Good Things Come To Those Who Ride

On a typical morning, I'd get up at my own pace. Unless I had something booked and paid for, I used to plod. I hate rushing in general but found that the further into my travels I got, the more laid back I became.

This particular morning I did have a sense of urgency. I was meeting Nathan to go out for a ride with him on his motorcycle. I still felt bad about messing him around when I first stayed at his place. I was incredibly ditzy and got lost on the bus system. I didn't want to make the same mistake again.

Speaking of ditzy, my first hurdle of getting ready proved a bit trickier than I anticipated. I wanted to have a shower before heading out. The toilet was in a separate room and the shower stood in a door-less cubicle in the kitchen. So I'm supposed to shower with everything on view whilst my hosts cook breakfast...my morning-brain could not fathom this. The logical thing to do was ask, but I didn't want to offend nor did I want to be laughed at.

Hoping that my brain would catch up, I gathered my things and made my way to the shower. I didn't have to announce this as I only had two directions to go in the flat - outside, or the kitchen. Tom glanced at my towel and clocked on to where I was heading. Thankfully he wasn't the kind of person to sit back and watch me struggle and explained that the door to the kitchen is also the door to the shower. I nodded, still confused.

This is like the three seashells in Demolition Man. Has everyone else used a kitchen shower but me? By fluke, I figured out the puzzle. I pulled the door towards me once I was in the shower and it snapped shut through a magnetic element in the side. I was still fully clothed so it wasn't a complete win. After a bit of hokey cokey, I had a successful shower.

With one victory under my belt before breakfast, I felt confident that I'd find my way to Nathan's place without inadvertently taking the scenic route. Don't worry, you're not the only one who must have scoffed at this thought as I ended up arriving slightly early and Nathan was still in the shower! Nobody has faith in me these days ey!?

Once Nathan was ready we headed out for breakfast. Yet another tasty bagel with the addition of an indulgent caramel latte. Fuelled and raring to go, it was time to tick off a bucket list experience. Riding on the back of a motorcycle was not something I'd ever imagined doing in my life. But staying with someone who happens own one, well I'd be an idiot not to ask for a ride!

Suited up and helmet in tow, I was ready for my next adventure. Getting onto the bike was a bit awkward and certainly wasn't graceful. I plonked my weight on a little too haphazardly and Nathan almost dropped the bike. I never have been very light on my feet!

Motorcycle passenger etiquette wasn't something I was well versed in. I had the choice of gripping the edges of the seat behind me, or linking my arms around Nathan's waist. My balance is terrible and I certainly wouldn't feel comfortable reaching behind me so I opted for the latter. In fact, it was more of a bear hug with the thought that if I'm falling off this thing, you're coming with me!

Unexpectedly, the ride was smooth and I had no butterflies nor did I feel like I was about to projectile vomit my breakfast from nerves/fear. I felt amazing! We zoomed through the hilly districts of San Fran up to and across the Golden Gate Bridge. I couldn't believe my luck. I'd walked and cycled over the bridge but meandering through traffic was a totally different and exhilarating experience.

Next up was Muir Woods, a towering redwood forest. It was great to escape from the city-chaos and take in this natural wonder. Nathan and I walked the main trail along with a moderate stream of tourists. This was probably the longest concentrated period of time that I'd spent with Nathan. We had a good chat about life, travel and relationships. It was nice to speak to someone who's had a lot of life experience.

Watching the sunlight peer through the trees was a beautiful sight

Me and a big-ass redwood tree

The trail wasn't too packed which made for a nice photo

From Muir Woods, we moved on to Muir Beach. Although it was a nice place to visit, we didn't hang around for too long. Firstly, we had our cycle gear on and nothing vaguely beach-related with us but mainly because we were hank marvin'! We turned up, took a couple of photos, walked along the beach for a bit and took off.

Food is always a priority in my eyes and I've seen dozens of beaches on my travels so it wasn't anything new to me.

Nathan discovered a sweet Irish pub that served proper pub-grub. I ordered a dish which was served with wedges. That must be something hot and potato based. It's silly I know but I keep forgetting that chips are crisps. I know of course that fries are chips and now I discovered that wedges in America are what I'd call homemade chips in England - thick chips with skin on. The food was delicious and was washed down with a crisp cider.

At this point I thought Nathan would be sick of me by now but he showed no signs of tiring. We got back on the bike and zipped about for a bit longer. We found a great spot for some posey photos.

All good things must come to an end. My legs were starting to cramp up so I couldn't hold out for much longer anyway. To end on a high note, Nathan stormed it by hitting over 100kph at certain points. I bloody loved it! All these adrenalin-inducing acts I've completed (sky dive etc) has got me hooked.

My legs had locked and I thought I'd need a winch to get me off the bike. I slumped on Nathan's sofa with no plans to move anytime soon. Soon after, Nathan invited me to a party him and his girlfriend were attending. I text my hosts but disappointingly I was locked out until after 11pm. I couldn't get to my things or have time to even find somewhere to buy something to wear. Sadly I had to pass. Couchsurfing can have its drawbacks and today was an example. Although I was gutted to miss the party, I still had a fantastic day.

I text Tom and met up with him instead. He was out with one of his friends called Dan. It didn't take long for the evening to turn sour. Dan was a complete dick. I'm sorry, I'm not going to sugar-coat it. He judged everything that I uttered and before long I just let them do the talking. Dan is a journalist who works in Thailand. He got his job through a friend or family member (I can't remember which) yet didn't hesitate in telling me what I should be doing and where I should be working. Oh and everything nice that a guy has done for me, including Nathan's help today, is only because I'm a girl. So a guy wouldn't do something nice for another guy?

That was enough cynicism for the evening. Tom and I headed back for my last night at Ryan & Maria's place. I decided to spend my last two nights back at Andy's where I planned to pack in as much as I could before departing for Chicago.

There's No Place Like Home

Having been back in England for six months (a sharp reminder of how far behind I am with my tales I know) I have fallen into routine life again. Not just that but I've picked up a lot of old habits and in some ways, have slotted myself back into society like I'd never left. It's only when I look at photos and remember that I do have a blog to update that it becomes real, that those moments actually happened.

A big part of my life before travel was how lonely I would feel. I worked hard and exhausted myself to the point where social interaction seemed like an unbearable option. Instead, I locked myself up in my room watching TV or or surfing online as it felt easier. I spent all day talking and fending off people that I just wanted a rest. I didn't want to talk to anyone. It sounds a bit sad and perhaps it was. You're forgetting that the last nine months before my trip, I worked two jobs. My brain was only just functioning.

It may surprise some of you, but travelling solo was far from lonely. I was always surrounded by new faces and exciting places. Every city runs at a different pace and you have to adapt and keep up. Thinking back, I'd have to try really hard to isolate myself. My times of loneliness came when I missed home and my closest friends. I did make new ones though and had a great support network in certain countries.

There is a way around everything with travel which is why it always seems so dream-like. When I constantly moved, problems that occurred were dealt with and then forgotten about. There's always so much to contend with that focusing all your energy on one particularly negative aspect of a day is wasteful. There's so much to see and do so what's the point in moping?

