her previously empty train carriage and blocked CCTV cameras.

I'd never jump into a taxi on the street, but instead rely on apps that allow me to book and then share my journey, ETA and driver details with my husband. A friend of a friend was recently in a taxi when the driver locked the doors and drove her to the top floor of an empty multi-storey car park.

If I need to walk in quiet areas of my hometown Leeds after dark, I’ll send my whereabouts to my husband via the location tracker function on Facebook Messenger. I do what I can to reduce risk wherever possible, even if it costs me money or time. It’s about doing the best I can in situations where I have inherently less power, simply because of my gender.

And it is because of my gender. My husband admits he’s never felt in danger in a taxi or on other public transport in this country. Abroad, he is worried about language barriers causing unintentional offence, but not attack. Several other male friends echo his sentiments. One told me how he walks home from work and town after dark all the time. While a female friend messaged me saying how much she fancies going for a run, but can’t because it will be dark when she finishes work. The contrast is startling, the injustice indisputable.

Now at the opposite end of my 20s, I’m preparing for a solo trip to Rio next month. I plan to only get taxis arranged by my hotel. I won’t rely on free wifi spots, instead paying for data at all times. I’ll memorise the basic phrases so as not to draw attention to myself as a tourist unnecessarily when passing shops or groups of locals. I won’t drink, I’ll dress neutrally, but even still just being there will be a risk. Then again, so too will coming home. There isn’t a place where being a woman isn’t inherently dangerous.

Nothing is guaranteed, nor can our actions promise our safety. It seems that all we can really do is hope that those waiting, watching eyes stay away, and the heartbroken fathers get their miracle.