First longer text (might split it into two). Definitely not everyone will read this, but for those curious about the beginning of my gap year and solo travels—this one’s for you.

Last year, I decided that university wasn’t for me. Why? At the time, I didn’t have a solid answer. I just knew I wasn’t ready to jump into another system where life is planned out for me. Looking back now, I realise I grew up in a bubble—safe, predictable, and neatly structured. I wanted to see the world before I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.

Did I dream of flying straight to Latin America with no plan and no map? Oh yes. Did my mom shoot that down faster than you can say “realistic safety concerns”? Also yes. Theft, danger, kidnapping—Latin America is apparently not the best combo for one girl with a backpack and too much enthusiasm. So instead, I decided to start “small” and head to Europe.

I found the cheapest flight possible: 15€ to Bratislava. Yes, I did pretend my overstuffed 20L backpack could fit under the seat, and yes, I pulled it off. On September 3rd, there I was—officially a solo traveler.

I’d convinced myself that sightseeing could be done on trains, especially in the mountains, and I wasn’t wrong. Seven countries later—Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia, Slovenia, Italy, France, and Monaco (where the prices kept spiralling into outer space)—I gazed at landscapes until my heart was absolutely full. One key realisation? Lithuanians are missing out—we need some mountains, STAT.

As for the budget… let’s just say 85% of it went toward sleeping arrangements: hostels, grandma-style rentals, and closet-sized apartments. My food strategy was “simple but effective” and I always carried a spoon and knife: avocados on the train, yogurt every morning, and ravioli in a pot (1€ in Italy—truly the land of dreams). Who needs fancy meals when you have pesto straight from Genoa?

What I really needed were experiences—and most of them were free. Museums? Free for under-24 EU citizens. Adventures? Unexpected.

Take Genoa, for example. Known for being sketchy and full of… “colourful” locals, it’s not exactly a hotspot for solo female travellers. But there I was, sharing pesto and life stories with a lonely American grandpa at one of the best dinner tables in Italy. A day later, I was riding water scooters into the sunset in Portofino with two yacht skippers who taught me colourful Italian swear words (lesson learned: “p*rco dio” is not for polite company).

Then there’s hitchhiking—something I do not recommend doing solo. With a friend? Whole different story. One missed train led me and another girl to hitch a ride with two young Italians who live the kind of life that sounds like a Netflix series: horseback riding, yachts in Monaco, parties in Milan, rinse and repeat. They took us to Portofino by night—finally free of tourists—where I played hide-and-seek with real Italian aristocrats’ kids and sipped wine in stunning coastal villas. And no, I still don’t know how anyone manages those steep driveways with a manual transmission.

To be continued…