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From Hongdae to Seongsu, follow a solo Italian’s travel journey through cafés, hotels, bars, beauty salons in Seoul, and unforgettable moments.
Some cities test your independence.
Seoul rewards it.
When I told friends I was going alone, their eyebrows did that little dance between admiration and mild alarm.
“All by yourself?” they asked, as if solitude required courage. But in Seoul, solitude isn’t something to survive. It’s something to style.
The city hums with quiet confidence. Glass towers glint against the morning light, cafés hum with latte art and low conversation, and even commuters look curated. Somewhere between a designer serum and a second Americano, I realized—this isn’t a place that makes you wish for company. It’s a place that reminds you you’re enough.
Where to Stay: The Power of a Well-Chosen Pillow
I started my stay at RYSE, Autograph Collection in Hongdae, where design meets caffeine and every guest looks like they’re editing a short film. The concrete walls and pink-hued lights somehow make existential crises look photogenic.
A few nights later, I moved to Hotel28 Myeongdong, an intimate, film-inspired boutique stay that feels like a quiet secret. The rooftop at dusk is a soft glow of gold and city buzz—where you can sip a glass of wine and realize the view doesn’t need sharing to be beautiful.
Maybe that’s what solo travel is: room service, no compromise, and a view that belongs entirely to you.
Dining Solo: Because Sharing Is So Overrated
Seoul takes solo dining seriously. No awkward smiles from waiters, no pity seating by the kitchen. Just you, your appetite, and a city that respects both.
At A Flower Blossom on the Rice in Insadong, I was seated by the window and greeted with calm efficiency. The dishes arrived one by one—each plated like a secret too pretty to spill. The flavours were delicate, thoughtful, and unapologetically refined. I ate slowly, like a conversation with myself.
Dessert came later at Innisfree The Isle, Seongsu – there is a café at the back that looks like a dream sequence designed by a minimalist architect with a soft spot for fantasy. Bright interiors, sunlight streaming through glass walls, and pastries that seem custom-made for your camera roll. I ordered a tiramisu, and yes it was very cliché for me as an Italian, then spent an hour pretending to read while everyone else pretended not to take photos.
Seoul makes eating alone feel like an art form—and every plate, a quiet declaration of joy.
Cocktails for One: Stirred, Not Shared
Seoul after dark is all mystery and precision—the kind of night that feels edited to perfection.
At Bar Cham in Ikseon-dong, the bartender asked what I was in the mood for. “Something hopeful,” I said. He mixed something with gin, citrus, and a hint of smoke and handed it over like a promise. Hope, as it turns out, tastes like balance.
Then there was Le Chamber in Gangnam—hidden behind a bookshelf, because of course it is. Inside, the light was low, the music smooth, and the crowd effortlessly composed. I sat at the bar, tracing the rim of my glass, feeling like I’d wandered into someone else’s secret.
In Seoul, even solitude feels curated. You’re not alone—you’re just exquisitely unbothered.
Retail Therapy: Objects of Self-Affection
Cheongdam-dong is where Seoul goes to preen.
At Gentle Monster, sunglasses aren’t accessories—they’re statements. Each room is an art installation, each mirror an invitation to imagine who you’ll become once you put them on. I tried a pair that said, “international mystery,” and bought them without a second thought.
Next door, Tamburins worked its usual sorcery: sculptural skincare and scents that could break your heart if bottled wrong. I left with a fragrance that smelled like rain on marble floors—clean, restrained, and expensive enough to feel justified.
For a slower pace, Sounds Hannam offers retail therapy in lowercase letters: curated, calm, intentional. I ordered an oat latte that cost more than lunch, watched the world glide by in slow motion, and realized the difference between luxury and peace is mostly volume.
Wandering Beautifully: The Art of Being Alone
September in Seoul feels cinematic. The heat fades, the light softens, and the air smells faintly of roasted chestnuts and ambition.
I walked around Seokchon Lake one morning, coffee in hand, the water mirroring the clouds. Joggers passed, couples posed, and I drifted in between, weightless. The trees were just beginning to trade their green for hints of amber. I caught my reflection in the lake and thought, This is what balance looks like.
Later, I wandered through Bukchon Hanok Village, where traditional rooftops tilt toward a skyline of glass and steel. I stood between the two worlds—quiet wood and restless progress—and felt oddly seen. Maybe being single isn’t about independence at all. Maybe it’s about harmony.
The Seoul Glow-Up: Get Ready With Me at BLOW Cheongdam
Every city has its rituals. In Seoul, transformation happens under perfect lighting.
The morning of the Milan Loves Seoul Fashion Show at Neuromeka, where I was hosting the Red Carpet, I headed to BLOW Cheongdam—a beauty sanctuary where every stylist has the calm focus of a surgeon.
It started with their signature hair treatment: oils, steam, and a scalp massage that made me question why I’d ever accepted less. Then came the styling—an elegant updo, sculpted and held together with an embarrassing number of hairpins, each one a promise of composure. Makeup was soft and luminous, the kind of glow that says “I have my life together,” even if you barely slept.
By the time I walked into Neuromeka, cameras flashed like fireflies. Designers, idols, and influencers floated by, every outfit a conversation starter. I smiled, greeted, and interviewed—my voice calm, my hair indestructible.
And then came the after-party at TAES in Seongsu, where normal rules no longer applied. Taking selfies with celebrities and K-pop idols while sipping a Portofino Gin & Tonic crafted by the master himself, Teo Marani, felt shockingly casual. The music pulsed, laughter glittered, and when I clinked my flute of Italy’s finest Prosecco DOC with an iconic Korean star, I thought—this was definitely not in my bingo card for the year.
In Seoul, even the surreal moments feel perfectly plausible.
Solo, But Never Lonely
A few mornings later, I woke early, the city wrapped in soft September light. The air had that clean, just-washed scent that makes you want to start fresh. I wandered to a small café near Seongsu’s quiet backstreets—industrial charm meets gentle grace.
The streets were waking up. The sound of scooters, espresso machines, and the faint rhythm of new beginnings. I sat outside with a latte, warm hands around the cup, and watched the light crawl up the buildings.
There was no rush, no noise, no need for anyone else to fill the silence. Just me, the city, and the kind of peace that doesn’t demand attention.
Being single here didn’t feel like waiting.
It felt like arriving.
Departure: Notes from Incheon
At Incheon Airport, the goodbye felt almost cinematic. Airports usually hum with endings. This one felt like a comma.
I wandered past the sleek duty-free shops, browsed perfumes I didn’t need, and found a quiet corner near the large windows overlooking the runway. My last act in Seoul was simple—a final iced Americano, because in this city, caffeine is practically spiritual.
If you have time before your flight, skip the lounge. Wander. Watch the planes lift into the sky and think about all the versions of yourself that got you here. Maybe buy a last-minute gift at Gentle Monster’s airport boutique. Or don’t. Maybe the best souvenir isn’t something you carry—it’s the feeling that you’ve already become someone worth bringing home.
As the plane took off, Seoul shimmered below me, confident as ever.
And I thought: maybe the greatest love story isn’t about finding someone—it’s about finding a place that mirrors exactly who you’ve grown into.
– By Maggie Arandela-Romano for KoreaTravelPost
[Image Credit: Maggie Arandela-Romano]
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