When I first floated (yes, given the name of my blog there will be many intentional aquatic puns) the idea of writing a blog on my stateside adventures the reaction was mixed. “Great, do it” said my friends (despite my pitiful history with using Facebook and other social media), please use the same blog website as Jackson so I don’t have to join another one (my pleasure Dad), “no doubt it will save you writing repetitious emails” said the ever practical Dutch contingent. Well, here it is. No promises that it will be interesting, updated regularly or even slightly humorous to anyone but me, but as they say you have to start somewhere. So, back to the beginning I guess.

After landing in a large paddock, hauling 3 x 22 kg and 2 x 15kg bags out to a vast parking lot and locating the driver of my shuttle on the third attempt I realised I was hungry (no, not an unusual state of affairs for me but at this point relatively inconvenient). “I’ll bet you’re hungry” quickly followed “hello” and “those bags must weigh more than you do”. Excellent! People after my own heart. He promised to take me to the best burger place around. Not just a drive-through burger joint, but a drive-in burger joint. That is right, no physical restaurant but a place to park your car while you eat a burger delivered to your car window from a central ordering station. It looked a lot like a car wash. Interesting concept and not uncommon here apparently – a real Oklahoman speciality. That is how much they love their cars. Needless to say we didn’t park, as he drove and I ate (against my better judgement; terrible burger and soggy fries). Lucky I was eating as he didn’t draw breath from telling me about the family health problems until we pulled into my ‘executive apartment’ 1 hour and 15 mins later. Calling all doctors, Oklahoma needs more....

Ah, the apartment. Not executive; bright orange, slightly sticky doonas; an entire cupboard of plastic crockery (they do love a plastic cup here) and cripplingly expensive. No more to be said about that. I quickly found a much nicer, fully-furnished, infinitely cheaper place and moved. Hooray!

My beautiful friend Jude, whilst encouraging me to blog, pointed out that I needed to get started as I would quickly become desensitised to the things that amazed me when I first arrived. And she is right. I no longer balk at the pick-up trucks reversing towards me with a tailgate over my head height (how do they know I am there?) or the cat calls that follow me as I walk on the pavement (an exceedingly uncommon and misunderstood activity here). I can now finish a meal so salty that I fail to pee for the rest of the day no matter how much water I guzzle. This is one thing I was hoping not to succumb to but a girl’s gotta eat! I no longer expect to see a vegetable anywhere near my steak and potato unless eating at home.

However, there are of course many things that I still marvel at when I see them. The university has a quidditch tournament. Three hoop-shaped goals at each end, a snitch, beaters and a seeker. Just no brooms or Harry. Fascinating. My neighbours drive 20 meters to the dumpster with their garbage and then drive home again. I usually beat them there and back on foot. The fact that the local co-op will proudly advertise ‘frozen food month’. The most popular brand of frozen pizza is called ‘Tombstone’ (yes I fear the irony is lost on those who indulge most frequently). The local golf driving range drives into a lake.

So you see, I am having a cultural experience despite being in a country where I speak the official language (well a version of it at any rate, how is it that I simply cannot remember that they are called trash cans?). And despite my derisive tone I am actually revelling in this opportunity to be in a place so different from home. Had I landed in New York or San Fran this experience would be an entirely different one. The very best thing about being here is the people. I have already made some truly lovely friends who have been so generous, hospitable and friendly. Lifesavers, and hopefully friends for life now. There isn’t really much more that you need when you plonk yourself 16 hours flight from home in splendid isolation. Except perhaps a sense of humour and a map.