Getting Lost....Yet Again

I am accustomed to getting lost, and I routinely allow extra time for it, and it usually doesn’t phase me.  I expect it to happen like the stop lights turning colors.  It's routine, but nothing to worry about.  This time, however, I was surprised, irritated, and out of ideas as to how to get home.  It began as a run from my apartment to the nearby arboretum, and ended after a long hour of wandering through the various paths and crannies of its far reaches.  I usually stick to an easy loop around the small lake in the middle, then back out and back to our apartment down the same street, but that day I was feeling wild, so I took a right where I usually take a left.  That’s the last thing I remember with any clarity. 

I ran to the left, then ran back to the right. I ran toward the lake, then away from the lake.  Several times I ended at the OTHER end of the arboreteum, where two smoking Chinese men waved at me, thinking I as retracing my steps as part of my regimen.  After about 20 minutes my feet hurt, and the sun was setting.  The arboretum has several golf carts that it uses to haul around prospective brides and grooms and their photographers as they go from one scenic spot to another for a photo shoot. [Note:  In China it’s very common to have elaborate photo shoots pre-marriage, and they often rent the gowns, tuxs, and other costumes for it.  I saw at least 3 couples in Mao costumes striking propaganda like poses, and wondered if they were dressing in those uniforms as a joke, or sincerity, but I had no time (or linguistic skills) to find out.  I ran by the large costume rental shop at least 3 times, but I couldn’t get you there again on a bet.]  I asked at least 3 different drivers where my street was.  I am certain I was saying the right question, but it was met with blank stares, and a shrug.  One fellow actually repeated the name of the street, then said it again with recognition in his voice, but then he pointed me toward the lake, which I knew was not the way home.  

I was supposed to meet S at the entrance gate 30 minutes ago,  he on his motorcycle, and I had visions of him coming round the corner to save me, until I remembered no motorcycles were allowed in he park.  My knight was not coming this time; I was on my own, and had to use the small tool box of my directional wits to get me out of this one.  

I finally got out, but I have no idea how.  S wasn’t waiting at the gate; I assumed he went home and prepared to call Chengdu daughter for emergency Mandarin to file a missing persons report.  

I have some suggestions for the world in general for those of us who are directionally challenged.  (1) Plan any public space on a grid, north goes directly south, and east goes to west.  It works for Manhattan people, and that island is not square to begin with.  (2)  Have emergency phones that people like me can use placed strategically around the world, and (3) ask that people like me be implanted with a GPS homing device like the pigeons.

When I got home, I was amazed how lost I’d gotten, but also quite curious as to where I’d been.  I was wishing I had the ability to see a bird’s-eye-view of my wanderings, but that might have been depressing, in case I was quite close to the exit the whole time.  I am ready for old age, because I’ve already got a rep for this type of getting-lost behavior, and I just own it.  S has suggested I return to my predictable route, and carry a phone.  That prompted a discussion about fanny-packs, which I am not prepared to being sporting.  If I don’t post a blog for another few weeks, check the missing-persons bureau for a picture of yours truly.  There are worse places to get lost, I would say in my defense; at least I have good taste in scenery.