Booking the biggest trip of my life so far
Back in the summer of 1999, my holidays consisted almost exclusively of lads’ package trips to Greece or Spain — the kind where the cultural highlight was a kebab at 3am. But with a growing desire to see more of the world, a group of five of us decided to book a trip to America.
This was the era before proper internet. Booking a holiday involved fax machines, brochures, and blind optimism. But by September ’99, we had our major cities booked, a few flexible days in between, and five mates were ready for what felt like the adventure of our young lives.
The Flight: A Masterclass in Poor Decisions
Within minutes of the seatbelt sign going off on our twelve‑hour flight to San Francisco, each of us had a miniature bottle of complimentary champagne in hand. A few minutes later, a second. Several minutes later, a third.
Three hours in, we were absolutely smashed.
Our fellow passengers probably despised us. Looking back, we were exactly the kind of idiots who would annoy me on a flight today.
The only positive for everyone else, was that the booze knocked us out for several hours. Landing into San Francisco we were still a wreck but that didn’t stop the stewardess — inexplicably — handing us two carrier bags of leftover booze as we disembarked. As if we needed encouragement.
Immigration was a mess as we repeatedly completed our forms incorrectly but eventually they let us in.
We collapsed in our cheap hotel for several hours, then resurfaced for a taxi tour: Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, and the famous Pier 39 sea lions.
Welcome to America (and Our Own Naivety)
Walking back to our hotel with Subway sandwiches, we took a quiet street. A Black guy walked toward us, reached into his jacket… and pulled out his wallet.
All five of us exhaled and muttered the same thing: “I thought he was pulling a gun out then.”
TV and movies had brainwashed us.
Given the influence of American violence on screen, it’s no surprise that five inexperienced travellers assumed a random stranger was armed and desperate to kill us for a footlong Meatball Marinara.
We had a lot to learn.
Nightlife Lessons: Tipping, Culture, and Soft Drinks
That night, we went out drinking — and quickly discovered that Americans do not share the British drinking culture.
In the first bar, a mixed group of guys and girls sat next to us drinking soft drinks while we inhaled pints like we were in training for the Beer Olympics.
Later, we encountered the American tipping culture. Signs everywhere read: “Tipping is not a city in China.”
Being tight, and not yet understanding the whole “embrace the culture” thing, we gave minimal tips. Someone told us to tip $1 per drink, per round. At the rate we were drinking, that would’ve cost enough to fly us to… well, Tipping.
By 2am, we stumbled home knowing we’d annoyed every bar staff member in San Francisco, drunk more between five of us than the entire city in a year, and jumped every time a Black man reached into his jacket.
This was going to be a long seventeen days.
Road Trip: Yosemite, Death Valley & Vegas
After a brilliant visit to Alcatraz, we picked up our hire car — a six‑seater people carrier.
All was going well until we reached a four‑way intersection where every car arrived at once. Who had right of way? Who knows. My bro just shut his eyes and floored it. Apparently that is the American Highway Code, because we survived.
We stopped at the stunning Yosemite National Park for a swim in ridiculously cold water, then drove through Death Valley at 10am as the thermometer hit 40°C – it felt like the back seats of the car were melting.
Eventually, we reached Las Vegas.
Driving into Vegas is surreal. After hours of barren desert, a glowing oasis appears on the horizon — giant hotels rising like neon monoliths. The Bellagio, New York‑New York, and the Luxor pyramid, which would be our home for four days.
Vegas: Trashy, Glorious, and Completely Addictive
Vegas is trashy. But fun. We could’ve stayed a month.
Each monstrous hotel is a theme park in its own right, complete with casinos, gimmicks, and attractions. The Luxor felt impossibly grand — nothing like the Greek tavernas or Spanish tapas bars we were used to.
The hotels were so huge it took 30 minutes to walk from the Luxor to Mandalay Bay. On the way back, we discovered a conveyor belt linking the two hotels — for those too lazy to walk. Naturally, we used it.
We rode the New York‑New York rollercoaster, the Stratosphere Big Shot, visited the Eiffel Tower at Paris, rode gondolas at the Venetian, watched the Bellagio fountains, ate too many buffets, and drank too much beer — all in 35‑degree heat.
One night, I played the slots for hours while a scantily clad waitress kept bringing me “free” beers. The next thing I knew, the boys were coming down for breakfast. It was 7am. And we had a helicopter to catch.
The Grand Canyon: Worth the Hype
The Grand Canyon is always near the top of “must‑see” lists — and rightly so.
The helicopter ride gave us incredible views of Vegas, the Nevada desert, the Hoover Dam, and finally the Canyon itself, stretching endlessly across the horizon. At 277 miles long and up to 18 miles wide, it’s mind‑blowing.
We landed inside the canyon, had a champagne lunch, went for a short hike, and got sunburnt. A day to remember.
Palm Springs, LA & Jeff Goldblum
Palm Springs sits between Vegas and LA, so we stopped for a night. It’s the golf capital of the USA — and ridiculously hot. Twilight golf started at 10:30am because no one sane played in the midday heat.
Except us.
After a competitive round, we went out in the sleepy town and even got told off for jaywalking — that bizarre American law where you can only cross at designated crossings. The streets were empty, but as we crossed the road, out of nowhere a cop called pulled with a cop calling out of his window, “Hey, no jaywalking!” Ironically, it was our mate Jay who the cop spoke to.
We drove into LA at night, got lost several times, and eventually found a motel. The next day we paid $30 to enter Disneyland and left within half an hour. Universal Studios wasn’t much better — turns out we weren’t five years old anymore.
Santa Monica was a highlight: strolling the boardwalk, admiring the plastic surgery, and watching beefcakes work out on the beach.
That night we hit Sunset Strip. The nightlife wasn’t doing it for us until we stumbled into the Phoenix Bar at the Argyle Hotel — a swanky rooftop spot with incredible views and a tall man dressed like a fly playing piano.
It was Jeff Goldblum.
After rubbing shoulders with Hollywood A‑listers, we headed to the Cat and Fiddle British pub for darts. That brought us down to our true level.
New York City: The Finale
It was a four‑hour flight from LA to New York, and since NYC was our final stop, we decided to arrive in style: by stretch limo.
Rush‑hour traffic meant we had plenty of time to empty the limo’s vodka supply.
NYC was the most European‑feeling night out of the trip — people everywhere, drinking, socialising, buzzing.
We spent three days doing the sights: Empire State Building, Times Square, Central Park, 5th Avenue, Broadway, Macy’s, hot dogs, yellow cabs — the full New York starter pack.
Soon enough, it was time to head home. I’d fallen in love with NYC and returned a year later for two weeks.
The flight home was quiet. Our livers had surrendered.
That trip opened my eyes to the world of travel. Less than twelve months later, I set off on my first round‑the‑world adventure.
The fuse had been lit.
