The cabins and campfires, she expected. But Kate Browne was not told about hillbillies, snakes and gun-toting pre-teens when she signed up as a camp counsellor

Surrounded by a sea of shrieking children, I try to tie a shoelace with one hand, grab a falling jug of juice with the other, break up an argument and conduct a frazzled conversation with my colleague about the laundry. A guy at the next table smiles sympathetically and says, "I spent two years in the army but believe me, the next eight weeks here are going to be much harder." It's only my first day as a counsellor at a summer camp in the United States and I'm starting to wonder if I will survive lunchtime.

As a child, I was fascinated by the America that was delivered to me on television. As a teenager, I longed to be a prom queen. As an adult, I had a burning desire to travel to the US. When I heard about the camp counsellors scheme where, in return for working for nine weeks at a summer camp, I would receive a subsidised airfare and pocket money, not to mention a chance to immerse myself in American culture, I was sold on the idea. I applied, and was accepted to Camp Blue Ridge, a camp for children aged six to 16 located in the Appalachian Mountains of Georgia. I'd been warned that working on camp would mean hard work, long hours, and the patience of a saint. Even so, I envisaged a long, hot summer of canoeing, campfires and the occasional spot of finger painting. What I hadn't counted on were hillbillies, snakes in the lake and gun-toting nine-year-olds.

At Atlanta airport, two huge-bellied men in white stetsons swagger past me. "How're you doin'?" they drawl. I drag my bag out into the sweltering heat as a yellow school bus straight out of The Simpsons pulls up with a groan. This is my ride to camp.

We arrive at the camp gates at dusk. I feel as if I've been dropped straight on to a movie set. Situated in a narrow green valley, the camp consists of a collection of rustic wooden cabins dotted around a lake. A flagpole with the Stars and Stripes waving in the breeze completes the scene.

The 300 campers are due to fly in from Florida in a couple of days. In the meantime, I attend orientation sessions and get to know the other counsellors. There are 30 of us "foreigners" (as the Americans call us), who are mostly English with a handful of Australians. There are also 20 American college students, who have names like Flossie and Randy, helping out.

Our boss is the charismatic camp director, "Coach". Coach talks like Colonel Sanders and looks just as cartoon-like. Every day he emerges from his cabin in exactly the same dazzling all-white outfit of tennis shoes, long socks, shorts and Camp Blue Ridge T-shirt, across which the word "Coach" is emblazoned. For the next two months, these are the only clothes I will see him in. His accessory is a snow-white vintage Cadillac in which he cruises around the campsite.

Other key staff include a couple of hillbilly-type locals. Leon, the handyman, is a tobacco-chewing Vietnam vet who talks about himself in the third person. When I ask Leon to fix the hole in my cabin roof, he drawls, "Leon doesn't climb roofs. Leon's lived through three world wars and that's why." Meanwhile, Scott, his assistant, tells me that he owns five handguns but is disappointed because he couldn't bring them all to camp.

Unusual staff aside, camp is all about campers and finally we are ready for them. Each counsellor is assigned a group that will share their cabin. I am the lucky keeper of eight nine-year-old girls. At the airport, I prepare to meet my charges. I imagine they'll be nervous, shy and even a bit teary at the prospect of two months without Mom and Dad. As the gates open, a harassed looking businessman stomps out. "I hope you've got body bags for some of those kids," he snaps.

Next minute, a phalanx of sunglass-wearing, gum-chewing, designer-clad children of every possible size saunters off the plane like pros. Even the six-year-olds look cool as cucumbers as they toss their Pokemon backpacks on to tiny shoulders.

A chubby brunette girl bounds up to me. Before I can introduce myself, she launches off. "Hi, I'm Amanda, but you can call me double-A if you like; it stands for Annoying Amanda because my friends say that I'm annoying. Do you know that I'm going to be an actor? I'm working on a pilot TV show. Hopefully it'll get picked up in a season or two but my agent says..." I tune out and watch her mouth keep moving. For the next two months Annoying Amanda did not stop; she even talked in her sleep. I know. I had to sleep in the bunk next to hers.

I round up the rest of my group. Ten-year-old Vivien tosses her long blonde mane and tells me she has two boyfriends back at home but she's still "open to doing some dating on camp". Nine-year-old Jay-Jay inspects me from head to toe and announces in a loud voice that my hair looks terrible.

Back at the cabin we start unpacking. These girls obviously don't believe in travelling light. Across the room an array of extraordinary objects is unearthed from suitcases the size of coffins. Glass photo frames go up on walls; stereos and rollerblades cover the floor. Jay-Jay produces a make-up mirror the size of a dining table and Karly opens her bag to reveal 60 T-shirts in various colours. "There's one for every day of camp," she says. "Mom told me to just throw them away once I've worn them."

In the teenage cabin, it's even crazier. One girl produces a bolt of leopard-print fabric and a staple gun. She proceeds to cover the area around her bunk with the fabric "so she would feel more at home".

The kids spy my backpack in the corner. "Is that all your luggage? You must be poor." Compared to this lot, I guess I am. These kids are rich, seriously rich. "I suppose your dad is Calvin," I joke to a boy whose surname is Klein. "No, but he's my uncle," is his response. Another counsellor finds out the hard way when she asks one of the teens to make her bed. "You do it, or my parents won't give you a tip," she snarls before flouncing off.

As the kids try to cram their belongings into the cabins, down at the lake, there is another problem. One of the English guys has spotted some snakes. "I didn't know there were snakes here, let alone swimming ones," he says looking pale. We search for a net until Leon the janitor gets rid of the snakes southern style - with a shotgun.

