I went to Wroclaw for the weekend at the end of February. After a 5-hour coach from Prague, dragging myself to the youth hostel to freshen up, I stumbled out to dinner. I didn't quite realise it at the time but it was my first experience of eating alone in a restaurant. "Table for one?", I tried to assert to the waitress when she asked how many people I needed the table for. The waver of anxiety in my voice betrayed me.
There's something strangely empowering about eating on your own in a restaurant. The sheer defiance and gluttony of enjoying a private meal by yourself, as if it's all the company and conversation one could ever need, or desire.
Dining alone has its benefits: mostly, people watching. Absorbing the Friday night buzz and taking in the chatter and laughter from others. It also allows you to take time out for yourself and stock-check: I was able to reply to lots of DMs, something I'm notoriously bad atm. It does feel almost hedonistic eating alone, but I could really appreciate the atmosphere, focussing on the food and what a blessing it was that I made it to Wroclaw.
(how I imagined myself dining alone)
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Not in spite of, but because I was on my own, I was emboldened to talk to people. To fill the vacuum in my brain. I chatted to the bar tender at The Rusty Rat cocktail bar on the first night and ended up receiving exclusive cocktails tailored to my liking. Seated at the bar, I watched the bar tenders (three of them) make, no, PERFORM, cocktails with poised elegance and drama. Slick.
The waitress from the tapas restaurant (Mercado Tapas Bistro) I ate at, came in and, rather than pretending not to recognise each other (in the stereotypical British manner), we exclaimed our connection. She talked to the bar men in Polish, explaining that she had just had a haircut (a curly mullet) and they were joking that she looked like a dead celebrity.
We ended up chatting for the rest of the night. Her name was Marta, and she was a ceramicist. She said she often came here after work for a gin cocktail (her favourite) and that all the businesses along the street are familiar with each other. She told me it was a part in Wroclaw where all the locals went. I mentioned that I had found it strange that whilst I was eating dinner you could here the trains rumbling loudly overhead. The bar tender with hipster glasses chimed in, with a thick Polish accent, saying that they often joke they should get rid of the trains altogether and stop them running.
We talked about what to do in Wroclaw, COVID, her ex-boyfriend, cats (she was about to get a black sphynx- Marta showed me a picture of a charcoal, wrinkle-ridden feline. I faked my adoration- we had only just met, after all). I mentioned about the horrific abortion situation in Poland. Marta angled her head low and away from me, saying she didn't want to talk about it anymore. Still, her voice and face lit top when she explained the ceramic project she was working on as a protest against the new abortion laws. Hands tied with positive pregnancy tests, coloured in the Polish flag. The bar closed at 2am, but they let me stick around whilst they were closing. They were going just a couple of doors down to a new bar which had just opened. I knew it was late and should be getting back, but I didn't want to leave. Meeting strangers, sharing stories, and becoming friends for an evening. This was what travelling was about.
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I realise now that when I was wandering around by myself, I was more socially engaged in what other people were doing. I was able to talk more freely with people. If you're travelling with friends, then you don't necessarily need to talk to other people.
When I've been on holiday with my uni mates, I have been self-conscious of being too talkative with strangers. Anxious they would think I'm sucking every molecule of attention someone can offer, despite already being surrounded by people I know. Without this pressure, whether real or fictional, I could push myself to make conversation. If it failed, it failed. There was no one there to see.
I'm not going to lie, I did miss the company. There's no one you can share the views with or crack a joke about an astute, funny observation. I ended up making side-comments to myself like "oh, that's how that works", and "what am I going to do now". I still wholeheartedly recommend any sort of adventure by yourself. Sit with that uncomfortable white noise in your brain and see what comes up. Indulge yourself in what you want to do.
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Back at the hostel, I got talking to a couple of people in my hostel room (a middle-aged (fish) German man and a young Ukranian). They were discussing the latest news of Russia's invasion of Ukraine. The younger guy said he was here in Poland studying Logistics, but his friends and family were in Ukraine. Despite his easy composure, he said he had been on his phone all day, messaging to see if they were safe, trying to calm them down and see whether his friends would fight. I later found out he was only 17 and a half. Yikes.
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On Saturday night I went to another bar called Literatka, in vain hope I would meet people who wanted to talk about novels. I even brought along my classic Margaret Atwood book. Alas, no luck. I ended up talking to two middle-aged men about Ukraine. I had overheard their conversation and built up enough courage to ask what they thought was going to happen. They were old friends who travelled to meet up with each other own a semi-regular basis. They talked about their work and family lives with me, and when it was time to move on to the next bar, they bid me adieu.
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When I woke up on Sunday morning, there was a not near my bed inscribed with a 'a letter for you'. It had a typed foreign language written on it. A bit bleary-eyed, I couldn't make out much of the ink, but I knew it was from the Ukranian boy. Later, I realised he had run out of ink and was continuing to engrave his message on the paper. It was one of the sweetest things that had ever happened to me. He just wanted to exchange socials and, of course, I obliged.
Not many people may know this, but I am a secret romantic. It was my first trip on my won, but then I never felt alone. Human nature is to find connection.
Many of my friends believe that travelling is about the people you're with, which is true. But who's to say who these people are, our where you meet them? They were right beside me all the time, all I had to do was ask.
I didn't buy much when I was there, only the odd postcard and a bag of good coffee. But I collected personalities and conversations. The glimmer of excitement in people's eyes as they talked about something they're passionate about, the comfortable silences of two old friends meeting, the initial awkwardness of meeting someone new, and the hand-written note from a stranger to a new acquaintance.
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