Okay, so where were we? Oh right—rich Italian boys. Welcome back!

In their countryside, we joined a sagra—a village festival dedicated to one type of food. I went in expecting Lithuanian-style potatoes (kugel, cepelinai—comfort food staples), but Italian mashed potatoes with cheese are a whole new level. Best part? Sitting in a stable with the stable owner’s family for a four-course meal, including limoncello and coffee, as their 76-year-old grandpa told stories about horse racing. Did I understand all his Italian? Absolutely not. But the vibes were immaculate.

Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and motorboats. I learned about Italy’s darker sides—racism and sexism are still very much alive. Ukrainians and Asians work as housekeepers; Black people are called slurs that made my jaw drop. And when I asked about successful Italian women? “Well, there’s our vice minister…” or “There are rich ones—they’re either millionaires’ wives, escorts, or daughters of important people.” If you’re looking for a feminist success story, Italy’s probably not your first stop.

Oh, and according to the Italians, Lithuania is a village that used to be Polish or Russian (depending on who you ask). They couldn’t have picked a worse audience to say that to—I launched into a full history lecture about the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, the partitions, and everything in between. Patriotism? Activated.

But let’s talk about solo travel itself. The first day was terrifying—just you, a backpack, and no plan. I walked into my first hostel feeling like a baby deer on ice. How do hostels work? How do you make friends? Where do you hide your stuff when sharing a room with five dudes? But day by day, things got easier. Now, it feels like I have friends scattered across the globe—friends I made because small talk got boring, and real conversations took over.

I discussed Taiwan-Lithuania relations with a Taiwanese woman, debated American elections with actual Trump supporters, and talked about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict with people who live it. I also had strange encounters, like a Pakistani man explaining the “month-long wedding plan” for when I hypothetically meet him in India. Or wealthy Aston Martin owners in Monaco offering to “warm me up” (solution for these moments: casually mention your imaginary husband).

So, would I recommend solo travel? Absolutely. It’s terrifying, liberating, exhausting, and life-changing. You’ll eat alone, explore alone, and—trust me—you’ll realise that you are your own best company. Plus, when you’re alone, strangers want to talk to you. Chefs will come to your table, old couples will share their travel stories, and you’ll make friends over wine in ways you never thought possible. I don’t know if I’ve inspired anyone with these terribly long ramblings, but maybe I have. If nothing else, just know: you are capable of so much more than you think. Now go book that ticket—adventures await.