If I had to pick a favorite golf tournament, it would be the British Open.
I like the trip over, I've learned how to drive on the left side of the road and I like wandering the streets of the small towns and villages where the Open is usually played.
After an overnight flight, with my body clock haywire, I was up by 5 a.m. Scotland time this morning -- midnight back home. The sun was up already, so I made a cup of coffee, grabbed my camera and struck out from the house I'm sharing a few hundred yards from the course to hit the streets of Carnoustie.
I don't care where you go in the U.S., we don't have the kind of little ancient villages they have over here. By 6 a.m., a few shopkeepers were already preparing to open. Dressed in shorts, loafers with no socks and a fleece pullover, I stuck out like a sore thumb -- or a typical America.
People nodded and greeted me on the street with a cheerful hello.