Traveling alone in North America - Charlotte in North Carolina

She rises like a wisp of mist from her seat and glides effortlessly to the printer. She scoops up several sheets of paper and hands them to me, explaining each in turn. I still can't believe I have I done this. What will HE say when I tell him?

I leave the travel agents as the proud possessor of a return ticket to Charlotte in North Carolina . This will be my first foray to parts abroad alone. OK no big deal for a youngsterjust one difference: I am 40. It's my birthday present to me. HE won't be at all pleased but hey I want to find out what it is really like to be alone and abroad.

HE looks at the bits of papers and asks how the hell I am going to pay for it. No worries, unbeknownst to him I have been squirreling away 10 a week for ages. I am so excited. My own adventure, without various children, suitcases, husbands, parents and the like. Packing is going to be fun. I won't have to take all the paraphernalia associated with the kids. I can take grown up stuff. I run around starting to pack in my mind.

In what seems like a couple of days (8 weeks actually), I am standing in my bedroom trying to pack all the things I need. I started with one small suitcase but it seems to be growing like a giant mushroom. I finally relent and ask HIM to get the larger suitcase from the attic. HE rolls his eyes and asks what the hell I am taking with me. How do I tell him that I am packing for a mini disaster. OH well, I am sure I will have a great time. I am going to meet with my internet friend Shelley. We are going to do a bit of a Thelma and Louise.

The plane bounces on the runway, making all aboard lurch like a giant rollercoaster. Before I know it we are being ushered out of the silver-grey bullet that has transported me safely across the Atlantic . Now my adventure really begins. I have never left Europe in my life. I feel like a kid again. Butterflies whirl endlessly around in my stomach. I walk through the stifling heat of apron. It feels like I am being enveloped in a thick fluffy blanket in the oven. I am still dressed for the British summeryou know the stuffjeans, socks, t-shirt, blouse, cardie, coat. I am so looking forward to getting into the air-conditioned terminal. The door swishes open. I step inside and instantly hit a wall of dead heat. The tannoy announces that due an electrical fault the aircon is not working.

I join a queue and start the process of proving that I am a lovely wonderful person who is not hell-bent on defrauding the USA . I feel like I have committed every crime under the sun. the beady eyes of immigration officer scans my documents, taking in every detail. She comes to the part of where I am going to be staying and I innocently have written various locations. BIG mistake! She wants to know the ins and outs of my entire trip.

I try to explain that I don't really know where I am going and what I am doing. She eyes me suspiciously and insists that I out down at least one contact address. Oh here we go, I have got to find Shelley's address which is lurking somewhere in the depths of my handbag. Some large balding business man who is next in line to me starts huffing and puffing. Its not my fault my handbag turns in to the Tardis whenever I need to find something important. Finally I find her business card and hand it to Officer Beady-Eyes. She taps away at her computer and nods. Before I know it I have been processed and am legally allowed to wander the streets of America for 90 days! I race off to find my baggage, and then on downstairs to meet Shelley.

I nearly fall on top of her as I catch my heel on the tread. She reaches out to grab me and we hug like we haven't seen each other for ages. Actually we haven't seen each other for nearly 2 years. She seems timeless. She looks me up and down and then starts laughing. Before I know what is happening we are in the parking lot. Her car is hidden under a shady tree. Thank goodness for that. I am parched hot and fed up already. Shelley never mentioned it was as hot as a furnace when we spoke on the internet. She kept on saying the weather was divine. Obviously British divine and American divine are pole apart. We really are going to have to make sure we understand what we mean in future. She opens the door to the car and the heat comes out and punches me in the face. She laughs again as I stagger back. She flicks a switch and soon the car is filled with delicious cool airblissssssss.

She carefully drives the car out of the lot and we head for the freeway. I nearly have a heart attack as she proceeds to turn right when there is a red light. What the hell are you doing I demand. She laughs again and explains the right turn on red law. Will I ever get used to some of these bizarre rules? Before long the humming of the tyres on the road make me drowsy. I feel my eyes starting to close. NUDGE! Shelley is digging me in the ribs. Its only 3pm you cant got to sleep and so she starts asking a hundred questions and insists I ask about the area we are driving through. IT doesn't seem much different at the moment to the UK . Ok so billboards aren't de rigeur on motorways in the UK but we do have private advertising on bridges (I think its called tagging).

Eventually we arrive at Shelley's place. She suggests I go get a shower to cool down. Seems a good idea to me, if only I could work out how the shower works. I feel so foolish not being able to make even the simple things work. So I decide to take a bath instead, not wishing to show my ignorance. Ah, another technical hitch. Where's the plug? Hmmmm. I admit defeat and ask Shelley for help. She bustles in all efficiency and confidence. Push this for the shower, flick this for the plug. Of course, I should have known.

The coolness of the shower has made me a little more awake. I trudge into the wrap-round porch and Shelly is sitting there with some curious brown liquid. Iced Tea? Shelley explains that iced tea is a very popular drink and most southern people keep a large jug of it in their refrigerator. I pour myself a small amount and taste. Not bad. Very refreshing in this heat. The porch is surprisingly cool. Shelley says she had it put on the side as it out of the main heat of the day and catches the breeze.

We sit and chat about all sorts of things. Especially where we are going and what we are doing. We decide to head to the Outer Banks first off and then a week later head back to the hills. Before long her curious friends are all flocking to see the Brit. It still seems strange that in this age of cheap flights so many people have not managed to come and see Britain . I am asked all sorts of questions ranging from did I know the Queen to could I give a good recipe for Yorkshire Pudding. They love my accent and think it is cute.

Before I know it, it is past 9 and we still haven't eaten. Shelley insists we go out to eat. I'd never think of going out to eat in UK . It seems to cost a fortune. Shelley has a few favourite places and decides we should go to a diner about 3 blocks away. I pick up my bag and start to walk out the gate. She gives me a look of horror. Seems we are NOT walking. You never walk in USA . The car is King. It feels so wasteful to use the car for what amounts to walk no longer than halfway down the Mall. But as they say, when in Rome

The diner is something like the one on Happy Days. Red-check table cloths, serviette dispensers, juke box on the wall, it seems like I have just walked onto a film set. And the menu is pure American. Ok I am not sure about a pair of shoes being on the menu and I am compelled to ask Shelley what hush puppies are. Shelley is relishing being m tutor and explains they are a bit like hash browns (I am none the wiser but I really don't want her to think I am soooo stupid). I decide on meatloaf. I have heard it mentioned so many times on American soaps. I am so ravenous I would be happy to eat real Hush Puppies if they were served.

Anyway, meatloaf will fill a gap, or so I thought. When the plate arrives I am faced with a serving big enough to feed a small African nation for a day or two. I tackle it with as much excitement as I can muster. My body clock is telling me it is 3am yet the clock on the wall says 9pm . After a very valiant effort I have to admit defeat. My stomach is about ready to burst and I wish we could walk home. Yet Shelley is now pouring over the dessert menu. I have to decline a pud, I can't possibly manage it. The diner owner takes pity on me and suggests I take something home in a box so I can enjoy it later. So we both decide to do that, Shelley making sure she chooses her favourite cheesecake.

I cant wait to hit the sack. I walk out of the diner, to the car and sit down in the left had seat. Shelley starts laughing again and I realise that by doing that I have just offered to drive home. Sensibly I get out and go round the other side. My eyes are closed before we pull up under the carport. Shelley gently nudges me into action and I manage to scramble out of the car. I drag myself to bed.