In Washington DC, I was a diplomat for a day. I drove down wide boulevards where Secret Service agents paced in cargo pants and tactical vests. The Washington Monument on my right, the White House on my left, our black convoy cars eased through rush hour with a police escort and all the trimmings.
It's nice not waiting for the traffic lights but the sirens get on your nerves.
I made small talk with a man from a Swiss delegation who dreams of seeing the All Blacks. An Indian diplomat in a shimmering sari offered me rich masala chai. I took morning tea in the kind of hotel room you don't see on expedia.com.
In Washington DC, I was President for the day. We drove in convoy with the Secret Service to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.
Normally, foreigners aren't even allowed inside the grounds. I needed three types of accreditation just to get through the gate. Up the driveway, past the fountain, I quickly snap-chatted my friends. "You realise," my buddy replied, "at this exact moment, a sniper is trained on your head."
