Back in 2000, I went to the GOP Convention in Philadelphia.  My wife was also there, as was her sister.  We came back to Washington, D.C. with three completely different experiences.

All I did was work.  All my sister-in-law did was party.  And my wife did both.

If you haven't been to a political convention, it's not really that easy to describe.  Oh yeah, there's a big stadium, and all the delegates gather inside and people give speeches.

But there is so much more than that going on in the city of Denver, and it is so much different just a few blocks away for someone else.

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting outside of the Hyatt in downtown Denver, which seems to be a hotel that is housing a number of VIP's, judging by the constant traffic, which is dominated by black limousines.

The drone of helicopters overhead is also there - constantly - as they search for any political protest misbehavior.  The rumor a few hours ago was that they had closed the media gates to the Pepsi Center because some knuckleheads were marching by.

I'm here at the Hyatt waiting to interview Congressman John Lewis of Georgia, but he's already late, most likely slowed by groups of protesters who are beginning to flood through the already crowded downtown streets of Denver.

There are about a dozen police officers in full riot gear standing next to me, just sort of hanging out and waiting for their orders to administer a few Wooden Shampoos, or maybe to zap some poor slob with Chemical Billy in the streets. 

Downtown Denver was sort of a bazaar of people on Sunday.  Lots of locals trying to soak in what was going on and lots of delegates getting a look too.

Many were stopping to have their pictures taken with the police, loaded down with all kinds of gear.

"All of this crap weighs more than me," one Sergeant told me.

Suddenly, the radio crackled with a warning.

"There are five subjects pushing a grocery cart and they have a blanket covering whatever is in there," said the voice, most likely from one of the choppers above.

"Head down 15th!" yelled one of the riot squad supervisors and suddenly the dozen or so guys with billy clubs and a lot more went running down the sidewalk.

I followed at a respectful distance to see what was up.

Instead of the dudes with the grocery cart, there was one lady with a tie-die shirt, a long ponytail and a sign about some kind of miscarriage of justice on the American People.

The Sergeant listened nicely and told her to move along.

An hour later, I was a few blocks away, outside the hotel where the Ohio delegation is staying.  Some of the same riot police were at the end of their block.

The Ohio crowd though was oblivious, as the delegates surged in and out of the front door, from the lobby to the sidewalk, waiting to get on buses to take them to a big concert at Red Rocks.

There were hugs and back slaps and big smiles with this group, as they prepped for more than just work in Denver.

The Ohio schedule leaves out little, as the delegation has a nightly reception that runs until just past midnight in one room, and if you are ready for more entertainment, there's a Scotch and Cigar reception until 2am.

"I'll pass on the Scotch," one former Ohio Congressman told me, "but I might have to stay up late and have a cigar."

He looked a lot more relaxed than when he was in the Congress.

"I'm only staying here through Wednesday," he said with a big smile.  "I'll get to watch Obama from home."

In the meantime though, he was ready for a little fun on his own terms.

Me, the protestors and the former Congressman.  All of us at the same political convention.  All of us in much different worlds.