At the start of my second week in Minnesota, Wanda and Wayne were due to leave for a cruise to Alaska (I was aware of this and we did plan in the knowledge of their trip, I didn’t just drive them out of their own house) and I spent the day before their departure with Wanda at our favourite haunt- the theatre.We drove into Minneapolis to see a touring production of ‘Love Never Dies’, the sequel to ‘Phantom of The Opera’; essentially, the plot follows the tale of a famous opera singer who introduces her family to her masked ex-lover (a creeper known for his obsession with her singing and his penchant for kidnapping people) and is then wildly surprised when he abducts her young son. The theatre itself was beautiful, with a giant chandelier (part of the actual decor and not,  as we found to our disappointment, a prop that falls down) which really made us feel as if we were living within the slightly Gothic world of the show. It was an amazing production, with lavish design elements that included an embellished peacock feather dress and a full sized carriage, but of course most importantly- classic full-fat melodramatic tunes from Andrew Lloyd-Webber. It was such a lovely way to spend my last full day with Wanda, who I wholeheartedly regard as the Queen Clarice of Genovia to my Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, and we ended up laughing nearly all the way home as we formed our own personal criticism of the show entitled ‘Get the Phantom a Strepsil’.The week had zoomed by and I was sad to say goodbye to Wanda and Wayne the next day when they left for their cruise, as they had welcomed me so warmly and I knew I would miss their company over the next week. All was not lost, however, as I would be left in the capable hands of Wanda’s sons and I had also been set the difficult task of using up all the food in the fridge so I quickly set to, eating an eclectic mix of leftover salads and Philadelphia on toast for breakfast lunch and dinner. A summer haven by day, by night the empty house in its quiet surroundings gained a ‘Cabin In The Woods’ feel and I quickly developed a personal best in the time it took me to stride my way across the hallway to avoid standing alone in the dark once I had turned off the lights. If someone sinister was watching,  I’m sure they would have broken down in hysterics as to my recollection, in no part of the ‘Blair Witch Project’ does it feature a gangly teenager galloping across the hallway with the awkward accentuated stride of Jessica Ennis approaching a long jump pit. Each night saw the ritual of racing upstairs and making sure to cover my toes that would inevitably get nibbled off by lake monsters should they remain exposed and as I lay there in the dark I decided that if my tragic end was to be turned into a low-budget horror film, Simon Bird from ‘The Inbetweeners’ in shorts and wig would probably give the best and most accurate portrayal of me. Of course all my fears were utterly unfounded with Wanda’s son Rod living one house away should I need anything, not to mention the fact that in Minnesota the only sources of a sinister tapping at your window could be a local Democrats campaigner, a child selling wholesome homemade lemonade, a Jehovah’s Witness or a man from the Department of Natural Resources come to give you a lecture about how your illegal use of pesticides was affecting the neighbourhood ground squirrel population.On the Tuesday, I decided it would be rude not to visit the largest shopping mall in North America given it was only 25 minutes away and I arranged a taxi ride from Matt, Wanda’s son who kindly picked me up and dropped me off at the Mall of America, which is so large it contains its own theme park and aquarium. As I tried to work out where I had landed in the vast shopping complex, I quickly discovered that making any progress required power walking like the camp ginger French teacher from ‘Wild Child and having been charged with a specific list from my family, it became a bit of a mission. Reluctantly, I resigned myself to the approach that lunch and snack breaks were for the weak and after a full day of marching across the four floors asking befuddled cashiers if they had the same specific pair of moose pajama bottoms that my sister bought six years ago and hearing 30 shop assistants in a row bound up to me with exclamations in airy fairy voices of ‘Hey! Just to let you know there’s 30% off our strapless backless cropped striped tops today, give me a shout if you need anything!!!’ I was beginning to go a little bit loopy. Perhaps what alarmed me most was that rather than the apathetic nod of acknowledgement that counts as British customer service, American shop assistants don’t just want to interact with you, they try to befriend you, evidently unaware that it’s creepy to try and bond with shoppers when they’re browsing the underwear section. No Briana I don’t need a basket and the fact that you needed to inform me that those exact ‘panties’ are your favourite in the range is indeed unsettling.The next day I was scooped up by my uncle’s other brother Rod and his wife Alison, who on hearing that I was interested in going to the Mille Lacs Indian Museum, suggested we make a road trip of it and visit Alison’s family who have a lakeside cabin not far from the museum, for some pre 4th July celebrations. It was a scenic hour and a half’s drive to the museum and trading post, with the landscape turning from structured suburbs to rugged farmland as we left the outskirts of Minneapolis and headed North. Our destination proved small but very interesting with lots of artifacts and stories relating to and informing people about the culture of the Ojibwe people, with a thought-provoking exhibition on Native American involvement in the armed forces. One of the most memorable parts of the museum was the Four Seasons room, which looked like something from ‘Night At The Museum’ and contained model figures that looked like they were going to spring to life and some rather terrifying taxidermy wolves. We sat down on benches in the middle of the room and were joined by a guide who talked us through how the nomadic Ojibwe adapted to face the challenges that each season brings, also explaining the techniques that they used to farm wild rice. Having read about the tragic history of the Indian Wars and subsequent resettlement of groups across newly created reservations, I really appreciated gaining a deeper insight into what it means to be Ojibwe today. It was saddening to hear how present generations of Native Americans are still suffering the aftershocks of violent events that changed the course of their people’s history forever, with communities desperately trying to fix the high suicide and substance abuse rates prevalent across reservations. The testimonies from community members had many striking similarities to the concerns about loss of cultural identity and social mobility expressed in the Maori art and theatre I had seen in New Zealand and I came away with a heightened awareness of my position as a young white woman, not only in UK and US society, but also within history and global politics.Our journey from the museum to the cabin was very short and on arrival we were greeted by Alison’s family and our lovely hosts Howie and Doug, who welcomed me as one of their own despite my somewhat tenuous connection. Inside, the wooden interior gave it a wild outdoorsy feel and as we headed out into the garden which sloped down to the sandy shore of a large lake, I was brimming with nostalgia for wholesome adventure series like ‘The Famous Five’- a feeling that quickly evaporated when one of the dogs shook stinky lake mud over everyone. We cracked out the shandies and Cheese Doodles (basically Wotsits with an identity crisis) and had a great rest of the afternoon playing with the dogs and the kids at the edge of the water, eventually moving inside once the gnats got too vicious.That evening we had a veritable banquet of classic American Barbecue dishes including grilled steak, corn on the cob and ranch salad, before heading out for a boat trip around the lake. The sun sat low in the sky and as we cruised over the still water hugging the shoreline it was surprising to see how many cabins, several with star spangled banners primed for the next day’s celebrations, lined the lake- particularly given how secluded it felt in the garden. A short while after our return, it emerged that Doug and Rod had found some fireworks and a small campfire was made on the sand. Feeling like I was in an idyllic teen movie and rather relieved to have confirmation that the fire wasn’t being built to sacrifice the captive Englishwoman in honour of American liberation, I happily kippered myself in the smoke in the hope that it would keep the insects at bay. Alison brought out a bar of Hershey’s, a bag of marshmallows and a pack of biscuits and I was inducted into the art of S’more making, promptly incinerating the forlorn marshmallow that I had so carefully skewered with a stick and marking myself as more in need of the help of a responsible adult than the young children present. It turned out we were not alone in celebrating Independence Day early and with the darkening sky the multicoloured plumes of fireworks soon bloomed across the water, which we took as a cue to get out the sparklers and let ours off from the jetty. I love the Minnesotan culture of spending summer by the lakes- there’s something very restorative about sleeping in a little wooden house next to a calm body of water, logging out of social media for a while and getting stuck in with some good ol’ fashioned outdoor fun. Despite dropping in for one night, I was made to feel so welcome and I left feeling very relaxed, covered in mosquito bites and reassured that Minnesota truly lived up to its reputation as the friendliest State. The next day after an artery-clogging