Fifteen years ago, I went on honeymoon to San Francisco. It should have been the start of a happy life, but instead it was miserable. I was in a city that everyone else seemed to adore, but my marriage was crumbling and all I wanted to do was leave. The fog felt heavier, the hills steeper, the air colder. When I flew home, I thought I’d never return.

However, this summer I did something that would have shocked the me of 15 years ago – not to mention many people in my Indian community, where divorced women are often shunned or pitied. I went back alone, on what I call a “solo honeymoon”. I returned to reclaim the city on my own terms – and it was one of the best trips of my life.

It didn’t begin smoothly. After a long flight, I queued for over an hour at passport control, nerves rising

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