Now my life is static, I can't help but look back. Of course I only remember the best memories but life on the road was, in many ways, a lot easier. Dorothy said there's no place like home after landing in Oz but she only started moaning when things got tough. Not so long before, you could see Dorothy skipping up the yellow-brick-road with her new buddies. Being in an unfamiliar land with recently acquired friends provides a perfect distraction from reality. Problems fade, stress is a distant long-forgotten nightmare and all that matters is the here and now. It's exhilarating. Although Dorothy had exquisite taste in shoes, I was in no hurry to clack my heels and wish to be home.

*****

San Francisco does not run short in transport options. Light rail, bus, street car, cable car, metro...I even saw a guy peddling about on a unicycle. Granted, it's not for everyone, but this place has a mode of transport for everyone.

Although I didn't trust my unicycling skills, I did like the idea of adding another wheel to that equation and rent a bicycle. One of my favourite days in Kyoto, Japan was when I rented a bike.

My first priority was fuelling up so a hearty breakfast was needed. I fancied a fry-up. I think Andy's omelette the day before stirred my dormant morning taste buds that craved greasy fatty goodness. I found a couple of empty cafes and spotted an IHOP which is pretty much the American symbol for breakfast. It was rammed. I walked inside and families were huddled in a corner until their table was ready. I overheard someone say that the wait was 2 hours. Either IHOP is really good or everyone in San Fran had the same bacon-cravings as me. Dammit. Very rarely am I prepared to wait longer than half an hour for food. Unless it's being served by a naked Ryan Reynolds in a tiny strategically placed apron...ooof.

Instead, I settled for a pocket-friendly cooked breakfast from a nearby cafe. The hash brown took up half the plate! I shouldn't be so surprised, America do like to go big on everything. Who needs IHOP? Ha, not me.

Energised, I marched over to the bicycle rental place. A kind and rather dashing attendant assisted me in choosing my bike. I had the bog-standard, the mid-range with a comfy looking seat or an electric bicycle. I decided to go for the mid-range bike as I'd like a comfortable ride. I laughed at the idea of getting an electric bike and saw it as a waste of money. There's nothing wrong with my legs and it's not like I don't need the workout.

With that out of the way, I opened up the map I was given and asked for some tips on where to go after I'd tackled the bridge. I was told there's a beautiful view point not too far from the bridge. I circled the area and made a mental note to look out for any sign posts that mention Seal Rocks.

There was nothing else left but to follow the road round to the cycle path that leads to Golden Gate Bridge. I placed my belongings in the handy front-basket and fastened my bike helmet. I looked like a wally but I didn't fancy cracking my skull open.

Shakily, I began my journey to the bridge on the weird side of the road. You think it's strange driving a car on the wrong side of the road, try cycling! I felt like any moment a car would come along and clip me. I needn't have worried as the cycle lanes in America are very wide. I'm used to tucking in my elbows and taking a sharp intake of breath whenever I rounded a corner. If I had the balance, I could outstretch both of my arms and make an airplane noise...but then I really would be making full use of my bike helmet. I'd like to keep my clean record of no broken bones thank you very much.

There was no chance of getting lost as tourists meandered towards the bridge like competing daisy-chains. I stopped every now and then to take a few photos but it didn't take long until I was at the foot of the bridge.

My experience on the bridge itself was somewhat rushed. It was absolutely packed. Although there was a pedestrian lane and a cycle lane, there wasn't much room. I am glad I had my bike as I cycled half way along the bridge, paused, looked out and cycled to the end then back again. San Francisco's trademark rolling fog clung to the skyline whilst the arching sun punched through pockets of clearing. It was a beautiful view and no amount of tourists could ruin that.

At this point I must have taken at least 30 photos of the bridge. So I am as bad as the people on Lombard Street. I wanted to capture the bridge at varying angles to ensure I had a selection to look at later and choose my favourite shot. I took a few photos of the view and moved on. I couldn't wait to get off the bridge and away from the crowds.

There was still plenty of time left before I had to return my bike. I thought I'd be adventurous and deviate from the cycle path in search of Seal Rocks or whatever the guy at the shop said. I had a map, what could go wrong?

Oh dear. What was I thinking! Every film and TV show that's based in San Francisco shows panning shots of the Transamerica Pyramid building and then the mountainous streets. Two iconic symbols, a pointy building and hilly streets. It's not difficult to remember but after that day of cycling, I certainly won't forget it.

Now I know that people aren't pansies when they pay the extra few dollars for an electric bike. They are bloody smart-arses. I panted and I wheezed my way across to Lincoln Park and Eagles Point. I thought I came close to finding Seal Rocks but I failed in my mission. I took my bike down a dirt track but soon found out that bikes are not allowed. I noticed the signs about half an hour in after carrying it up and down several steps. I even got the odd puzzled look by a few clued-up locals.

One local power-walked past me with his bike resting on one shoulder and was completely caked in mud. He grinned at me as if to say - "Isn't this great? Wow I feel awesome." I tried to emanate the same sentiment rather than admitting failure.

It was reassuring to find that I wasn't the only one who made this error. A family decided to take their bikes down the same path just as I walked back up. They asked for my advice - as if my sweaty and dusty demeanor didn't already answer the question - and I recommended they go back and search for another way across. The mother agreed but the 'macho' dad and two peppy kids disagreed. I'm sure they found out the hard way like I did.

Despite the detour, I did have fun and still found some interesting view points. It was time to head back which seemed like a simple task looking at my map. As I got lost earlier (oh did I forget to say that...come on, this is me, of course I got lost!), I decided to cycle in and around the area until I hit a main street, cut across accordingly and head up to the piers. I didn't get lost but it was completely knackering. As well as the dipping streets, there were traffic lights after each block. I could only cycle fast enough to pass through one or at a stretch, two green lights. This gave me a couple of minutes to catch my breath before I had to power through again.

Determined but utterly beat, I finally arrived at the rental place. I made sure I caught my breath before dropping the bike off. I admitted that I couldn't find Seal Rocks but explained where I went instead and left with a smile on my face. Phew, right I need to get back and sort my stuff out as I was due to meet my new host.

A set time wasn't made so I didn't feel like I had to rush too much. I got back to Andy's, showered and packed. My phone was playing up and I wasn't getting full text messages. I was too nervous to call as I wasn't sure what impression that would leave.

Suddenly things changed and I needed to get over there right away as my host had somewhere important to be. Naturally, I flapped and got on the wrong bus...twice. I felt terrible. This guy was waiting for me to arrive so he could let me in. What is wrong with me? (Don't answer that). Normally I'm a lot more organised than this and usually leave even earlier if I have no idea where I'm going. This time I actually did know where I was going.

Pressing the buzzer, I wondered what awaited me. I hope he wasn't angry with me! Moments later a tall figure emerged and approached the door. I couldn't see very clearly and didn't want to smile and introduce myself to the wrong person. It was my new host, Nathan. He took me to his place. I chuckled as I entered.

Was Charlie Brooker known in America? I asked, he wasn't. Nathan had no idea what I was talking about. He bought the mat as he thought it was funny. It was a subtle rebellion against the generic 'welcome' mats. Fair enough.

