Ten years ago, I did not have a Facebook account, nor was I a member of any other social media – in fact, I had never even heard of Facebook, and whatever other forums that existed at the time all seemed like too much bother. Which was a good thing really, because at the time I was in Italy making a regular fool of myself, and it is a great relief to me (and to the other parties I’m sure) that there is no Google-able evidence of it.

I arrived in Padua, in the Veneto region, much earlier than expected after a very uncomfortable train ride up from Rome. I had landed in the early hours, dashed on to the train with seconds to spare, and as a result failed to obtain sustenance or relief of any kind. So for most of the four hours or so that I was on the train, I was desperate for the loo but too afraid to leave my bags to go and find one, wearing far too many clothes for the warm weather and sitting next to a man who snored for the whole trip and spoiled the countryside views by drooling all over the window. The only snack I had was a packet of Mentos, which I chewed very slowly, with almost indecent relish. I don’t think I have ever felt more appreciation for wrapped confectionery.

To top it all, my early arrival meant that my host, a friend I hadn’t seen in seven years, was still several hours away up in the mountains. So I was picked up from the station by his parents, who I had never met before, welcomed into their home, showed to their kitchen table and given one of the most delicious roast chickens I’ve ever had. It was one of the most peculiar days of my life so far, especially with jet lag setting in. But despite the strangeness, I felt completely welcome, and completely safe. Until, that is, I tried to speak to them in Italian and informed them that “sono partita d’Australia domani” – I left Australia tomorrow. Then I just felt completely stupid.

Later that day, when my friend had returned, he took me for a ride on the back of his Vespa, and the day went from peculiar to terrifying. Zigzagging between cars on the wrong side of the road while he kept turning around to point out various buildings and features, I was convinced I was going to die. The ride home was worse, because it was dark and I was sure there were all manner of cars and lorries and buses heading straight towards us that we couldn’t see. (In fact, it took several days for me to completely relax on the Vespa. After that, I began to love it, zipping around the city, or cruising around the countryside with the wind in my face. It was the feeling of freedom.)

The next day, I spoiled a perfectly good moment, looking out over Verona from a window of the Roman arena by putting my hand down in a pile of pigeon droppings. The next day I fell over coming down the stairs, causing my hostess some considerable alarm, and the next I dropped food all over someone else’s coat. On another day I slipped on some water from a leaky fountain in Venice and skidded along the cobblestones, arms flapping madly, until my friend recovered from laughing long enough to catch me. The children playing in the fountain were similarly amused. It wasn’t all bad for me though, my friend had his share when he dropped his brand new USB stick with his just-completed thesis on it down into the drain outside the printer’s office. We went back a couple of days later and rescued it with a garden hoe and some chewing gum. Well he did, anyway. Mostly I just laughed and took photos.

So, all in all, I’m very glad there was no Facebook at the time to document or share any of this. I do have, however, a journal I kept at the time, full of all the details of how I embarrassed myself on a daily basis and all my amazement at the many things wonderful and new. I have a flick through it every so often, and am rewarded with memories like being assaulted with a barrage of different smells every time I opened the fridge, zooming around the Venetian countryside on the back of a Vespa, and being looked after by someone who seemed to regard feeding the guest as a full-time job. I discovered then that if an Italian woman asks you “do you like pasta?” she actually means “would you like me to cook you some pasta right now?” There were a couple of very awkward scenes before I figured that one out.

I guess, if Facebook had been around then, it would be asking me about now if I want to look back on my memories from ten years ago, which, as it happens, I do. I may have made a fool of myself quite a lot, but I would have been more of a fool if I hadn’t gone in the first place. It felt like a risk at the time, traveling on my own and staying with people I hadn’t met before, but it was worth it, and because I did, my courage has grown and today I can do those things without a second’s thought. It’s one of those things my current self would thank my past self for, if that sort of thing was possible. I like to think that my past self, as she zooms by on the Vespa, would wave and say, “you’re welcome”.