November 16, 2004

Cloud On The New York Skyline

Statue Of Liberty, Liberty Island, NYC

It was about 10 pm and the roads were quiet as I drove back from my nan's, listening to a cd that I've hardly played since I bought it. As my mind drifted to the summer - which it's often done in the last two weeks - I smiled to myself at the coincidence between my thoughts and the song which was playing, "The Hands That Built America." If you don't know, the band was U2 and the album, The Best Of 1990-2000. The song is the theme tune to the movie Gangs Of New York. How appropriate I heard this song just before writing the first instalment of my American series.

New York is where my time in America started, way back in the middle of June all those months ago. The journey to get me there was a blur, right from Mike picking me up early in the morning to take me to the bus station for my four hour coach ride down to Heathrow. Hanging around in the airport with a huge crowd of other Camp America people, the fantastic flight with Virgin Atlantic to Newark, then another coach ride to the hotel where all the CA participants stayed. At the hotel I was processed in the seemingly never ending line to be given my camp travel details, a t-shirt, a room allocation and a doggy bag.

Before I knew it, I'd shared a room with four random guys who I'd probably never see again and was up before the clock chimed five to board transportation of the coach variety once more. The trip was short however, just over the water onto Manhatten itself and the Port Authority Bus Terminal; on 42nd Street. I purchased my travel ticket for my onward journey, which was indeed, another coach. With hours to spare though, I hung around with a few others from CA, but one by one, they left to make their way to other camps. There was now only myself and a girl called Natalie from Bolton left, so we decided to have a quick walk down 42nd Street before her bus was due to leave. We didn't go far, but the feeling was amazing; to be in New York.

Back at the bus terminal, we sat down and had some coffee in a cafeteria, only to be interrupted by a crazy old women who told me to sell my Bolton companion on the streets. I decided not to. Instead, I waited around until Natalie had got on her bus and then went for a longer walk outside. Before I knew it, I was standing in Times Square, by myself. That was a strange feeling, standing there knowing absolutely nobody, miles away from home. That's when it hit me that I was indeed, in America.

The time finally came around for me to leave New York for Boston, and Lizzy from Holland, who was going to the same camp as me, finally turned up just before we got on the coach. A five hour journey later, we made it to Boston, but we weren't at camp yet. We met up with some other people in Boston who were going to the same camp and waited for somebody from Crossroads to pick us up. Two hours later, we were still waiting. A camp van had come to get us, but unfortunately it was full of two Canadians and their luggage. Eventually, a second van picked us up and we made the hour long drive to camp. Finally, 42 hours after leaving home, I was at Camp Wing.

Next up in the American series, Pre-Camp.