Nathan pointed at things, showed me where I'd be sleeping and took off. I hope I didn't make him late. I didn't hang around for long as I went to meet Laura and Bree one last time before they left San Fran. Nathan left me a key so I didn't have to worry about not being able to get back in. I met Laura at Bigfoot Lodge which was a bar that was within short walking distance to where I was staying. We later met Bree and went to a nearby Mexican restaurant to stuff our faces. I feel like my waistline is slowly puffing out like the burritos I constantly scoff. Perhaps you are what you eat.

Once we had eaten so much that it hurt to move, we planned our next stop. Laura and Bree said there's a shisha bar nearby which sounded like a good plan to me. On our way we passed many 'happy' souls high on life or possibly something else err natural. A bouncer certainly expressed his joy at Bree - "Daaaamn, you got buns!" Me and Laura were in stitches. My buns went by unnoticed, hmph.

As time marched on, we didn't seem to be anywhere near a shisha bar. I'm sure Laura said it was only a few minutes away. When I asked, it turned out it was a few minutes away from the hostel where Laura and Bree were staying. I didn't fancy that long stretch back by myself so I decided to give the shisha bar a miss and headed back to Nathan's. I saw Nathan when I got back but we were so beat that neither of us could understand each other. It felt like we were having separate conversations as I thought he was talking about one thing and he thought I was talking about something else. Our heads hurt with confusion so we mumbled our goodnights.

Tonight marked my first night on an actual couch like the namesake. Plenty of pillows and covers made it a very snuggly sleep. I'm having the best sleep I've had in a long time and it's not costing me a penny. Why didn't I think of this before?

The Only Way Is Vegas

Have you ever sat and watched someone struggle to set up the DVD player or fail to find the right drop down menu on the television? If you’re like me, you stir and itch with impatience. Sometimes it’s quicker to just do things yourself. Alone, you can take control and steer yourself in the right direction. Victory or failure, it’s on your terms. When somebody else is in charge you have no choice but to sit and watch as things play out.

On an organised tour it’s not as simple as snatching a remote off your nonplussed counterpart. When things aren’t working out, you’re powerless. It’s not something I ever thought I’d have to think about whilst on a tour. The reason why I booked it is so someone who has traversed America more times than I’ve had cooked dinners can take charge whilst I sit back and relax. Not having to worry about maps and navigation is a huge weight off the mind. Unfortunately, when things go wrong you’re screwed. At least when you’re out there on your own you can be more proactive and usually end up with a funny story to entertain future drinking buddies.

Alas, I still managed to get lost but we’ll get to that soon. There was still a long long long journey before we caught a glimpse of Vegas.

After listening to Pearl Jam's extensive collection among other mixed CDs Ken owned, I took over as resident DJ. Opening up my limited music library was probably a step down but at least the music was different. As usual everyone fell straight asleep anyway so there was no fear of mutiny.

A short while later it was time for our first tourist stop, the delightful Bedrock City. For a few dollars we got to run around like idiots and take silly photos.

Back on the road again, it was time for our second and final stop off at old Route 66. This time the roadside cafe Delgadillos was open. We all ordered milkshakes and each got a dose of zany fun from the server. For instance, I was asked if I wanted a straw...wait for this...you'll crack up...the server passed me a handful of straw. You know, straw, like what horses eat. Tim Vine would be proud.

Coach loads of tourists were flooding the area so we didn't hang about too long. We boarded the bus and headed straight to Vegas.

Entering Las Vegas by day gave our eyes a bit of a rest from the beaming lights and famous neon signs. Instead, we were greeted with giant billboards advertising lawyers who specialise in divorces juxtaposed with chapel invitations. Even if I was insanely drunk, I can't see myself getting married. With that thought in mind, Ken jokingly recommended that we note down the number "just in case". He added that he's had people get married in Vegas during his tour but he's never had a baby in the mix. There would be a reward for the person who shows up with a baby the next day. I think someone's been watching The Hangover too many times.

We seemed to be nearing Las Vegas Boulevard so, the legendary DJ that I was, I sat poised with my finger hovering over the play button. "Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire." Yes people, Elvis is in the minibus!

Cut to the tenth time of playing the song and we were done with Elvis. Where the heck are we? Nobody knew. I must be some sort of jinx. I know I get lost all the time but I guess I can lead others into the same fate too. Travelling has helped me learn so much about myself and my own capabilities.

At first Ken hid behind the music and looked in control. As time marched on, we all realised what was happening. I kept picturing the scene from Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (don't judge me. It's a perfect fluffy movie). When they drive off to Tucson? No? Aw come on!

For the first time, Ken looked stressed out. Hurling a few swear words at the road vented some of his frustrations at least. We knew we were in trouble when his fellow tour guide friend rang him and asked where we were. The original plan was to rock up at our hotel, go out for something to eat, get glammed up and board a party bus. The tour guide that called was with his group who we'd be joining later. They travelled south from San Francisco.

We eventually arrived and it was only Ken who seemed to be bothered by this. I was slightly vexed only because I was hungry. Ken rushed in to collect our room keys.

Hearing that I had a room to myself, I tried to hide my elation. We all got ready whilst Ken sorted food. By some miracle, I managed to make myself look presentable in around 10 minutes. I should keep that a guarded secret really as it might be used against me at a later date. Some people just don't understand the process of getting ready to go out. It's meant to take a while, it's all part of the fun.

Moving on...my room seemed to be the hub of the evening's proceedings. My room was massive. I had two double beds, a kitchenette, en suite facilities and a TV. Everyone burst in whilst I was watching Man Vs. Food. I was enjoying that!

Ken continued to beat himself up for delaying our arrival and we sympathised. But carrying around that guilt didn't make him the winner of the 'Sucks To Be You' prize. One of our poor passengers had lost their case. It wasn't in the trailer when we arrived in Las Vegas. To this day, I still don't know what happened to it. Perhaps a crafty tourist poached it at our last stop. The thought of that happening to me sent shivers down my spine. Lucky for me my bag weighs a flipping tonne. I'd like to see someone try and run away with my case!

Sitting down to eat the pizza Ken brought across for us, I noticed that I was a tad overdressed. Everyone else erred on the casual side so I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Despite running late, we were the first ones on the bus. It looked awesome inside and out. 

Music was playing and drinks were flowing. Unfortunately I'm not going to cue a photo montage akin to the credits of The Hangover, but I will admit I had to look back at them to retrace my steps.

From what I can see, I had a good night. I thought I remembered most of it but upon reflection, perhaps not. I spent most of the night with a few guys from the other group. It was rather funny seeing them board the bus. Each guy resembled a horny Terminator sizing up each female specimen, tallying the stats. Drink had dumbed it down to a hot or not categorisation. Their targets had been acquired as they casually sat right by us. Sensing that we weren't completely trashed, they played it cool. I chose to stay aloof from the situation and watched events unfold. Let's just say, it's not only male backpackers who are out for what they can get!

At that moment I had an overwhelming desire to dance. Two metal poles were strategically positioned at either end of the bus. These came in handy for regulating my balance. They were obviously there for people to hold on to so they don't fall over...ahem.

