I've spent more than twenty-five years working in wine. I've tasted thousands of wines, visited wineries around the world, hosted tastings, run a wine company and somehow even managed to drink wine inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.

So when I first started travelling around America, I thought I had a reasonable idea of what to expect.

I was wrong.

Very wrong.

America is one of those rare places that becomes more confusing the longer you spend there. Most destinations gradually make sense after a few days. America seems determined to keep introducing new plot twists.

Every time I think I've figured it out, I discover a brewery inside an old church, a giant pistachio beside a highway or a restaurant serving enough food to feed an entire stag party. And honestly, that's probably why I keep going back.

America Is Not One Country

The first mistake most British travellers make is assuming America is a single destination.

It isn't.

It's fifty different countries wearing the same outfit.

Texas feels different from California. Wisconsin feels different from Florida. Nevada feels different from everywhere because Nevada occasionally feels like somebody built an entire state after losing a bet.

You can drive for a few hours and find yourself in a completely different world. The accents change, the food changes, the beer changes and even the driving styles seem to evolve.

A British person sees a four-hour drive and starts searching for hotels.

An American sees a four-hour drive and says, "Perfect. We can leave after breakfast."

The distances alone are enough to humble you. I once described a three-hour drive as "quite far" to an American friend.

He looked at me as if I'd just announced I was frightened of stairs.

The Portion Sizes Are Completely Unnecessary

Let's talk about food.

More specifically, the amount of it.

The first time I ordered breakfast in America, I genuinely thought there had been a misunderstanding. The waitress arrived carrying enough food to support a medium-sized expedition and placed it all in front of me.

Apparently that was one portion.

The pancakes were the size of hubcaps. The bacon could have fed a scout troop and the coffee arrived in quantities normally associated with industrial cleaning products.

Every meal feels less like a menu choice and more like a challenge.

In Britain, if you order a burger, you receive a burger. In America, the burger arrives with the confidence of a heavyweight boxer entering a title fight.

I've seen appetisers larger than main courses. I've seen side dishes that could comfortably sustain a family of four.

I've also become very familiar with takeaway boxes.

Or as Americans call them, "to-go boxes."

Which roughly translates as:

"We both knew you weren't finishing that."

Nobody Warned Me About the Ice

There are many things that separate Britain and America. Language isn't one of them.

Ice is.

Americans are obsessed with it. I have never seen a nation so committed to making drinks cold.

You ask for water and receive a glass containing approximately 90% ice and 10% liquid. Order a soft drink and it arrives looking as though it recently completed an expedition to the North Pole.

At first I thought it was unusual. Then I realised it was universal. Every restaurant, every bar and every diner seemed locked in a friendly competition to see who could serve the coldest drink.

Eventually I stopped asking questions.

Sometimes cultural understanding means accepting that certain mysteries were never meant to be solved.

Then I Discovered American Craft Beer

As somebody who works in wine, I expected vineyards to dominate my travels.

Instead, I found breweries.

Lots of them.

America's craft beer scene is extraordinary. Every city seems to have dozens of breweries and every brewer appears to have decided that traditional ingredients are merely a starting point.

I've encountered beers made with coffee, maple syrup, chocolate, coconut, peanut butter and ingredients that sounded suspiciously like dessert menus. Somehow, many of them are excellent.

The quality genuinely surprised me. Cities like Milwaukee, Tampa, Asheville and Grand Rapids have become world-class beer destinations, yet many international visitors barely know they exist.

Some of my favourite travel memories involve walking into a random brewery with no expectations and leaving three hours later having discovered fantastic beer, local stories and several new drinking companions.

America does many things well.

Beer is definitely one of them.

Some of those discoveries eventually became Tipple Tours itineraries. After enough brewery visits, strange museums, roadside attractions and conversations with locals, I realised America's best stories rarely appear in the guidebooks.

That's why we created tours like Hops & Homicide, a craft beer adventure through some of America's most fascinating and infamous stories, and Florida: A Sequence of Questionable Decisions, which explores one of the most entertaining states ever assembled. We also head west with Beer, Camera & Action in Los Angeles and escape to the sunshine with Hawaii: Singles, Sunshine & Santa Pours.

It turns out that if you combine great drinks, unusual places and a healthy sense of humour, people are surprisingly willing to join you.

The Giant Things Situation

Nobody does giant roadside attractions quite like America.

For reasons nobody has successfully explained, Americans seem to love building enormous versions of everyday objects. Giant fish. Giant baseball bats. Giant rocking chairs. Giant pistachios.

There is even a giant ball of twine.

At first you laugh at these attractions. Then you stop the car to have a look.

Then you're taking photographs.

Then you're sending those photographs to friends back home and somehow justifying why you've driven twenty miles to see a giant peanut.

America gets inside your head like that.

The strange thing is that these places often become some of your favourite memories. Not because they're important, but because they're gloriously pointless.

And in an increasingly serious world, there's something refreshing about that.

The People Are Better Than The Stereotypes

Before my first trip, I'd heard every stereotype imaginable about Americans.

The reality was very different.

Americans are generally friendlier than many Europeans expect. People strike up conversations. They offer recommendations. They genuinely seem interested in where you've come from and what you're doing.

I've lost count of the number of times a casual chat has turned into a twenty-minute discussion about local beer, barbecue, sports or the best hidden attraction nearby.

The hospitality can be remarkable, particularly in smaller towns. America often feels like a country where people still enjoy talking to strangers.

Which is increasingly rare.

And surprisingly nice.

Why I Keep Going Back

After all these years, I've reached a conclusion.

I don't think America can be fully understood.

And that's probably the point.

It's too big, too diverse and too unpredictable. Every trip uncovers something new, whether that's a brewery, a roadside attraction, a bizarre local tradition or simply another reason to shake my head and laugh.

The truth is that America rewards curiosity. Take the wrong turn. Stop at the strange attraction. Visit the brewery that wasn't on the itinerary.

Or join somebody else's questionable itinerary.

We've spent years finding the weird stuff so you don't have to.

I've crossed former Soviet borders in a vintage Lada. I've tasted wine in some of Europe's strangest corners and spent years searching for unusual travel experiences.

Yet America still manages to surprise me more often than almost anywhere else.

Perhaps that's why I keep returning.

Not because I understand America.

Because I don't.

And every great adventure starts with a little confusion.

Just leave room in your suitcase for souvenirs, leave room in your stomach for portions twice the size you expected and whatever you do, prepare yourself for the ice.