USA

It was probably the most random start to a conversation I had ever had with my friend.

'What are you doing for your 30th birthday?' read the text. To be perfectly honest, only being 27 at the time, I hadn't given it a moment's thought.

But further badgering from him led to a conversation, which led to ideas, which led to planning, which led to booking, which led to us standing in Logan International Airport in Boston, ready to begin an American adventure which would eventually take in three weeks, six cities and too many experiences to count.

We obviously started in Boston, where being from Northern Ireland was a benefit to us. In a city where most people are ‘Irish,’ actually physically coming from the troubled isle was a boon. Beers were bought, questions were asked and the amusement never faded when we were prompted to say various words and phrases in our native Belfast accents.

The country itself was an eye-opener for me. Growing up, my family were never one for holidays. Indeed, the furthest we ventured was to my grandparents’ caravan along the coast.

A few city breaks aside and bar a day trip to Poland (don’t ask), that was the height of my holidaying experience. So to suddenly be confronted with the USA was a mind trip of dazzling proportions. The first thing I noticed was everything was huge. Everything. From the buildings to the cars, the temperatures to the people, everything was massive. Even the sidewalks (as I resolved to call them for the next few weeks).

But as we travelled across the country, I came to love the areas we visited (well, most of them. Not even downtown Chicago’s mother could love it) and get a sense of what made the country great. By the same token, the contrast in fortunes of many of its citizens was stark – guys in flashy suits brokering no doubt huge deals on their mobile phones walked past people huddled in doorways with signs proclaiming they were unable to feed their families. It was a sharp reminder of the dark side of the American dream, one Hollywood isn’t so quick to mythologise.

But whether accidently pitching up in North Philadelphia’s ‘Badlands’ or someone stopping us in Times Square, New York, to talk about the political situation back home, the adventures were fun, energetic and exciting. Much like America itself in fact.

With only half the country covered, it’s given me a great excuse to go back and sample the other side. Although I don’t think I’ll wait until I’m 40 to do so.