For a girl who came from drizzly British summers, it seemed like a dream

T

he Great American Camp Experience.

I’d read about it in books, heard the stories from cousins in the States and from friends lucky enough to go. It was a vision in my mind’s eye crowned in a halo: two months of nature and friendship, starlit nights, roasting marshmallows round a campfire, cantata and sports and a major trip and, and, and…

For a girl who came from drizzly British summers, it seemed like a dream.

I was 17 when I finally went. I remember the drive up to the mountains. Fierce sun, the asphalt on the highway gleaming, sitting in the car, arms wrapped around myself from excitement and nerves. Surely the girls from overseas had it made, I tried to convince myself. The Americans would find my accent endearing, I’d hit it off with my campers, I’d make lifelong friends…

And then we arrived.