May 7th, 2024 - London, England

First morning in a Hostel. First morning staying abroad alone. First morning staying in a dorm in a hostel abroad alone. Well, not alone. Alone with my five roommates. At 6:30 am, two of my ‘roommates’ start shuffling, making noise, packing, zipping, stumbling. Clearly they have an early morning, and somehow it appears that that means I do also. Was this worth the 30 Euro a night that I’m saving? As I’m starting to regret my decision, I remind myself that a 6-month trip is a marathon, not a sprint. Yes, emotionally and physically, but also financially. And this is literal (full) day 1. So I wait for my new best friends to settle down before trying to grab an extra hour of sleep.

Next thing I know, I wake up feeling refreshed and relaxed... Until it dawns on me that I feel almost too relaxed. I look at the clock; It’s 11:15 am. Whoops. It’s halfway through the day! It’s all almost over! I gotta get at it. I’m finally free to explore the world, why am I wasting my time?? I jump up, ready to aimlessly run around London for as many hours as I possibly can… until I realize I haven’t talked to Savyon in a few days… so I try to audio call her. 

People ask me what the difficult parts of being long distance are. Jokes. We’re obviously not long distance. That said, some days it is so hard not to let my frustration with bad internet / phone service translate into frustration with Savyon. Today, it’s almost as if Savyon herself isn’t listening to anything I’m saying. Which, I guess, is technically true. But it's because she’s in an airport in Singapore. Still. It's hard not to misdirect my frustration. Anyway. Call isn’t really working, so we text bye bye, and get on with our days. This is the end of our one-month separation before we’re together 24/7 for 6 months straight. A nice pendulum swing.

Savyon loves utilizing free walking tours whenever she can, so in her honor, I found a guy named Theo online who is going to show me around “all of the hits” of London. And that he does. I’m joined by a group of 30 other tourists, none of who are American. Two come from Toronto and I’ve been to Toronto, so I feel a weird sort of affinity for them.

When Savyon and I had planned this trip, I had deeply romanticized my four days of solo travel in London. Picture this: I show up at the hostel, make immediate friends while we’re waiting for our rooms to be ready. We go out to drinks, have some dope food, talk about all our future travels, end up at a hole in the wall British karaoke bar where everyone sounds like Adele, not because they have good voices but because they all have that same accent. Cue my new group of friends all singing together, arms on shoulders, the perfect blur of drunk. Then, the next morning, though my new friends want to hang out with me, I insist that I need to go on this walking tour with some guy named Theo. I go to the tour, find a whole new group of friends that I bring back to my hostel friends, and then we have a whole larger group of friends that have an amazing three days in London. Then it turns out some of them are going to Paris also, so we take the train together and I introduce them to Savyon, and that sets the tone for the next six months.

Well, that first part did not happen when I arrived at the hostel yesterday. And that second part is clearly not going to happen on this tour. Theo is engaging, loud (but not in a grating way), and has the energy of someone who wants to be an actor. That said, none of the people on this tour are people that I really want to speak to. There is this Argentinian couple that seem like they are in my age range and stage in life… You know that tweet that’s like “The sexual tension between you and the other person your age on the plane?” I guess that’s a thing for your 20s, so adults, you can ignore. But it’s like that, except it isn’t sexual tension and it’s for sure one way. They seem nice. They seem eager. But I never pull the trigger. It reminds me of when my friend said that I’m probably not an introvert, just an extrovert with social anxiety. And from that point on, when I don't want to socialize, I wonder “do I actually want to be alone, or do I tell myself I want to be alone because sometimes talking to new people gives me anxiety?” Do I not want to talk to these Argentinians or do I tell myself that I don’t want to because talking to strangers feels like a lot of effort? Alternatively, do I actually want to talk to these people or do I want to talk to these people because I feel I should talk to them to be considered a successful solo traveler? Who knows. I’m crazy. 

We’re halfway through the tour, and as he’s talking about some disproportionate lion statue, he offers to take a photo for anyone if they want. I feel like I should get at least one photo of myself. Yes yes, I know all of the problems with the word should. And spoiler alert, I’ll get over the should energy, but this is my first full day. I’m not there yet.

So back to the photo. Let me tell you, you know when you have a photo taken and you’re like “is this what I actually look like? I hope not” Well the tour guide has his shtick where we’re at a nice view and he asks if anyone wants their photo taken. If you raise your hand, he’ll motion for you to stand in front of the thing he’s sharing the history of. Then, while he still talks to the group, he takes photos of you from behind his back, essentially not even looking at the phone at all. So he did that for me. The method of photography, however, is no excuse for why this photo of me in front of a fountain is as bad as it is. But legit, I’m thinking “that can’t be me? Does Savyon know this is what I look like? Cuz that’s brutallll.” And now I have forever sworn off solo traveling photos.

Anyway, it’s now the end of the tour, I forget which of the older couples are Canadian, and I haven’t talked to the Argentinian couple. I somehow survive the perpetually awkward moment on “free” tours: the one where you watch everyone slip the guide folded up dollar bills as a “tip” so you know everyone is paying something but have no idea if the socially acceptable amount is 5 euro or 25 euro. I give him 10, and now on to the next activity. 

