1. October, 2018: Dubrovnik, Croatia
On a Wednesday evening in October of 2018, I found myself sitting alone on the patio of a pizzeria inside the walls of old town Dubrovnik. The sun was slowly beginning to droop below Mount Srđ and the day tourists were making their way back to their quarters beyond the city.
It was my first night in fabled Dubrovnik after nearly seven months of traveling around Western Europe on time off from the University of Delaware.
“Your wine, miss,” said my dark-haired server. He presented me with a large glass of Dalmatian white that cost the equivalent of $2. I ordered a pizza with sweet peppers and shaved black truffle, sat back with my book, and enjoyed the slowness.
One thing I loved about this European version of myself was my tendency to carry a paperback everywhere I went. Today, it was Dan Brown’s thriller Inferno. Without the burden of work or school, I read and wrote voraciously. I pulled it from my tote and read while I sipped my glass of wine.
Time passed, I ordered a second glass, and simply sat there with myself and my thoughts. This adventure was quickly passing by me, and yet I couldn’t be bothered to do much in Croatia beyond eat, walk, and sunbathe. I leaned back in my chair and gazed around at the people.
“Excuse me,” I snapped out of my daze, a young woman had approached me. “Are you ok?” She asked in a familiar American accent. East coast, I assumed, much like myself.
The question confused me. I was perfectly fine, great even, but maybe I looked melancholy.
“Yeah, thanks for asking, though,” I responded.
“Oh, good, I just wanted to make sure…” her speech trailed off.
“Yeah no worries, I’m good, really,” I replied, color rushing to my cheeks.
“Ok,” she said, “have a good night then.”
The woman walked off. I was confused, but got the impression she was concerned about a young woman eating alone in a country that was so obviously foreign to her. But I loved eating alone, in fact it was one of my favorite aspects of solo travel. It is normalized in much of the world, and yet it always felt so ostracizing in the United States. The only times I found myself eating alone were in coffee shops with my face buried in the screen of my computer. It was like I couldn’t possibly be perceived as having a moment to enjoy myself.
When the sky blackened and I could barely see the pages of my book under the glow of streetlights, my meal arrived. The pizza was divine after a long travel day involving a border crossing through Bosnia and a steep walk to my hostel, but it was nothing like that of Italy’s.
I finished half, paid the bill, and made the journey back up through the old town as Dubrovnik mellowed. My return flight was booked in a mere three weeks, and this journey was soon to end. Unbeknownst to me, it would be five years until I returned to Europe.
