Lost in Translation. Really, just lost.

There is a thing in China that demands intense faith and on-going prayers. It’s not communists or atheists. It’s not air or water pollution. OK, it is pollution, but that’s not the main thing. It’s not the food, which can be something that the exterminators missed but the cooks found. It’s not the horrendous traffic, but that’s close.

It’s the taxi drivers.

It’s not the way they drive, though there will be cause for praying when they drive, because they tend to drive like there are recruiters from NASCAR watching every move to try to find the next Dale Earnhardt, Jr, Jeff Gordon, or Danica Patrick, only this one called Xi Hu Fat. They drive like the roads are slalom courses, the other cars are moving gates, and they are Lindsey Vonn, only, you know, with cars and lots and lots of speed.

No, that’s not it. It’s more basic than that.

It’s not really knowing if they’re taking you where you actually need to go.

See, even though China has the largest English speaking population of any country, none of those people are driving taxis. They’re all hacking into our emails. The taxi drivers all speak Chinese. So here’s what happens. You give them the address of where you want to go written on a piece of paper by someone from the place you want to go, like, a school, or the hotel…