My friend Ilana gave me a list that her friend gave her of things to do in London. I see “Ottolenghi” and immediately recognize the name of the cookbook in our house that requires 20 ingredients for their sauteed green bean recipe. Sign me up! The online forum only lets you make a reservation for 2, and for some reason I feel embarrassed to admit that I purposefully booked a resy for 2 when I know I’m eating alone. So I walk in, and passively announce to the host:

“hey, it’s just me. My other person decided not to come, sadly” as I look over my shoulder at the empty doorway, as if someone is going to walk in, similar to looking at my wrist when I talk about time even though I have no watch on. 

So I sit at the bar, because, you know, I should sit at a bar when traveling solo as it is the only way to interact with people. Three seats to my left is a couple who, without judgment, I can best describe as either they just bought a home in Westchester, NY or are going to soon. Three seats to my right, is a cute older lady from Ireland. I’m tempted to say Galway, but that’s because it might be the only place I know in Ireland other than Dublin. I overhear her telling the bartender that she came for work and is staying nearby and doesn’t want to be stuck in her room, so decided to give Ottolenghi a try. She Loves the cookbooks. Obviously. 

I start Shmoozing with the bartender. He’s French, but not Parisian - he wants me to know that for when I go to Paris later in the week. Originally from Australia, he’s lived the Island life, the country life, and now the city life. He prefers the island life, says everyone seems happier. I appreciate his honesty. Also the distraction of someone else speaking, allowing my mind to have a break. So I let him choose my food for me. I get a cauliflower dish and a leek dish. If you get off on food porn, I’ll add some pictures here, but not going to spend the time describing the dishes. That said, there is this labneh side-dish with a special version of pita that I want to order,  but the server discourages me saying I’ve probably ordered enough food. So when I finish my meal, I realize that I'm still a little hungry… because all I ate was cauliflower and leeks. Not starving, though. And I caught a glimpse of their desserts on the way in and they look divine. Am I hungry enough to get both? Do I want to spend the money? 

This is day one, and in addition to feeling like I should be making friends, there is a complicated feeling around food and money and how they intertwine. I need to eat enough food to be satisfied, but not too much unhealthy food, and usually veggies cost more money than bread and desserts, and I also am on a 6 month trip so I can’t just start throwing money at every cucumber that I see. So after I had a deliciously complex cauliflower dish and a slightly underwhelming leek dish, both of which cost enough money to make you want to feel full, you can imagine that I was a little hungry. But this shit is expensive. So what do I do? This is day 1. I can’t splurge on day 1. 

As I’m trying to make this decision, I look over at the wonderful Galwayian woman, and notice that not only did she order the labneh and bread, but she hasn’t quite finished it - one of the three pieces of bread remains on her plate with maybe a quarter of the dip. Also, she is eyeing the server, as if ready to get the check and bid adieu to the solution to my problem. So, I channel Savyon in Costa Rica when she shmoozed a food influencer into giving her the rest of his warm brownie and ice cream dessert… and I walk over to her.

“I have a funny question. I’m debating if I want the bread and labneh or if I want to go for the desserts. Is the bread and labneh worth it?” My favorite way to make friends is to go up to a random person and ask them a ‘funny question.’ I don’t even have to work hard here, she almost immediately responds:

“It’s very good, but the desserts here are sooo good. You have to have them. Here, I ordered too much, why don’t you finish it!” gesturing towards the piece of bread and labneh remaining on her plate.

 “No no. I couldn’t!” Obviously I can and will, but feel the need to sell the idea that that wasn’t what I was actually asking for. 

“I insist! It’ll go to waste otherwise. I’m so full and you have to get the dessert.”

“Well, if you insist!” 

Scoreeeee. But then when I get back to my table, I notice the piece she’s given me is missing a corner. Did she bite it? Did she rip it? Which would be worse? Does it matter? I eat things off the floor far more frequently than I would like to admit. So I eat it. It’s fine. Least tasty part of the meal, but definitely the most satisfying because of how it was acquired. I’m glad I’m not paying for it.

I walk to the counters, I see three desserts. Honestly, I don’t have energy to make decisions, so I ask my server friend. He chooses for me. He gives me a free port to pair with my dessert. My energy is flying high from the free drink. Look, I can make friends! Though evening one didn’t exactly match the dream, we’re on the precipice of being the homecoming king of the Wombat London Hostel.

I ask him for a fun bar. I’ve already told him I know nothing about London so if I don’t ask him for any recs, he’s going to think I’m going to bed at 7 pm. God forbid. He directs me to the basement of a suit store to a bar that looks like the basement of a suit store, where the workers look like they work in the basement of a suit store. I'm then greeted by a man far too tall to work in a basement of a suit store. But then, being in the basement of a suit store, I start getting a bit sleepy, so after a drink, I emerge from the basement of a suit store to walk home to the sixth floor of my hostel.

I shower, brush my teeth, get in bed. The dorm room is full again - all the empty beds have been replaced by new travelers I have yet to meet, pointing to the possibility of a social day tomorrow should I choose to engage. It hits 11 pm and I turn off my light… only for the light from the person above me to still be on. And still be on. And still be on. The guy doesn’t turn off his light off until 1 am even though all he is doing is playing a knock off candy crush on his phone. Is this worth the 30 Euro a night that I saved?