By this point I must have been tipsy as I sashayed up to a handsome dark haired guy. I was more interested in the blue sequined trilby he was wearing. I busted a few moves and, in my eyes at the time, stealthily apprehended the pretty shiny object. I felt that I pulled it off. Mission accomplished, I sashayed off.

Moments later a few girls asked me how I managed to get the hat as they'd been trying all night. Apparently it's a lucky hat or something. I shrugged and carried on dancing. I managed to keep hold of the hat until it came to departing the bus and therefore gamble the night away. I didn't want to stand in the way of a guy and his lucky charm.

My night consisted of a light/water show at the Bellagio, watching a bit of TV on Fremount Street, having photos taken at the welcome sign and doing a spot of casino hopping. Gambling was involved at some point too but that died out pretty quickly. I wasn't feeling lucky and I didn't want to gamble my remaining dollars away and be left homeless. I have no idea what order those events transpired in but I do have remnants of memories from each. There are some things I'm happy to remember and others, not so much (the weirdest kiss I've ever had comes to mind).

 

Fremount Street

Ooooo, aaaaahh

Somehow I managed to rip my dress in the taxi. No, it wasn't in some heated sexual tryst. My life doesn't resemble an episode of Sex and the City. It got caught on the seat belt. Embarrassed and a little upset (it was one of only two dresses I own), I trudged up to my room. I stumbled about muttering nonsense. I remember Ken calling me to check that I was still alive and I think I passed out as the next thing I remember was waking up and seeing daylight...eugh.

Down In Mexico

An outsider may crinkle their brow in confusion as to why I crammed everything I wanted to do into one day. Even more so when they realise that I still had one full day left in San Diego.

From past experience I have learnt to try and get all the city-musts out of the way as soon as possible. Stating the bleedin’ obvious is probably what comes to mind for most of you reading this, but you will be surprised how easy it is to become lazy when travelling. After a travel day, I usually want to do the easiest thing or visit the nearest place to the hostel. Without thinking I waste my first couple of days dithering about and then my plans change and I either don’t have time or have to rush my last days in an effort to fit everything in.

For instance, I had one week in Kyoto, Japan. I thought that was ample time to see everything. I met up with a friend and visited a couple of temples nearby. I stretched that out over my first two or three days. Before I knew it, I was making preparations to leave so I ended up rushing about trying to see everything. I still had a good time but all my procrastinating and “finding my feet” bollocks meant that I didn’t even touch the outskirts of Gion, the famous Geisha district. Abundant with tradition and historic value, I missed out on a tea ceremony or taking a rare snap of a full-time Geisha in her native surroundings. Lonely Planet would weep at my omission.

Regrets are bypassed for me as I know that it is impossible to experience and see everything there is on offer in each country. Perhaps if I had a year in each, I might be able to ensconce myself within the societies and truly learn the culture and history but that’s not my journey this time.

After making loose plans to meet back up with Laura and John, I didn’t want to risk having to choose between seeing them and eating an epic burrito. My efforts were not wasted and I managed to make last-minute plans to visit Tijuana with my new Liverpudlian acquaintances.

Today seemed like Comic-Con’s prime day as Old Town was crawling with creatures from various planets. The bustle of the Comic-Con-goers was interrupted at certain points with an exasperated intercom message – “This is NOT a Comic-Con trolley. Repeat, this is NOT a Comic-Con trolley.” I had visions of someone pushing a shopping trolley full of masked heroes around San Diego. Trolley is not a word I would ever associate with public transport (it's a tram for those not in the know).

Fighting through the noise and crowds, I managed to pick out Laura in the masses and waited whilst John bought day tickets. It was great that the $5 unlimited bus passes also work on selected trolley services. It would cover our trip to and from the Mexican border.

Now more than ever, it became increasingly apparent that cash machines are like gold-dust in some parts of America. We never thought that San Diego would be one of them. John and Laura needed cash so we took a trolley to downtown and from there we would take the necessary tram to reach the border. As Laura and I stared out the windows to figure out when our stop would come, John made conversation with an American veteran. John later told me that veterans have some of the best stories to tell. He wasn’t wrong, this guy was teeming with tales littered with interesting titbits about his country.

Perhaps I was exaggerating slightly by comparing ATMs to gold-dust, but instead of saying “I need to go to a hole in the wall” (a common expression when there is a need to visit an ATM in England), I would say “I need to find a random shop that might have a stand-alone cash machine stashed somewhere.” But most of these were situated in pawn shops or other establishments that look equally dodgy.

It was slightly frustrating as a relatively simple act of withdrawing money becomes a treasure hunt. It didn’t help that we were all pretty hungry. Our fuses were short but became happily distracted with the pretty leaflet and freebie droppers. One particular girl hypnotised many tourists and locals alike with her swaying fishnet-clad hips. I still can’t remember what she was promoting but I remember exactly what she was wearing. Is that worrying?

As if we were under a spell, the three of us inadvertently followed the siren. We were soon brought back down to earth when two gleeful Americans shoved packets of Slim Jim jerky in our hands. This could solve our hunger problems temporarily at least.

Rounding the corner, a cash machine stood out like a bright beacon. We scurried across as the sooner we get the money the sooner we can make it across the border and stuff our faces. Slim Jim was not enough to satiate us completely.

Whilst John withdrew his money, Laura and I clocked the Slim Jim mothership. As well as holding a hoard of Slim Jim packets, there were carnival games that anyone could take part in. My competitive nature coupled with my desire to gain more free stuff meant that I practically stormed through the small group of bystanders.

Not surprisingly, we had to sign a disclaimer stating that we wouldn’t sue Slim Jim if we injure ourselves. Good ol’ America.

Our choices were an arm wrestling game, the classic high striker (hammer and bell) or a punch bag. The punch bag looked like the easiest one so we went for that. I had a lot of weight behind me at that point so I hoped I could use that to my advantage for once.

John and I limbered up like we were entering the Olympics. Laura simply took off her bag and went straight into it. I stood back and watched to gauge what techniques were needed to accomplish the perfect punch. There was a specific spot to hit and a certain way to push your weight forward to get the most points. It did seem like the fattest people were gaining the most points over the seemingly stronger-looking opponents. It’s better to be fat than fit at this point. Perfect!

John faired very well and Laura sourced some hidden anger and punched respectably. I wanted to win. I didn’t care what it was that I actually won, I just wanted victory.

My first punch slipped off the bag and my score was pathetic. I only had two chances left. I made the second shot count and my score rocketed but it still wasn’t enough to win a prize, ergo it wasn’t good enough. I thought back to what had riled me over the years and used that as a stimulant. It ruddy worked and I got a top score and won a belt. Random, but I didn’t care. The guy running the stand said I was one of the top punching girls of the day. Perhaps he was just trying to make me feel better, but I smothered my skepticism and smiled. Yes, I am the champion!

It would have been so easy to spend the afternoon playing games and winning tat but Tijuana awaited us. We caught the next trolley and walked across the border unquestioned. Our hassle free entry into Mexico had us laughing nervously. Surely it can’t be this easy? Pedestrians aren’t deemed as dangerous so it seems but if you have a car you have to have the patience of a saint as you’ll be waiting a while.

