I was stuck in Moscow one New Year's, and about the only difference is that in Russia the party starts much earlier and the vodka is much stronger.
By the time the new year actually rolled around, my Russian host had passed out and his friends had taken off to find themselves some prostitutes.
The following year I was in London. Everyone talks about how elegant and refined the British are, but stand outside a London pub on New Year's Eve and those aren't the two words that come to mind. Roman Vomitorium more accurately describes the scene. Chunky lads and lasses standing in gutters spewing chunky bits and pieces, then returning inside to guzzle more Guinness. Cheerio!
Given my lifelong aversion to New Year's Eve, I was reluctant when asked two years ago to host CNN's special coverage of the ball drop in Times Square.