Prue Leith's 2,200-mile road trip from California to Florida

​​Last fall, my husband and I set our sights on renting an RV. for a road trip from Los Angeles to Florida. We imagined picnicking high in the mountains of New Mexico, sleeping under the stars in Texas, and grilling shrimp (the RV would come with a grill, of course) on a levee in Mississippi. In the end, our 2,200 mile US trip turned out to be memorable, but for none of these reasons.

"We cannot accept anyone over 70 years old with a licensed UK driver," the woman insisted over the phone. I'm 83, but in my head I'm 60 and my husband, John, is 76. Nobody warned us about this potential hurdle. S 'they had the same age threshold for Americans, I thought, the R.V. business would fall apart.

We called another company. said he had never heard of an age restriction. "No problem," he said. "We have the perfect R.V. for you." Except it was 45 feet long. The thought of parking something the size of a London bus was too much, even for my avid husband.

Common sense prevailed and we hired a Ford Explore.< /p>

New Mexico

We were late for a break. As well as my usual cake-eating job as a judge on "The Great British Baking Show", I had trialled my solo show in Britain and the US, and it had been exhausting.< /p>

So before we embarked on our big adventure, we rented a mobility scooter for two and rode the Venice Beach boardwalk in Los Angeles. But our exploration through loud music, junk food, and stalls selling short films emblazoned with vulgar words and messages like "Beat Me" did little to reinvigorate our minds.

The day we left California, torrents of rain were falling. By the time we crossed into Arizona, the sun had exploded over the hills in beautiful operatic lighting.

We reached Sante Fe, N.M., where our hotel, the Vanessie, a charming set of wooden buildings around a courtyard, suffered, as everywhere, from a lack of staff. The only employee gave us a laminated notice: “Our restaurant, our room service and our bar are currently closed. A $30 service charge will be added to your bill. »

Luckily Vara Vinoteca across the street was open. We ate tiny padrón peppers stuffed with cream cheese and cumin, tuna ceviche and pineapple salsa, and a small bowl of lightly curried warm mussels in the shell, all served with a flight of four glasses of different California cabernet sauvignons.

I would have been happy to have all our meals in this simple little room. But Santa Fe is full of great restaurants, quirky architecture, art museums, and shops filled with desirable things, so we set off to explore. John fell in love with a hatter's shop, where he bought two authentic Stetsons. He also spent huge sums to buy two baseball caps for his grandsons. Is there a difference between a $41 baseball cap and a $5 cap? Apparently.

John was also dumbfounded by my desire for an irresistible $150 necklace made from plastic water bottles cut out and sprayed with red, black paint and golden. Vibrant, bouncy, light as a feather - it was a work of art. But apparently it was a piece that, at least for us, money couldn't buy: the store's credit card system required a US ZIP code, and cash wasn't accepted. We gave up.

The prices constantly amazed us. The exchange rate made the US incredibly expensive for Brits, and taxes and tips on top of that? I am already vaguely offended that I have to tip when buying a coffee at the counter. And now with touchscreens suggesting tips from 1...