I am terrified of flying. In all senses of the word. Of letting go, of being vulnerable, of crashing to the ground in a burning ball of flames. So when I had to go to the US this year, and I saw the GCLS (Golden Crown Literary Society) message that authors could sign up to read on panels in Provincetown for Women’s Week, I was petrified when I clicked on the sign-up button and registered on a panel. A simple click of the mouse, but one that held so much fear. And changed so much for me.

Golden Crown Literary Society

There are so many considerations when deciding to go on a trip like this. The cost, security, social aspects, business aspects. Finding someone I trust to take care of Clio, worrying about her, missing her. The trip was my first holiday since 2006, and I tried to placate my cautious side with assurances that it was a business trip; after all, I was going to read on panels with established authors, and interact with readers and authors. I promised myself that my only indulgence would be to see a show by Suzanne Westenhoeffer, a lesbian comedienne I’d listened to about 20 years previously, who I am sure has saved some people on the streets of Galway as I was too busy laughing at her stories to experience road rage.

I tried to find ways to reduce the cost, but I hadn’t planned far enough ahead and ended up cancelling the various hotel rooms I’d booked with the intention of finding others to share them with. I was reconsidering the trip when I got a message from another independent author, Liz Bradbury, who was reading on the same Friday panel and who gave me the benefit of her years of experience and the assurance that it would be worth it, and that she would be there to hang out with if I needed company. Liz got me on to Kathryn in Womenscraft who agreed to store the books and leaflets I needed to send ahead, would welcome us for a book signing session, and invited us to a wine and cheese party for authors and readers.

After weeks of researching planes, buses, trains, ferries, and cars, I chose the option of a bus from Galway to Dublin, a flight from Dublin to Boston, and the last sailing of the fast ferry from Boston to PTown. Seventeen hours after I left Galway on a 5 a.m. bus, on a journey that involved a lot of waiting and the discovery that buses and ferries make me extremely nauseated, I arrived in the dark and rain in Provincetown. I checked into the hotel outside of town that I’d booked for the first few days.

The fast ferry to PTown (just before the nausea hit)

I’d been travelling for what seemed like days, but I had promised myself before I went that I would not sit in my hotel room, that I would partake of everything that PTown had to offer, for every hour that I was there. So I got a cab and headed into town to the Women’s Week Kick-Off Party. The streets were deserted. The town looked like an off-season mountain resort. I was trying to hide my nervousness as I questioned the cab driver, was the whole week like this, had the recession done that much damage? I found out later that this was the Monday after Columbus Day and PTown didn’t really get going again until the Wednesday or Thursday, but that night I decided to make the best of it and went in to the Pied Bar. The Kick-Off Party was over, and the bar reminded me of a quiet night in Galway.

Of course, I didn’t realise that you have to tip bar staff and all I can say is Jill at the Pied Bar was very sweet and didn’t bat an eyelid when I thought I was being very helpful and placed the exact change on the counter. I may have over-compensated later when I discovered that you have to tip bar staff, restaurant staff, cab drivers. I think I may even have tried to tip someone who turned out to be Suzanne Westenhoeffer, but that’s another story.

Next, making friends