Sheesh!

Me and Laura have time to pose with a packet of Slim Jim overlooking queueing traffic

Even though this sounds like the oldest cliché ever created, it did feel like walking into another world. We left cloudy-grey San Diego for sunny Mexico. Tall modern buildings were replaced with grungy one-storey structures. Macy’s and Abercrombie and Fitch morphed into rows of tourists shops all selling the same crap. Each establishment was owned by a middle-aged man trying every trick in the book to get us to come in. They had no luck with us but we did enjoy the efforts many went to. It felt like they were all reading from the same book as every guy commented on how lucky John was to have two “senoritas”. John happily played along. Tijuana is very lively and busy if a little surreal.

Photo opportunity with a zebra-donkey?

Imaginative

Our stomachs growled in protest so we decided to look for somewhere to eat. Along the way we met an American guy called Brad. He was visiting with family but exploring Tijuana alone that day. Brad was searching for a market nearby and asked if we too were looking for the same market as he was a little lost. We got to talking and decided to hang out for a while.

All the restaurants looked the same so we struggled to differentiate between the places that are kosher or ones that would have us clinging to the toilet bowl for the next few days. Most of the places looked busy so we settled upon a place that had seating outside.

Other than tacos and enchiladas, I did not understand anything that was written on the menu. To begin with I was going to stick to the usual tacos, especially as they were cheap, but everything sounded so tasty.

Two lovely waitresses served us homemade chips, dips and took our orders. We awkwardly asked questions about the menu as we were all equally clueless.  I ordered quesadilla even though I still didn’t really know what that was. The picture looked nice though!

Education, politics, travel experiences and social differences were subjects of talk whilst we waited for our food. Brad shared stories about his time living in Turkey and I got to hear more about Laura and John’s adventures.

Our food arrived promptly and nobody hesitated in digging in. It was a feast.

It's not all for me!

Me, Laura and Brad with our lovely waitresses

Me, Laura, Brad and John moments before we tucked into our grub

Time slipped away as we realised that a good couple of hours had passed by. We bid farewell to the ladies and took to the streets in search of this elusive market.

It didn’t take us long to find what we were looking for. The market sure had a lot of character.

Those aren't sultanas, they're wasps. Yuck!

I'm not sure what the idea behind this was!

It was definitely popular with the locals. We bounced around and ricocheted off people like a ball-bearing firing through a pinball machine. I believe this is where we lost Brad. With no mobile phone to call, we shrugged and carried on walking around. Brad left our lives as seamlessly as he entered it.

In no direct correlation to what had just happened we entered a church. I’m not religious at all in that I have no strong beliefs either way. It was still interesting to watch others worship and pray. Some sat in silence, others clenched prayer beads and many knelt down in the aisle briefly as a sign of respect. Church etiquette is well above and beyond my knowledge so I was soon ready to go.

Somehow the day was coming to a close already. We walked back to cross the border. There was no avoiding one bar owner we met when we first entered. We made the fateful mistake of telling him that we’d come back and maybe have a drink. Of course he remembered us. One drink wasn’t going to do any harm and we couldn’t exactly argue over the pricing.

Mister bar owner fussed over us as we were pretty much his only customers at that point. Perhaps their avoidance tactics were better than ours - we have a lot to learn.

Sipping our dirt-cheap Coronas, we played a couple of games of pool. I sucked as always. As we started to play another game, a guy came over and asked if we fancied playing a game of doubles – Laura and John versus me and this guy. Why not? The woman he came in with was stood at the bar watching and later walked into one of the back rooms.

I had my game face on

This stranger was very odd looking. He looked a lot older than he probably was. His prematurely-aged skin creased together like a bulldog. With zero dress sense and tacky jewellery, this guy seemed harmless. Perhaps this was all himself or done purposely as he tried so hard to hustle us out of money. Now I can be a little too trusting but even I saw through his act. At first he played worse than me and then every now and again he’d pull out a pretty good shot. The game would end and he’d ask us to play for money – “Just for fun”. He’s barking up the wrong tree in asking a backpacker to cough up money for nothing!

A couple of games later we called it a day finished our beers and left. Laura and John laughed as we left but I didn’t get the joke at first. It turns out the guy was a pimp and the woman he came in with was taking care of business whilst he tried making a bit of extra cash himself. I was completely oblivious to the goings on. Typical.

It was a strange way to finish our time in Tijuana but equally as funny. It was the only bar we went to as we didn’t really have time to hang about. Crossing back into America proved a lengthier process than our breezy entrance. We firstly had to queue and then answer random questions about our travels to American officials.

Having gotten the trolley back to Old Town it was time to say goodbye to Laura and John. There was a possibility that we’d be in San Fran at the same time but it felt like this was going to be our last meet. It’d be nice to see them again in their hometown of Liverpool and I could show them the sights of York if they were ever in the area.

My bus wasn’t due for a while so I waited with them and waved goodbye as their bus pulled away. I walked across to where I thought my bus was. The correctly numbered bus was sat in the terminal with its lights off and a bulky driver was sat reading the newspaper. People were stood around curiously as to why the guy wasn’t boarding passengers. It was around five minutes until departure so I guess the guy thought he had time for a break.

This did not go down well with those waiting. I could hear faint murmurings of irritation. Now although there wasn’t a strict queue in place, it was pretty clear who was to board the bus first. This one guy strutted to the front, right outside the door of the bus. If this was England there would be hell to pay. I wasn’t exactly ready to pummel this guy or anything but I wasn’t best pleased. I detest queue jumpers and I am usually one of those people who either pipes up or pushes back.

It was interesting to see how this rolled out. Up to now, I’ve heard many an angry American and love it. They get so wound up and shout all sorts of expletives – “Asshole” and “douche bag” – are my favourites. Neither was uttered in this instance though. Instead, I could see a tall black guy shifting from side to side and I could see he wasn’t happy. The guy who pushed in turned to him and asked if there was a problem for which the guy replied, “Naaa, I aint trippin’.”

What!? I’ve seen many depictions of the plethora of racial stereotypes in America but I never actually thought that there were people who spoke like that. I thought it was a caricature! I just wanted to carry on listening to this guy speak!

This revelation was disrupted by the bulky driver exiting the bus. A mammoth of a guy slowly waddled across the street and replaced him. It took him a good few minutes to heave himself onto his seat and set everything up. By the time he sorted himself out and everyone boarded, the bus was around ten minutes late. Pointless! In the meantime, the guy who wasn’t trippin’ made sure that the two young Asian girls with suitcases bigger than their petite frame boarded the bus first. He bellowed – “Ladies first!” He shamed the stupid queue-jumping idiot as well as all the males. What a gentlemen. Normally it’s every man and woman for themselves when it comes to public transport but not today.

Back at the hostel I dumped my stuff and went straight to my laptop. I needed to check if I’d had an responses to my couchsurf requests for San Francisco. As there wasn’t a lot that I fancied doing in LA, I decided to stay in a hostel before embarking on my seven day tour to San Fran. I’ll be there just over a week so it was ambitious to think that one person would host me for that long. The average stay for most surfers is two nights. Ideally, I needed three hosts which is going to be incredibly difficult to pull off.

