A personal essay on coffee culture, solo travel, and the magic of unexpected connections by Alice
I never believed in fate until a rainy Tuesday morning in Porto changed everything.
Let me back up. I’d been solo traveling through Europe for three weeks, armed with nothing but my worn leather journal, an oversized backpack, and an embarrassingly detailed spreadsheet of must-visit coffee shops. As a writer and admitted coffee obsessive, I’d convinced myself this trip was “research” for my novel. In reality, I was running from a creative block that had plagued me for months, hoping that somewhere between espresso shots and unfamiliar streets, I’d find my words again.
The Sacred Morning Ritual
Every traveler develops their routines, those small anchors of familiarity in constantly changing landscapes. Mine was simple: find a local coffee shop by 8 AM, order whatever the barista recommended, and write for at least two hours. No Instagram, no travel blogs, just me, my thoughts, and the observed life of a new city unfolding around me.
This particular morning in Porto, I’d discovered Café Majestic on Rua Santa Catarina. Despite its tourist reputation, something about the Art Nouveau interior called to me – all carved wood, aged mirrors, and the ghost of conversations from another century. The rain had driven most visitors away, leaving the space surprisingly intimate.
When Travel Plans Dissolve
I was settling into a corner table, my cappuccino arriving with an intricate leaf design that seemed almost too beautiful to disturb, when it happened. My table wobbled. Coffee splashed across my journal pages, three weeks of carefully collected observations bleeding into abstract watercolors.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” The voice was British, tinged with genuine mortification.
I looked up to find a man holding his own coffee cup, looking at my ruined journal with the expression of someone who’d just knocked over a sandcastle. Dark hair still damp from the rain, wearing a navy sweater that had seen better days, and carrying what appeared to be an even more battered notebook than mine.
“It’s fine,” I said, though we both knew it wasn’t. Three weeks of memories, literally washed away.
“No, it’s really not. Please, let me…” He was already pulling napkins from neighboring tables, attempting to salvage what he could. “I’m Tom. And I’m buying your coffee for the rest of the day. Week. Whatever it takes.”
The Impromptu Coffee Date
What started as an apology coffee turned into something else entirely. Tom, it turned out, was also a writer. Also traveling solo. Also using coffee shops as his unofficial office spaces across Europe. The coincidence felt almost scripted, the kind of meet-cute I’d roll my eyes at in romantic comedies.
But there was something different about talking to a stranger in a foreign café. Maybe it’s the temporary nature of travel that makes us more honest, or perhaps it’s the coffee itself – that universal language that needs no translation. We fell into conversation with the ease of old friends, comparing notes on the best flat whites in Lisbon, debating whether Italian or Australian coffee culture reigned supreme, sharing the loneliness that sometimes accompanies solo travel despite the freedom it provides.
“You know what’s strange?” Tom said, after our third round of coffee (Portuguese custard tarts had also materialized at some point). “I walked past four other cafés to get here. Can’t even tell you why. Just felt… pulled.”
I laughed, but I understood. Every traveler knows that feeling – when certain places call to you for reasons you can’t articulate. There’s an inexplicable chemistry to these moments, something beyond logic. I’ve since read about the science behind these instant connections, those invisible signals we’re always sending and receiving, but at the time, it just felt like magic.
Coffee Shops as Crossroads
We spent the entire day in that café, watching Porto’s life stream past the rain-streaked windows. Tom showed me his notebook – filled with sketches of coffee cups from every city he’d visited, each one annotated with the date, the café’s name, and a single word to capture the moment. “Solitude” in Berlin. “Possibility” in Prague. “Homesick” in Amsterdam.
“What word would you choose for today?” I asked.
He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Serendipity.”
As the afternoon light began to fade, we made a pact. We’d continue our separate journeys – he was heading south to Morocco, I was bound for the Balkans – but we’d leave each other a message in coffee shops along our routes. Hidden notes in the travel journal sections that many European cafés keep, tiny treasures for the other to potentially discover.
The Ritual Continues
That was two years ago. I’ve since found four of Tom’s notes, tucked between pages of café guest books from Sarajevo to Stockholm. Each one includes a coffee cup sketch and a single word. “Wondering.” “Remembered.” “Hopeful.” “Soon.”
But here’s what that unexpected coffee date really taught me: the beauty of solo travel isn’t just in the solitude – it’s in the openness it creates. When you’re alone in a new place, you’re more likely to say yes to unexpected invitations, to linger over coffee with strangers, to let yourself be pulled toward certain cafés for reasons you can’t explain.
The Perfect Coffee Date Abroad
For those setting out on their own adventures, here’s what I’ve learned about creating space for these magical encounters:
Choose local over chains: Yes, Starbucks is familiar and comfortable, but you’ll never have a life-changing conversation in a place designed for efficiency. Local coffee shops invite lingering.
Go early: Morning coffee crowds are different from afternoon ones. There’s something about that first coffee of the day that makes people more philosophical, more open to connection.
Sit at communal tables: It’s scary at first, but shared tables in European coffee shops are conversation starters. You’re practically expected to acknowledge your table-mates.
Bring a conversation starter: A notebook, a interesting book, a film camera – something that invites curiosity. My water-stained journal became the perfect ice-breaker more times than I can count.
Trust the pull: When a certain café calls to you, listen. Some of my best travel memories came from following instincts I couldn’t explain.
Finding Your Story
I never did find Tom in person again, though we’ve managed to stay in touch through scattered emails and those hidden café notes. He’s teaching English in Japan now, still sketching coffee cups, still leaving messages in guest books. I finished my novel, finally – a story about two writers who meet in a Porto café, though I insist it’s entirely fiction.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d chosen a different café that morning, if the rain hadn’t driven me inside, if Tom had taken any of those four other coffee shops instead. But that’s the thing about travel and coffee and unexpected connections – they happen exactly when they’re supposed to.
Every solo traveler has that one story, that one coffee date that shifted something fundamental. Maybe it’s a romantic encounter, maybe it’s a friendship, or maybe it’s just a perfect conversation with a stranger you’ll never see again. The magic isn’t in the outcome; it’s in being open to the possibility.
So here’s my advice: book that solo trip. Visit those coffee shops. Say yes to conversations with strangers. Let yourself be pulled toward certain places without needing to know why. Your unexpected coffee date might be waiting in a corner café in a city you’ve never heard of, holding a cup of something perfectly brewed and a story you need to hear.
After all, the best travel stories aren’t about the places we see – they’re about the people we become and the connections we make along the way, one coffee at a time.
Alice is a novelist and freelance writer who has drunk approximately 1,847 cups of coffee across 23 countries and counting. She’s still leaving notes in café guest books and still believes in serendipity.
