So this fortnightly theme is going to be on travelling outside of the UK… and what better place to start off than The Land of the People… the brilliant United States. In Summer of 2015 I was fortunate to be surprised by my mother with a guided tour of the west coast of the US as a reward for finishing my GCSE’s. I had never been to the States before… so all the anticipation at the airport made me look like a child in a sweet shop.

July 1st/2nd 2015

As a descendant of generations upon generations of Northern Irish folk, I’ve come to the realization that I don’t tan. At all. If anything the I come back from my travels even paler. Determined not to let the curse of the pale skin faze me, I decided to get my first ever spray tan. At first I looked nice and sun kissed, and I sat there and thought to myself, “hey, don’t you look good!”. I was ready to take on America looking just like the majority do in blazing 40 degree summer heat. But much to my surprise, and it was just my luck, that as the tan developed, it reacted with my skin in a way it shouldn’t have. As my mother walked into my room at 10 a.m on the day we were due to head to the airport, I was already awake, lying there excitedly reading “Top 10 things to do in San Francisco”. I looked up, and was greeted by my mum’s face full of shock, like she had just seen a ghost. Confused, dazed, and half asleep I asked her, “Maaaam, are you okay?”. She then let out a giggle, and told me to look in the mirror. I… Was… Green.

Let me just clear things up. I was a tanned orange-like colour, with a green tint, not as green as The Hulk. Thank god. But what a great first experience of spray tanning it was (not). It’s like the Irish gods were telling me to embrace my heritage, and from that day I have.

A pot of exfoliator and 3 showers later the green seemed to fade. I still had a faint tan, and at that point I was happy. The panic was over. I could now finish packing my suitcase (last minute, I know) and get into holiday mode! I must admit, I’m a typical woman, I don’t pack lightly. The best thing about packing heavy is that you’re prepared for every scenario. Raining at 10 a.m then sunny at 11 a.m? Sorted. Skiing in the morning and meeting the Queen for dinner? Got that covered. A zombie apocalypse? Running trainers, check. Much to my mothers dismay, I decided to put a couple of pairs of shoes in her suitcase… you know, just to be sure.

Our flight from Heathrow International to San Francisco International was very early morning on the 3rd of July, so my mother and I decided to take a taxi down to Heathrow the night before, and start the holiday early. Driving up to the hotel, all you could see was a sky full of Dreamliners, and I could just imagine seeing all of the tiny little people peering out of the oval-shaped windows waving goodbye to rainy England. That would soon be us! The hotel was within such a close proximity of Terminal 5’s runway, that at dinner we sat watching all of the keen holiday-makers take off. It was far more entertaining than sat on the sofa eating dinner and watching Neighbours.

After dinner we went back to the hotel room, watched some television, and decided to have an early night. After all, we were flying over 5,000 miles across the Atlantic the following day. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t doze off, all of the excitement was to blame. But eventually, I fell asleep, for the next morning I would head off on what would be an unforgettable adventure.