Couchsurfing originated in San Fran which I thought would work in my favour in that there are a shit-load of hosts there. What I didn’t anticipate was that my requests were amongst a gazillion others as every other backpacker is thinking the exact same thing as me. I needed to stand out. I had already sent out a handful of requests but it looked like I need to send out a heck of a lot more. It is surprisingly time-consuming going through people’s profiles and finding a good host, or perhaps I’m just picky!

My efforts failed at the first hurdle as my battery died. Shit! The hostel I was staying in is so rundown that there are no plug sockets in the room itself. There were two outlets in the bathroom but the front plastic shield hangs off the wall slightly. For fear of electrocuting myself, I avoided using it entirely. I didn’t have that long left to make arrangements so I diced with death and plugged in my laptop. The cable didn’t stretch to my bed which was on the opposite side of the room. Instead I sat on the toilet typing away. It did make for an unusual sight. I just hoped it was worth it and everything would find a way of working out in San Fran.

Something For Nothing

There is a reason why I don’t mention money that much in my blog as I don’t have much of the stuff. I don’t live out of Mummy and Daddy’s pocket nor did I have some high-flying job that I quit back in the UK. I’ve gotten this far through grafting away at home prior to my trip, my tight purse strings and dumb luck.

My friend quite rightly told me that I could fill a separate blog with my “bodging”. Somehow I manage to make the pennies stretch to the unfathomable. Being a tight arse with money has come in handy finally. I knew I’d get the last laugh one day after the endless ribbing.

However, all good things must come to an end. My skills have gotten me this far but Australia took far too much of my money. My predictions in leaving the country with heavy dollar-filled pockets crashed and burned months ago.

Never one to dwell on what could have been, I had a trick up my sleeve. Couchsurfing is something that I dabbled in during my time in Japan and my first days in Australia. It’s a concept I am fairly familiar with having written about it for an article at university. Luckily, those stays were arranged through people that I met on my travels. In America, I’d ran out of contacts. I knew a couple of people but nobody who could host me.

Despite heavy warnings from travellers and Americans (ha!) telling me that there are too many weirdos out there, I decided to look for hosts via the official CouchSurfing website. I’d created a skeleton profile months before in the hope of meeting people in Australia but it turned out to be one of many things I never got around to doing there.

For those not in the know, couchsurfing describes the process of one person, couple or family hosting another traveller. This is the bare bones of it. There is of course a lot more to it than that but you’ll get to understand it a lot better as you read my future travels in America.

People’s reactions and opinions to couchsurfing intrigues me. Instinctively, the majority of people recoil at the thought of staying in a stranger’s home. “They could rape you in your sleep,” or “You could end up having all your stuff stolen,” are just some of the many humourous thoughts that have been expressed about couchsurfing. All by those who haven’t actually couchsurfed I hasten to add!

If you pause to think about it for a moment you’ll realise that couchsurfing isn’t all that bad. As a prospective surfer, you enter a person’s own private space. You must have a possession that you are protective over. At the moment, for me, it’s my laptop. If someone manhandles it or takes advantage of it in anyway then I flip out. It takes a lot for me to let someone use my laptop. For others it could be electronic or something more sentimental such as photos or ornaments. I’m just carrying one possession that I hold dearest to me, imagine how many things a person has in a whole apartment/house. I think that’s pretty admirable and respectable that they feel trusting enough to let someone into their space.

With any social network, you get your weirdos. Heck, have you seen how many I have encountered in the hostels I’ve stayed in!? Like with anything in this world, you have to have your wits about you. A level of common sense weeds out those you suspect that you wouldn’t get on with. Everyone has a profile and there is a reference system.

There is the risk that I’d end up staying with a complete idiot but I’m not paying to stay with this person so if I have any problems I can up and leave. I felt confident that this was the right path for me. Not only would I get a place to stay free of charge, I’d hopefully meet lovely people who know their hometowns. I might get to see things I’d never know about staying in a dorm room full of newbies like me. I wanted to try out something completely new and experience a country in a new light. I set my goal at couchsurfing through my entire stay in America.

Unfortunately I fell at the first hurdle. I tried to find a host in San Diego but posting an ad as well as sending out a handful of requests had failed. I started to have my doubts about couchsurfing. I thought it was easy to find a host, there are so many on the website. Instead, I settled for a hostel by the beach. As I mentioned in my previous post, it’s not the best nor the cleanest but the location was good for bus links as well as eateries and shops.

My first mission of the day was to find a plug adaptor but food came first. One plus point to the hefty hostel price tag, was the free breakfast. I’m used to what hostels class as free breakfast. I’ve had bread and a toaster to a full continental spread so I had no idea what awaited me. I entered the tiny kitchen and dining area and my eyes bulged at what stood before me. Two bright and cheery girls were cooking pancakes. As well as this sweet treat, there was toast and scrambled eggs piled up. Now is the time to fill my boots. I’ve already resigned to the fact that I will get fat in America. I plan on stuffing my face within one of the fattest nations in the world. Mwhaha..ahm nom nom!

Happily tucking into fluffy scrambled eggs and buttery toast, I tried to leave room for a pancake. It was difficult but I managed to force feed myself a peanut M&M pancake. What an awesome combination. It tasted as good as it sounds. By the end, I resembled Dawn French in the  British comedy Christmas episode - Vicar Of Dibley (Click here if you've not seen this episode before or click here to see the specific moment I was thinking of). I was sat on a bench so I didn't have any issues with my chair. The sweet-pancakey-goodness came as a better comfort to me than brussels sprouts ever would!

My sugar boost set me up for the day. I had plenty to do. No I didn’t go to the zoo or do something equally as exciting. Instead, I spent most of the day glued to my laptop sorting out my travels. It may sound like a wasted day but I really needed it. Being away from the internet for two weeks in Fiji has meant that I was seriously behind in my bookings. As I had a tour booked from LA and a festival ticket bought for Chicago, my dates were pretty rigid. I needed to ensure that I was on the right plane/train/bus on a specific day or I’d be screwed.

Before I could start planning, I needed an adaptor. The hostel receptionist gave me directions to a nearby pharmacy-come-supermarket. It was a funny sight as I don’t know any pharmacy in the UK that sells alcohol. I managed to come out with everything I wanted – a plug adaptor, a couple of drinks, Twizzlers (classic American confectionery  and hair straighteners. The latter wasn’t a planned purchase but a very much needed one. The Fijian waters had made my already frizzy hair regress to a frazzled mess. I looked like a yeti. I felt even better about my purchase as it was a flipping bargain! I love America already as everything is so much cheaper.

As I set up my laptop in the dining area, a guy set down across from me, breakfast in tow. Eye contact was made which then led to a semi-lengthy conversation about our travels and what brings us to San Diego. Amongst the friendly chatter, Michael (American) tried to coax me into taking a surfing lesson with him. At the time I was too distracted by his current predicament as he’d lost his car key and needed to move his car from the front of the hostel to prevent receiving a fine or even worse, having his car towed. He was asking me for advice on how to get into his car - somehow I look like a person who can break into a car. I asked if he had a coat hanger handy. Thankfully he didn’t as I’d have no idea what to actually do with it, I just saw somebody break into a car with one once...or maybe it was the front for of a house...

