The art of dining alone

Part 1 – An act of self-respect

Here it is. Probably one of the most controversial solo-travel topics. How or if to dine alone. It is not only a controversial topic, but, in my humble opinion, also a very complex topic and definitely not one that I have fully mastered or conquered. A little disclaimer at the beginning of the blog post: I am not a psychologist nor do I pretend to be one. I am a just a human being, a woman in her early 40s who has experienced her fair share of dinners for one; and I am not talking about business trips or lunch (a topic I intend to tackle another day). I am talking about going out for dinner on hedonistic travel adventures.

I want to divide my many thoughts on this topic into different parts and blog posts and today, I decided to start with part 1, or chapter 1 if you like: The basics.

As humans, we need to feed ourselves on a daily basis. Typically, we divide our daily meals into breakfast, lunch and dinner. This applies during work days, but also, of course, while travelling. In fact, immersing yourself into a foreign cuisine and experiencing another culture through food is wonderful, yet I hear – and sometimes feel – it to be a daunting thought to walk into a restaurant alone. I would assume that this applies to both men and women, but, I would still argue that there is more stigma attached to a woman dining alone. 

When I started to travel by myself, I think it was in 2010, when I got dumped by a boyfriend but did not see a reason to cancel my trip to Istanbul, I found it very difficult to muster up the courage to go and eat alone. I would confine myself to lunch – less weird, I thought – and stick to the touristic places nearby my hotel. Did people stare at me? Yes, they did; mainly women, mind you. Did I have a great experience? No, I did not. Did I experience the wonderful breadth of Turkish cuisine? Of course, I did not. Did I feel good about myself? No. Did I enjoy my dinner? Absolutely not. And you know why? Because I was obsessed with what other people thought; the waiter, the guests, the passers-by.

It is fair to say that, from this moment on, I dreaded dining out alone and I would rather sit in my hotel room than to ask for “a table for one, please”. For several years and many trips thereafter, I would buy something in the supermarket and eat it in my room, watching television. It was sad. But that’s what it was. Especially because I could not really effort nice hotels, which made the entire thing even sadder because the rooms were pretty basic and drab.

So, what changed? At some point, my mindset just changed. I had had enough of sad in-room dining and I thought: do I respect myself so little that I confine myself to the room just because someone could stare at me? So, what? Let them stare. I am a grown up, and who cares what people think about me. Do I ever really care what people think of me? No, I don’t. Will I ever see these people again? I probably won’t either. Why then should I deprive myself of the opportunity to go out, to dine and to experience the evening atmosphere in whatever place I am at? In my opinion, you should not give importance to what strangers – or in fact your peers – think about your dinner habits. Respect yourself, love yourself enough to understand that you deserve a table in that restaurant just as much as all of those couples and families do. 

Sure, it’s nicer to dine with someone, because you can exchange experiences and talk about your impressions, but I have equally seen so many couples sitting in silence or staring at their phones.

It does not take a friend, a husband, a fiancé, a child, a niece, a parent or whomever for you to have permission to go dine. You simply owe it to yourself, because you are worth it on your own. 

Go and ask for that table for one, and don’t accept the one in the corner next to the ladies room at the back. Claim your spot; one with a good view.

To be continued

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