This Way

31 August 2000
George is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

We've been in Europe for over a week now, and my sense of direction has let me down once, allowing us (me, Sarah and Rachael) to get lost in Amsterdam. For some, this one lack of judgement might be considered an achievement; you could spend the entire holiday wandering past unfamiliar landmarks and familiar shopkeepers who have seen you treading this stretch of road for the third time in fifteen minutes. "Only once?" the chattering throngs may chorus, "Why, when I was a fresh-faced backpacker in Istanbul, I never knew where I was; I got sold into slavery for three months and never realised it."

But not this fresh-faced backpacker. That treachery in my internal east-west compass that drove me away from the main straat and towards the amstel was shameful. I have a good sense of direction, a damn fine sense of direction to be sure; to lose it for any small space of time is embarassing, and implies further mental rifts within. I may lose my wallet at every given opportunity and fall over lego bricks and small toys with gay impunity, but I know where I am and where I'm going when I do it.

This is something I've been thinking about since the three of us arrived in Yuurp and had to start translating the maps, and I think that it's a self-found space thing. Being lead by the hand through the back alleys of some small middle-European town will not help to develop a sense of direction; finding your own way through those same back alleys to the kidnappers den will. If you can learn to navigate those treacherous paths by night, then even better. Some may think that landmarks help to define a route, but they only act as a starting point. For the person with a true sixth sense, it's the shape and direction of the space around them that defines their position, not the rusting "MacDonalds 50m a la derecha" sign. That's just too obvious; a "Banana - peel this end" sticker on a banana.

Having a strong sense of direction is maptastic; losing it is scary. Example - the circular shopping mall I encountered, with ring-shaped floors rising above and around a circular ground level. We wandered around the Lingerie ring and arrived back at the lift we'd got out of before I knew what was happening. I was thrown - the space that had been so neatly curving around me leading to halfway across the ring had warped and twisted and shoved me 180 degrees from where I wanted to be. I needed to sit down but didn't know where I'd end up if I did. Equally, travelling by train, plane or automobile has the same effect; being cooped up in a tin can with (today, at least) loud frisky Italian students denies you any idea of the space around you and where it's going. Instead, you stagger off at the end having been magically taken to a new and shiny space-area.

It's Budapest tomorrow and, although none of us can speak Hungarian, we'll get to the steam baths without trouble. I do know where I'm going.