Moving the focus to Michael’s car troubles deviated from his sales pitch. Part of me was tempted as he was charging very little but I’d already done the “surf thing” in Australia and I am useless in the water. I couldn’t really justify the expense and even though he was a nice guy, I just didn’t really want to go in the sea.

As the conversation moved forward, a worker came over and started chatting to Michael. He donned the synonymous hoover pack that almost all hostel housekeepers use. Michael joked with him saying he looked like a superhero. I joined in and asked if his job title is Hoover Man. Unfortunately my sarcasm was lost on this guy who was also American. Is it just me, can I not pull off sarcasm? I know Americans are known for not understanding British humour but he’s not the only one who takes me deadly serious when I’m trying my hardest not to be, dammit!

Hoover Man turned to me with a mixed look of pity and disgust and said that his job title is Housekeeper. This was a clear facepalm moment but I just turned to my laptop, plugged in my music and tuned everyone out. Michael had other new guests to snare so he left me to it.

After scouring the internet for bargains, I managed to have an itinerary that made sense. I’m all up for the go-with-the-flow approach to travel and did it whilst in Japan, Malaysia and Australia but I didn’t have a lot of time or money left. I wanted to make sure that I got everything I could out of my final weeks. To do this, I intended to cram as many places as I could into six weeks.

The Plan

San Diego (3 days)
LA (2 days)
Bus tour begins – Joshua Tree National Park, Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Death Valley, Yosemite National Park (7 days)
San Francisco (8 days)
Chicago (8 days)
Washington DC (4 days)
Toronto (3 days)
Montreal (3 days)
New York (9 days)

There are travel days in between each trip which I accounted for. It’s very easy to split your days and forget about the journey from one place to another. Travel days are my most unproductive days as I’m always so drained. I make it easier on myself by marking a whole day off for travel so I can rest and get my bearings.

You may notice that I have included two cities in Canada. That was a slightly spontaneous decision. I’d been thinking about visiting Canada for a while but on a separate trip. It was in Fiji when I noticed I had a gap in my itinerary between DC and New York.  Spending over two weeks in New York sounds great but expensive. I used this as an excuse to expand my list of countries. It was this day that I made it official and started booking transport and made provisional reservations at hostels just in case couchsurfing didn’t work out. I did this in every other place in America that I planned to visit.

Whilst I went on a booking spree, I noticed I received a message from someone who I sent a couchsurf request to in San Diego. Laura apologised for not being able to host me as she was out of the city. I messaged back to let her know that I managed to sort things out and asked for any tips. Laura messaged back pretty quickly with a list of places to visit and an invite out for dinner. That evening happened to be a weekly couchsurf meeting. These take place all over the world and are a great way to meet people in the area as well as prospective hosts. I’d already paid for the rest of my stay in San Diego.

It seems like my day wouldn’t be so much of a waste after all. I messaged Laura back accepting her invite. If I’d spent the day sightseeing I would have missed this message so sometimes good things can come from nothing…or doing nothing rather!

Here's One I Made Earlier

Blue Peter wasn’t necessary a staple in the Lee household growing up but it certainly had a strong presence within the era I grew up in. I caught the back-end of the desperate struggle to gain the prestigious Blue Peter badge.

For the non-Brits out there, Blue Peter is a long-running children’s television show. Another synonymous part of Blue Peter was the crafts section. Before the days of compulsory recycling, there was a different way to make use of finished toilet rolls, cereal boxes and ice lolly sticks.

A chirpy BP presenter would cut, fold and stick an amalgamation of crap together and start dousing it in papier mache. It would barely hold together and you'd squint and turn your head from side to side in a fruitless attempt to recognise what the hell they were making.

But fear not, the infamous words – “Here’s one we made earlier” – would emanate from their pearly whites and there you have it. Instead of a sloppy mountain of masking tape and watery paper, you have a perfectly moulded model of some sort.

Naïve children were lead to believe that this presenter spent minutes magically creating a masterpiece. I’m sure many kids tried and failed to make the Thunderbirds model, Tracy Island. This is the famous episode that most people recognise. It was a bit before my time but even I remember that one.

Many times in my travels I’ve wanted to say those words. Here’s a spectacular itinerary I made earlier. Instead, I stumble about blindly not necessarily thinking things through and consistently cut corners to save money. Why would anyone want to fly from Phuket to Kuala Lumpur when you can take a 24 hour bus ride? I’ve saved a tenner, I win!

There have been plenty of moments where I wish I had the gift of hindsight but then that would be boring. If I did catch a train or flight to Kuala Lumpur I would never have met Mel and Steff. They are more like extended family to me. We’ve been through so much together and have witnessed every angle of our personalities and have come through it all smiling and stronger than ever. It’s a flaming miracle and a wonderful one at that.

Fiji wasn't necessarily my Tracy Island but I probably should have thought twice about squeezing a five hour boat ride, ten hour flight and three hour train ride into one day.

*****

Brains of Britain here decided to have a heavy drinking session the night before a cave trip. That’s exactly what my hangover needed!

At least Amy and Amelia were in the same boat as me and felt equally rotten. We could crawl our way through this day together.

Alas, things are never that simple. As my caves trip came in voucher form through the package that I booked, I ended up going through a different company. Ridiculous seen as the resort offered exactly the same trip. Why not pay them instead of this rival company?

 

Amy and Amelia went off with the Coral View crew and me and two others stayed. We hung around for an hour until the boat arrived. My inner monologue ticked over what I could have done with that precious wasted hour. 

We weren’t the only ones left waiting. The boat made three stops to different resorts picking up random travellers. The others would be in and out of the caves by the time we got there!

A bumpy boat ride is not the cure for a hangover but a cause of one sore arse! All our arses collectively slammed into the wooden slats of the boat as we clung to each other for dear life. It’s not like there was anything else to hold on to! I decided that today was hug a stranger day.

Soaking wet and slightly bruised, we arrived at the Sawa-I-Lau cave entrance. The tour leader asked for $5 in exchange for snorkel goggles. I had no idea what I’d want to see underwater in a dark cave but was told it’s a necessity.

In my hangover-induced-wisdom, I brought my cloth handbag. My stuff was soaked but I managed to scrape out enough money to hand to the leader. I didn’t think anybody would want to steal my sorry-looking bag, so left it on the boat.

Teams of tourists packed up the stairs and entered the caves. Herded in like a sheep, I plopped into the water and feebly doggy-paddled (in fear of colliding with the jutting rocks that surrounded me) in the direction of others heading towards the light. It was as eerie as it sounds.

Charming!

Collectively everyone shrugged, “Now what?” as we tread water. Some nutters climbed up the side of the cave and jumped. No thanks.

Little did I know, I had my own daredevil stunt that I had to perform. To venture further into the caves, you had to swim through an underwater tunnel. Holy moly. I seemed to be the only one unnerved by this.