breakfast of pancakes and bacon, Howie and Doug waved to Rod, Alison and I as we hit the road and headed back towards Minneapolis. During our journey we had the entertainment of trying to swat the mosquitoes that we discovered has been locked in the car with us before we, or rather I, got bitten*, meanwhile Rod and Alison kindly fielded all the questions I had about the main cultural and social issues in Minnesota. At one point, we stopped for a comfort break at a gas station, where I encountered a cashier with an Amish-looking beard, who when I asked if the till was open, screeched ‘OF COURSE’ and leapt behind the counter in such an enthusiastic Disneyland worthy way that it gave the alarming impression that he was either one to dabble in class A drugs or had been waiting all day to serve me my peanut butter M&Ms- I’m not sure which is more worrying.The next day was the final day before I had to start packing for my flight to New York and at Matt and Sarah’s recommendation, I decided to spend it checking out Minneapolis itself. He kindly dropped me in the city after we had formulated a walking route that would take me the best part of the day and I set off along the wide bridge over the Mississipi. The river had been key to the initial growth of Minneapolis, as not only did it  power the flour and timber mills that earned it the title of ‘Mill City’, but it also provided a means of transporting the finished goods to other states, and as I crossed over the roaring water, passing the large empty husks of the old stone mill buildings, I could vividly imagine what it must have been like in the bygone days of its industrial glory.For me Minneapolis has a distinctly ‘American’  feel, with large high rise buildings, a grid layout and wide roads. As the Mall of America is so close, there is a distinct lack of clothing or luxury stores as they are all out of town, meaning most of the buildings are used for housing or commerce and walking around I had the strange sensation of being in set for a superhero film, where cities only ever seem to contain large corporate tower blocks, houses, Italian restaurants and evil lairs. Minneapolis is a thriving hub for the arts, with several large theatres and dance venues in close proximity and I soon found myself pottering  through the theatre district, a cluster of old fashioned theaters with twinkling light bulbs and old fashioned billboards, bordered by multiple bars and gay clubs. I love how the city manages to juxtapose an impressive arts scene with its industrial roots and I think that the fact that the theatres are so integrated within the city make acting simply feel like another trade. As a result, the productions devised and staged there come to reflect the real life of the inhabitants of the city, unlike LA, which seemed a bizarre out of touch bubble where, conversely, the residents seem to surgically or cosmetically alter themselves to reflect the unrealistic standards of the movies. I stopped for a snack break in a Caribou Coffee (basically Minnesotan Costa) before heading out towards the Walker Art Center- the end of my route and in some respects a temple to some rather poncy contemporary art. If you are a Minnesotan sat there thinking that this is a harsh criticism, I would like to make clear that among the masterpieces on display were a shopping basket with a motorcycle helmet and a piece of foil getting blown around the floor. After I had my fill of marveling at the visionary idea that was writing the entirety of  ‘The Picture Of Dorian Gray’… on a canvas INSIDE A PICTURE FRAME (somebody had far too much time on their hands) and a genuinely interesting piece about newspapers, I headed out into the sculpture garden where I managed to persuade a stranger to take some pictures in front of the iconic ‘Spoonbridge and Cherry’ to send to my mother as evidence I was alive, before getting a sneaky photo with the giant blue cock.Exhausted, I managed to get a lift back to Wanda’s from Rod, who seemed quite tickled by my scathing review of the beloved art centre that my uncle used to work at, and he kindly invited me back to his and Alison’s for dinner later that evening. It was a great way to spend some more time with them along with Alison’s granddaughters and we enjoyed a delicious dinner followed by ice cream and a tense game of spoons that made me glad I took out travel insurance. After a lovely evening, we said our goodbyes, as I wouldn’t be seeing them again before I flew to New York and I sprinted away across the lawn back to Wanda’s, hoping that if I ran the abundant mosquitoes wouldn’t be able to latch on to me, ready to begin my nightly routine of hallway leaping and toe covering.Will I get eaten alive by mosquitoes? Will I get eaten by lake monsters? Will I ever make it to New York? Find out in the next installment coming soon!  * I seemed to be the most popular and so took one for the team by sitting still and acting as bait.