I went to N.Y. once, years ago. On the first night I had my first (and probably the last) keg party. I shared a room in a hostel with a lesbian couple, and next morning I had a few hours to kill before heading to the Grand Central.
I don't remember how I met this guy, it must have been in the hostel over a dry toast and a cup of coffee. Or was it at the path in the park? Did I ask him to show me the rocks? I really can't remember, but I recall that he was taking a walk with me in the Central Park.
This guy was a British in America, living a new found life, being really British and making tons of friends, or so he claimed. (I didn't buy this at all, since he was talking to ME.) Within a few minutes I was more or less convinced that this guy was trying to get me to a cult / self discovery seminars, or similar. He was on and on about how he re-discovered himself in US by attending these meetings or lectures. I really, really wanted to leave him but I had no idea how to get out of the park without getting lost, making it on time for my train to Chicago.
He was telling me that he knows this lovely spot full of roses, which was near by a gate close to the subway station. I knew he was delusional, since it was in early April and there still was chill in the air. But I had no choice but to follow him. I kept some distance away from the guy and was ready to leg it any second, yet following the guy who was desperately looking for roses.
He never found the spot, and he did show me to the station, and nothing bad did happen. I just was left with quite a bad impression regarding Britons who are living in the US. Funnily enough, he was the first and last real British I met in US during my short US life. People's prospects for British things & people were fairly biased and twisted, always dusted in pink powdered sugar. People just loved British anything.
Ignorance is bliss, for better or worse. History and common sense are all about what they believe.
