Eating alone–a practice which remains for most a displeasing activity at best, a depressing one at worst–is something I’ve grown quite fond of in my time as a solo traveler.
Though it’s been quite some time now that I’ve been comfortable asking for a table for one, it wasn’t until recently that I really stopped to think about it.
Sitting at a restaurant at the edge of Novi Sad’s Liberty Square one summer evening, faced with my usual opportunity for introspection, the realization washed over me.
Gone were the days of spending every solitary moment with eyes glued to a mobile screen, whether actually reading something or simply pretending for the sake of appearing occupied.
Gone were the days of avoiding eye contact with sympathetic strangers, surrounded by their friends and loved ones at adjacent tables, wondering why this poor girl sat alone.
Gone were the days of requesting the check the moment my final bite passed my lips so as not to spend a single second too long lingering at my sad table for one.
Gone were the feelings of shame for not having a steady traveling partner. More often than not, traveling solo was a conscious choice, anyhow–whether or not those pitying me realized it was no longer a concern of mine.
Eating alone, I suddenly realized, was one of my favorite activities of the day.
As I sat alone at that restaurant in Novi Sad, free from self-pity, free from heartache, and free from any obligation of small talk, I relaxed. I sank back fully into my seat, and I observed.
Summer evenings in Serbia were the slightest bit cooler than they had been in Montenegro, drawing people–everyone, it seemed–away from their homes for a leisurely stroll through the square.
Families with strollers, children on rollerblades, couples with fingers interlaced; vendors with mile-high stacks of balloons, young boys eating ice cream, photographers setting up tripods.
They all intermingled, weaving gracefully past one another, never speaking in volumes higher than necessary.
The resulting din was lively, yet subdued. It was the perfect level of stimulation, flawlessly complemented by my glass of house red.
Novi Sad translates from Serbian to “New Garden.” Appropriately, greenery mixes expertly with the man-made. Dazzling Austro-Hungarian architecture lines every street, calming the senses with its pastel pinks, yellows, and blues.
This second-largest city in Serbia, capital of the Vojvodina province, rests in the northern region of the country on the Danube River. Flanked on three sides by Croatia, Hungary, and Romania, respectively, the city is something of a melting pot.
It’s a perfect place to feel anonymous, the perfect place to slip by unnoticed. It’s the perfect place to have a meal all to yourself.
And the introvert in me is thankful for that.