That evening, my city girls can't sleep. Ashley is worried about the lack of "security". "Like, there's not even an alarm or guards outside," she says, lip trembling. It's going to be a long night.

At 6.45am, I'm awake and getting the sleepy nine-year-olds dressed. The girls are obsessed with what they call "grooming" and spend forever in the shared bathroom doing their hair. Finally, we make it down to the lake to raise the flag and sing the national anthem. They are confused when I don't know the words to The Star Spangled Banner. "Don't you sing it in Australia?" Jay-Jay asks. Later I point out a picture of the Sydney Opera House and jokingly tell her it's my house. She believes me without question.

After breakfast, all campers head off to activities. My girls want to do riflery. I went to a school where even toy guns were banned, so it was a genuine shock to see children in pigtails clutching real guns. The instructor casually shows the girls how to lie on the ground commando-style, one eye squeezed shut as they fire at targets. Annoying Amanda proves to be a crack shot as she fires off bullseye after bullseye. "I'm a natural," she shouts. "I'm gonna get shooting lessons for my birthday!"

The weeks pass in a blur of cheerleading, line dancing, shooting and baseball, and the girls and I also learn to get along. They get used to my accent and I get used to the mysterious world of the nine-year-old American girl. I discover they have an aversion to housework. "Eww gross!" they chorus whenever I suggest cleaning the cabin. To get out of cleaning duties, one would claim to have a bad case of "nawsha" and threaten to throw up if a trip to the infirmary wasn't imminent. Rapidly, a sea of anguished faces would surround me, hands clutching bellies claiming that they, too, suffer from "nawsha". This, of course, always disappears as fast as it arrived if candy is produced as a bribe.

They are unbelievably articulate. When they have what they like to call "issues" with each other, they organise themselves in a circle and air their grievances Oprah-style. Jay-Jay is particularly fond of giving lectures on "respect". Another day I catch them in the cabin debating the merits of plastic surgery. Ashley pipes up that if she is still unhappy with the shape of her nose when she is 18, her parents have agreed to a nose job as a birthday present. Amanda tells the group, "If my boobs get too big, I'll get plastic surgery. Just like my mom."

If the nine-year-olds seem grown up, the teenagers are positively terrifying. Fifteen-year-old Josh tells me over lunch that the biggest regret of his life "thus far" is that he was born in Canada. "Which means, Kate, I will never be able to serve as president of this fine country." I suggest that perhaps the rules might change by the time he's old enough. "Yeah, I'll try and pass a bill when I'm senator," he says before leaping up to shake hands with Coach. Josh is doing his best to schmooze the camp directors in order to secure a captaincy in the biggest event on the camp calendar. Colour War.

Colour War is a tradition. For the last three days of the season, everyone is divided into two teams, Red and Blue, which compete at everything from cheerleading to art and craft. Josh succeeds in becoming captain of the Red team and takes it very seriously. Americans are incredibly competitive and several kids end up in tears at the prospect of losing. Josh's attitude certainly doesn't help. At a team meeting he marches up and down addressing the others: "Winning is everything! To lose means nothing!" he bellows. "Actually, winning isn't everything ... IT'S THE ONLY THING!"

Josh obviously believes this as he manages to drag the Red team over the line and on to win. The victory ceremony marks the last night of camp and lots of the kids get emotional and sing songs about being friends forever.

On departure day the girls attempt to pack while I try to work out what to do with Karly's 59 discarded T-shirts. As I watch them board the bus, I realise that although I would have never believed it possible a few weeks ago, I am sad to see them go. I sneak my stuffed kangaroo to one teary little camper, and straighten the ponytail of another. Jay-Jay runs back to me. "What is it, sweetie?" I ask tearfully. "You know, you really gotta do something about your hair. It still looks terrible," she says before running off without a second glance. Grooming advice from a nine-year-old. I might have survived summer camp but I obviously still had a long way to go before I would make a prom queen.

CAMP IT UP

IS IT FOR YOU?

Every June, eight million American children go to more than 10,000 summer camps across the USA. This year, 1,000 adult Australians will head Stateside to work as camp counsellors.

From weight-loss camps, religious camps to sport camps, there is something for every taste and budget. "Just about every American adult, kid, budgie goes off to camp some stage," jokes David Baker, managing director of the American Institute for Foreign Study. Its Camp America program has placed thousands of Australians at summer camps since 1973.

Australians are popular with camp directors. "Aussies have great skills, a great attitude which makes us a very sought-after product," Baker says. He adds that a stint at camp can be an excellent way to kick off an overseas working holiday. "It's far more all-embracing than just travelling. The camps have a serious work component, then there is the travel afterwards. You can discover America very inexpensively."

While applicants do not necessarily need skills or previous experience, what they do require, says Baker, is the right attitude. "You need to be very flexible, caring and you've got to be cut out for working with kids. You must be capable of handling the highs and the lows and the good and the bad days. At camp you are called upon to do things that you never thought you were capable of and sometimes things that you never wanted to do."

As for similar camps in Australia, Baker says, "There are camps here but, compared to America, it's fragmented. There is nothing like the tradition, history or sophistication of the American camping scene."

So what do Australians make of working with American children? "American kids are very full-on. They are very articulate and they certainly can express themselves. However, whether you are dealing with kids from a wealthy background or a kid from a low socio-economic background, they're all kids and they all have their good points and bad points," he says.

Most camp counsellors find the experience a positive one. "They have a lot of fun. Often our people have withdrawal symptoms when they leave and want go back next year and do it all over again."