One by one, swimmers bobbed under the water and never came back up again. I’m going to die. I’m going to bash my head on a rock and run out of breath. Water is going to gush through to my lungs and I’m going to suffocate. I couldn’t tell if I was quivering in fear or from the cooling water temperature.

A woman from the resort talked me through it and took my camera so I had both hands free. Everyone said you’re under water for a few seconds. I can handle that. I practised holding my breath and counted to ten. I can do this. I moved forward and joined the queue.

Clinging to the rock face before the tunnel, I psyched myself up. I jumped out of a flipping plane and I’m worried about a bit of water. Man up! I grabbed a rope chained to the wall and pulled myself forward. The guide explained that once I go under, all I need to do is swim towards the light. The snorkel goggles make sense now.

This all sounds simple enough, nothing to worry about. One…two…eee…three…

For some reason I couldn’t sink. You’d think after all the cake and, more recently, waffles I’d eaten I’d sink to the ground like an anchor. Was I running out of breath already? I looked forward and could see a bright light. Am I dying? No wait, the guy said to swim towards the light. This is not heaven, this is a cave. I moved forward through the tunnel with a helpful shove in the side from the guide. This force propelled me forward like a torpedo and I flew forward. I flapped around for a bit. This has been more than a few seconds. Lying bastards.

Still moving forward, where the heck am I? I could feel my breath escaping but knew that panicking would not help. I stretched my arms forward as far as possible and kicked my legs. I felt something lock around my arm and wrench me forward. It was the light. 

God? I didn’t actually mutter those words but I was thankful to whoever is watching over me. It was a guide who grabbed me and pulled me up to the surface. Thanks to the snorkel goggle, I had no water up my nose. I just gasped and flapped for a few seconds like a trout on a fisherman’s deck.

It was so dark that nobody could see my pathetic prancing. The woman from Coral View was there already with my camera and I breezily covered my trembling with confident utterances. I was fine, it was fine. Deep down I gulped uneasily as I knew that the same journey awaited me.

A handful of us were guided around and told a couple of legends about the caves. I couldn’t hear a thing. I had a quick look around followed by a few “oos” and “ahs” then it was time to head back. Already!? I zoned out and imagined myself living in the caves. I don't have to go back. My thought train was interrupted as I started playing out my evolutionary progression in adopting gills. Alright, alright, I’m coming. I left my daydream and my fear back in the cave as I dived under and back through to the other side. I knew there was a guy waiting to pull me through so I wasn’t scared.

To prevent any collisions, we took a different route back to the caves. This tunnel was a lot narrower but my arse just about squeezed through. Ok, I’m ready to leave now. The caves were interesting enough but paddling around in murky water dodging tourists wasn’t my idea of fun. My waterproof watch told me that I’d be cutting it fine in getting back to the resort and departing on my boat back to Nadi.

Villagers greeted us as we exited and ushered us over to their market stalls. It was all the same crafts and jewellery that I’d seen countless times. I’d already bought a cannibal fork and a coconut hair clip from my Fijian family in Namatakula so I was sorted. As much as I wanted to help the villagers, I didn’t want to be carrying around too many nik-naks.

Normally the journey back is quicker but this boat ride was taking forever. I needed a shower, have some food, check out properly and say goodbye to everyone. By the time we got back to the resort, I had 45 minutes. Mustering up my inner Usain Bolt, I sprinted to reception and rented a towel. I ignored the rule of using the reception toilets and showers and dashed back to my room and used the nicer ones there. I threw on the things I hastily grabbed from my suitcase in reception.

Lunch was ready and waiting. I piled my plate up and sat down. Everyone had already finished. I devoured my meal like a prisoner after hunger strike. This spicy sweet pumpkin dish was so delicious I had to go up for seconds. I can eat and say goodbye surely?

As I started up on round two, a worker came across and asked me if I was going to check out. Like a pupil being told off by their Headmaster, I uncomfortably stirred in my seat. Food will have to wait. I got up and handed my bank card to settle the bill and went back to my plate. This is Fiji, there is no chip and pin here. It takes a good few minutes to process a payment. 

Moments later, the worker came back over and told me my card had been declined. Ha…what? This did not look good. I was checking out late and I seemed more interested in pumpkin than paying. I’m not surprised the worker thought I was trying to pull a fast one. I explained that I did not have any other cards. The worker suggested trying it again as there is the slight chance that they got the card number wrong.

Within the melee, Emma and a couple of others came over all smiles, ready to embrace and say goodbye. My eyes welled up and their smiles faded. After asking what was wrong I went on a massive tirade about the awkward caves trip which meant that I didn’t have enough to do everything that I wanted to. I had less than ten minutes and I’d not seen anyone to say goodbye to. I hate being rushed. What’s more, my card has been declined so I might not even get to leave the island!

Emma calmed me down and said everything will be ok. I knew it would be but I was still worked up. I have no idea why. I’ve spent the past two weeks (maybe even longer) drifting past life’s stressors and enjoying my trip. For some reason, today I flipped. I had no pristine Tracy Island model to present whilst sweeping the gloopy mess of my first attempt to one side.

Suddenly the worker cropped up again all blushes and smiles saying my card went through. Hooray! I spooned the last remnants of pumpkin into my mouth, gathered my things and hugged everyone goodbye. I had time to swap details with those I cared about and waited outside for the boat. The lovely workers at Coral View placed a floral necklace around each of our necks and sang us the goodbye song. Even though everything had been lovely at Coral View, I was ready to leave. Two weeks had definitely been enough Fiji for me. I craved the chaos and craziness of America.

 Amelia, me and Amy

 Me and Emma

Angela, Amy, Amelia and I left for our very long boat ride. I was the only one going back to the mainland. I had five hours to burn. Nature programmes and a documentary on Captain Cook averted my boredom.

When I arrived at the last stop, I needed to find my free airport transfer. Before I could do that though, I needed to buy and write postcards as well as find a post office to send them. Yes, I left everything to the last minute. There was a postal service on South Sea Island but nothing for the rest of the way. I hurriedly found some pretty and funny postcards to send to my intended recipients and wrote down some rushed words that I hoped made sense. Luckily the post office was open and I sent them off without too much hassle.

My luggage was left unclaimed. When I went back to the docking bay, I found my suitcase resting in the middle of a pathway prime for the taking. A thief could try and take it but I doubt they’d want 23 kilos of crap. I literally have nothing of worth in my suitcase. In fact, they’d be doing me a favour. I’d claim on the insurance and buy a new wardrobe!

Instead, I lugged the Beast’s elder sister to the car park where I found my coach transfer to the airport. 

Checking in was a breeze and I had time to kill. I ate a grotty burger and undercooked chips whilst watching Fast and Furious on my notebook. I didn’t have time to finish the film unfortunately.

Whilst boarding the plane my mood shifted up a notch as I saw that the chairs had television screens in the back of them. This was short-lived as the picture quality was terrible and the films weren’t optional. I missed the beginning of The Vow as I channel hopped checking out what other films were playing. I was that bored, I even tried to sleep, something that’s impossible for me on public transport. 

Finally I arrived in America. Let the fun times begin!