Fun fact: for some inexplicable reason, people always ask me for directions. I'm not sure why they ask me, but figure it's either because I look essentially harmless, or because they think my height somehow instills in me preternatural wayfinding skills. At any rate, if you were lost in the Forbidden City, who would you ask for directions? Why, the giant pink American, of course, which is exactly what a group of befuddled Brits did this morning. And odder still, I knew the answer.