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After I locked the hotel room door behind me, I burst out crying. Travelling over four thousand miles to a new continent to work with people I had never met before had all seemed like a thrilling adventure from the safety of my bedroom. Now it looked like a big mistake. With so much to sort out, I hadn’t stopped to think about how I would feel when I finally arrived in Florida. It had all come crashing down on me in a heap of fear, fatigue and jet lag. The only way my frazzled brain could cope was with a bout of chest-shuddering tears. I clambered into the shower and stood beneath the hot water, letting the grime of the journey wash away. My face was still attractively puffy as I crawled into bed. The result was instantaneous and I sunk into a death sleep. The next morning I tried my best to enjoy the breakfast buffet but my stomach was churning with nerves not hunger. As if being alone in a new country wasn’t daunting enough, now I had to drive a hire car. My accommodation was in Yulee, a small part of Nassau County in the northeast tip of Florida, brushing the border with Georgia. Unfortunately for me, public transport was non-existent. I gave the huge four-wheel drives a wide berth, eventually spotting a moderately sized Hyundai. After loading my luggage, I slid confidently into the passenger seat before realising the wheel had moved. Sheepishly, I clambered over to the driver’s side and gazed at the controls. Taking a deep breath, I started the ignition, pushed the stick into “drive” and released the hand brake. As I crawled out of the car park, my left hand smacked the door twice in its haste to change a gear that wasn’t there. I waited for a vast gap in the traffic before pulling out onto the dual carriageway. Once I had merged onto the Interstate 95 I relaxed in the slow lane and let everyone else sail past me. Three years ago I moved away from home for the first time to begin university. Now I was driving an American car to the apartment I was renting before beginning a two-month internship. I would be involved in laboratory duties, practical fieldwork and perhaps some media opportunities too. For the first time since I had boarded the plane at London Heathrow, I felt a surge of excitement instead of worry. A black smudge in the sky caught my attention and I peered up at a wingspan far greater than any British bird of prey I had seen. My fingers itched for the wildlife guides stashed in my suitcase. Determined not to get distracted by birds, I concentrated firmly on the road until I saw the junction for exit 373 towards Fernandina Beach and I arrived in Yulee. Perched in a nearby tree were a dozen moody vultures. There are several collective nouns for vultures including a wake (when feeding on a carcass) and a kettle (when circling in the sky). Hunched over like old men, the vultures glanced down at families ambling past with pushchairs. I realised that the huge bird I had seen gliding overhead earlier must have been one of them. Eventually I reached my apartment, and as I rolled the suitcase up the path a lizard darted out in front of me. Freezing mid-step, I watched it hurry into the grass verge, long tail whipping from side to side. After my first week I was to discover that these tiny reptiles, called brown anoles, are everywhere in Florida and about as exciting to the residents as feral pigeons are to Londoners. Still, I considered the encounter to be a good omen for the two months to come. On my first day in Florida I had made that nerve-wracking drive with great success and seen my first vultures. The fear of the unknown had gone, replaced by a buzz of excitement, anticipation and determination to make this trip the best it could possibly be.