Why Tinder is my favorite travel app

Publish date: 2024-08-26

Last summer, just after celebrating my 40th birthday, I decided to ditch dating apps to focus on myself.

For the second year in a row, I had planned a multi-month life sabbatical in pursuit of learning about food culture and to practice living in the gray, a term my therapist taught me as a way to practice being more open to uncertainty and new ideas. I planned to start in the south of France without knowing where the European wind would blow me after Narbonne. Life after my divorce in 2019 offered a newfound freedom with zero attachments. Plus, my office is wherever there’s WiFi.

Solo travel is my speed, but eventually it begins to feel plain, like a hot dog in need of a condiment. I craved conversation and connection, so I turned Tinder back on. Then I amped up my profile, directing would-be dates to “show me the cheese of your region.”

I wanted more: more than a one-night stand, more than boring, endless banter that leads to a lackluster meeting. I decided that I would use dating abroad as a way to explore my other primary interests as a food and travel writer — discovering local cheeses and culture — all while filling the void of loneliness abroad.

I played travel roulette a majority of my trip, scoring last-minute deals on HotelTonight and often making decisions on where I go based on price. I booked a $45 flight on Hopper from Dubrovnik to Naples solely for Pizzeria Concettina ai Tre Santi — pizza so intoxicating there’s a bouncer at the door. Larger European cities like Paris, Madrid and Rome are cheaper in summer, because locals crave the coast and you can score affordable Airbnbs.

Dating apps always have a risk factor: stranger danger. When abroad, I always vet the person ahead of time by requiring a FaceTime call before a date. If they won’t agree, no date for me. I always share my location with a couple of friends and tell them when I have dates planned. Asking me to come out to your secluded farm in the middle of nowhere is a red flag. Always meet at a populated spot for the first date and gauge the vibe. Trust your gut — if something feels off, it probably is.

After a summer of using Tinder dates to enhance my travels, I learned some valuable lessons.

You must match with a chef

In August, the French take vacation on the Riviera, which leaves Reims free to explore. On Tinder, I instantly connected with a chef who shared my love of Champagne and cheese. He invited me to his place for pâté, rillettes and wine. On his kitchen counter was a tub of cancoillotte — a runny, gooey, metton cheese that he said is an acquired taste.

“It’s more like the inside of a well-aged Camembert, but without the feet smell,” he said before spoon-feeding me. I melted instantly.

The conversations were enlightening, centered around food, sex and travel. I learned more about Champagne the region. The chef and I had several dates, including a goodbye ramen lunch at Genki, where he proceeded to feed me dumplings while everyone around us blushed and rolled their eyes.

He walked me to the train station and kissed me goodbye. This is where I became fascinated with using Tinder in a different way.

I went to a dying honeymoon hotel to mourn the end of my marriage

A good croissant can save a bad date

I opened Tinder again on the way to Paris. The man I matched with was not that interesting, but I wanted to escape the city, so I took the RER out to Sceaux. We strolled through Château de Sceaux at dusk. “It’s like a mini Versailles without the crowds,” he said.

The walk followed with a cheese dinner at his loft. A fresh bufala mozzarella and a tomato salad followed by tomme, a heavenly brie de Meaux, and a miscellaneous cheese for le plat principal. I should have left after dinner as there was zero connection, but it was late and I didn’t have a backup plan. My date tried to suck my face off while I was trying to enjoy a palate-cleansing melon sorbet, and I snuck out early the next morning to avoid an awkward goodbye.

On the plus side, the croissant I had at Frédéric Comyn of Pâtisserie Colbert remains in my top three most outstanding croissants in Paris (I ordered a second to go). Their secret ingredient: chestnut honey. While the croissant fueled my passion for food, I immediately opened Tinder on my RER home to start swiping again. I was hooked on “condiment dates,” always wondering “what’s next?”

Your date might be the best tour guide

In San Sebastian, a Basque man proposed a private tour that was hard to say no to, even given the risky get-in-a-car-with-a-stranger vibe.

“If you are comfortable after we meet, I’d like to drive you around the country, just a few minutes outside of the city, for sunset and a bar that only locals go to,” he said on FaceTime.

A drink and hour-long conversation later, at a very public bar where I could scream for help if I needed, we were both feeling good vibes.

He drove me into the Basque countryside at sunset to see 360-degree views of the coastline and Terreña cattle, a muppet-looking breed at risk of extinction. At Txapela Taberna, an unassuming bar on the side of the road, we sipped on effervescent Txakoli for less than 2 euro a glass. I never would have found this spot, let alone stopped by myself, and it was one of the most beautiful evenings of my life.

A little further around the Camino del Norte, we stopped for “young red wine” at Orioko Barra, a beach bar in the charming fishing town, Orio. The night concluded back in San Sebastian, where we devoured his favorite bocadillo de tortilla from Juantxo Taberna.

Later, we ran into his brother and friends while making out on the streets of Old Town — and awkwardly joined them at Minuto y Medio bar, a heavy metal pub. It was perfect.

The scenery is pretty — even if the guy’s a dud

In Dubrovnik I matched with a Croatian guide who suggested we flee the chaos of the Old Town and check out a secluded beach for sunset and wine. I did make him meet me for a walk before our excursion, where I made a few corny “Game of Thrones” references to break the ice.

On the way to Zaton Bay he pulled over several times to take work calls. By the time we rolled up at a picturesque sunset spot, I was peeved. I proceeded to enjoy a bottle of natural wine from Cota Vina, a Dalmatian winery, while he continued to work. Eye roll.

I should have done this solo, but car rentals were insane and the mountain roads were narrow and winding, so all in all it was a new discovery.

Say yes to the rooftop bar

Back in Paris, a French Arabic man suggested we meet at a rooftop for drinks. Quick to judge, I told him I was not into rooftops at all. He assured me it was casual.

I showed up late to Le Perchoir Ménilmontant in Oberkampf. “The elevator is broken so we’ll have to climb to the 7th floor,” he says. I was already sweating profusely when I arrived.

A Cuba libre, a bottle of rosé, and many conversations later, the clock struck midnight.

“I can take you back home on my scooter,” he said.

He put a helmet on my head and wrapped my arms around his waist, zipping around the City of Lights. It was like a movie.