I once spent a week or so, showing a trainee teacher around London in the mid 70's. She was from New York (nyu york) and was delightfully different.
At that time, New York was a bit dangerous and she thought London was the same, so for the first couple of days she was like a frightened rabbit and clung on for dear life.
She refused to even call my mini a car, and actually stood and laughed when I first pointed it out to her in the car park. She was amazed at the greenery in and around London, and couldn't get over the fact that there was a village green or a proper big park at the end of virtually every street.
She felt very naughty sitting outside a pub, drinking beer and actually hid it every time a policeman strolled or drove by.
She (we) were nineteen at the time, and drinking was still illegal for her in NY.
Carnaby Street blew her mind, as did Petticoat Lane. By day four she was doing the usual woman thing and disappearing off after some bargain, leaving me scratching my head as to how ladies manage to do it.
I'd hover in the area until she returned, and stroll on for a happy minute or so until I realised I was talking to myself again.
She got a liking for real ale, proper chips with salt and vinegar, my little car, pub life (loud, noisy, bawdy and mostly funny), tiny, old fashioned houses, total lack of skyscrapers, separate hot and cold taps, and the funny way we pronounced everything.
She could also knock spots off us at rounders, had aching feet, legs, you name it every day as she never walked back at home, nearly died after putting english mustard on her hot dog, almost crashed my car whilst trying to drive it round a big empty car park (she'd never seen a gear stick before) and had a certain sort of exoticness (is that a word?) that immediately drew people to her, as she was obviously different to the norm.