I’m frozen in terror. Our kamikaze driver is writing, eyes down, one hand on the steering wheel. The car is drifting into the left lane . . .

Jet-lagged, I’m in a restaurant on another continent, sipping wine. No sleep in two days, a woozy vision of a semi-naked nymph . . . where am I?

Bethlehem is a Biblical place. But I found it not quite as Biblical as I’d imagined when we got our car stuck in an alley.

Are we speaking English in Kenya? I was annoyed with the response I received when I offered tea to two rain-drenched African girls. Sheesh!

In Indonesia, my four-year-old expat daughter is outraged and in tears, suffering from a culture crisis. Is it funny?