Many years ago, let's say 14, I visited Paris, France. Besides seeing the regular sights like the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and scantily clad Frenchmen in berets, we saw many other things.
Being foreigners, our main form of transportation was taxis. What ensued was the scariest time I've ever had in a car, and I've been on road trips with comedians.
In the middle of the week we were taking a taxi from a restaurant back to the hotel. We hopped in the black cab, ready for an uneventful trip. "To the hotel, kind sir," we said. The driver did speak English, and was very proud of his city of Paris.
He'd point out the sights, the architecture, and where he lost his virginity to a heroin addicted hooker named Dixie. Then we approached a historic landmark; The tunnel where Princess Diana died.
As we approached the tunnel the driver got very excited. So excited that he took his hands off the wheel, leant over the passenger seat and exclaimed "That's where your Princess Diana died." The car swerved in the direction he was pointing, and we were rapidly heading into the same spot where Diana crashed. At the last second the driver took control over the car again we made it back safely to our hotel.
We thought we were going to die in the same place as Diana, but we survived. We'd ask ourselves the questions - Why us? Why did we survive? Was it due to the drivers quick reflexes? Was it due to divine intervention? Probably not. I think the driver was just an asshole.