In July 2001, the dot.com crash hit the company I was working and I got made redundant. Quite scary; that was my first post-graduation job, the reason I'd moved to London and I was still only 23. Mind you, they gave us a shedload of money as a pay-off and I decided, as I had no ties apart from rent, to just clear off and go travelling. But just for a month (it wasn't that much money). So where to go, for the lone young woman who's never been on holiday alone before and hates midsummer humidity? Australia? Never had the urge. Far East? Too damn hot, and I'm too snobbish to handle 'slumming' it on dodgy transport and toilets. Latin America? Um, I like having both my kidneys. Europe? Too close by. I'd always had a hankering to see great swathes of America; I studied plenty of American history at A Level and university so it would be in context and... it's America! This was (just) before 9/11, before Dubya started on his great crusade - I mean, yeah the guy was crazy but he seemed fairly harmless. Separate the land itself from the mad mad people and it's too tempting. So, I packed a stupidly large bag, booked a Greyhound pass (word to the wise: if you go to America, never travel by bus) and set off...
