I love to explore new areas on my own. I usually research places I want to visit, restaurants and bars I want to try, shops that catch my eye – days, weeks, even months in advance. I like to plan by day unfettered by other peoples’ desires. I’m not spontaneous by nature, so I don’t easily adapt to abrupt changes in plan, which for me can even be the day before. So, of-the-moment changes cause me major distress. But if I’m on my own, I can go where I want, when I want, without worrying about whether I’m ignoring someone else’s desires. I can pop into a cute cafe and sit with a cup of tea for an hour or two, jotting down deep thoughts and impressions in my notebook. I can wander into a cute boutique and caress silky fabrics and smell the bath products without worrying that my husband is languishing in the man chair.

The difficulty lies in the eating. I am not afraid to eat alone, but as a solo diner, and I think especially as a woman, one is usually regarded not without soupçon of disdain and irritation. Is this lady seriously going to take up a four-top? One person isn’t going to order much, and even if you tip well, the total amount won’t be nearly as much as four or even two people might spend. So, I often find myself rushed through my meal, with only passing check-ins from the server. The check is presented moments after you polish off your entrée, “take your time,” mumbled under the server’s breath. I try not to let it bother me. I finish the last few sips of wine, pay, sign, and move on.

To make things easier for both myself and the waitstaff, I try to go early in the evening, when things are slow. I also try to take up as little precious serving space as possible. Sitting at the bar is usually a good option. If a small table for two is available, I’ll take that. I bring a good book or a magazine. Try not to look as if you’re waiting for someone. Relax. Read, write, observe your surroundings.