Paper Maps & Asking for Directions

A Baltimorean in Amsterdam

AMSTERDAM DISPATCH

By China Martens

I’m so excited to travel but now I’m kind of on the defensive thinking about the fantasy of travel, and the fantasy of fantasy, and everything that’s new or out of reach to us, over the horizon; something as an American I’ve lived with all my life: Wanting what I don’t have.

I write this, in bed, tired out, on day three of my journey, a Baltimorean in Amsterdam. But I have been thinking a lot about robots lately, with A.I. and the way I Google for answers all the time. In Amsterdam, I was confused what to do with my phone, and so I have no phone service unless I’m within someone else’s wifi range. Instead I consult a Lonely Planet travel guide—a 2007 print edition I ordered online from Abe books for the fun of it, then decided I better bring when I realized I would have no phone service in Europe without buying a special plan. With my paper maps, I ask people—frequently—for things. 

It’s very different. And I like it. I judge sometimes. Can I ask that man standing there, if he knows what the green little bird sitting on the statue is? No…no… I don’t think so. He has a strange vibe, talking with earbuds in, then sitting on the bench by himself, looking somehow like a drug dealer to me, but I don’t know what drug dealers look like—but he has a kind of meeting-someone or something anxiety to him. 

Can I ask the woman doing yoga on the grass if I could join her and do yoga beside her? No…no.. I don’t think so. I watch her for a moment from afar. I try one move. It’s hard. She is very good. That would be nice to do stretches like that. 

The Scandinavian Embassy is not actually an embassy, and they don’t have oatmeal in summer. Nor really the best coffee in my opinion. So, Lonely Planet fail. I suppose all the tourists are annoying? I ask my waiter. Oh not really, he says. But what can he say? I hear the next people who come in after me, ask for oatmeal too. Maybe they have read the same guide. 

I’m so excited to travel but now I’m kind of on the defensive thinking about the fantasy of travel, and the fantasy of fantasy, and everything that’s new or out of reach to us, over the horizon; something as an American I’ve lived with all my life: Wanting what I don’t have. And that Wow, what if Iceland really is over-hyped and wow then what a great job they did of selling a volcanic island with no trees and nothing there much but this layover of 23 hours, not a gift but a perfect scam, to get me to buy overpriced transportation, overpriced hotel room, and a 100 dollars dip in the water that comes out of some kind of power plant. It’s not natural water you know, the Blue Lagoon. Now I’m so suspicious. That’s not really a good look.

We all enjoy the magic of traveling, friends at home getting to live vicariously through your pictures, and souvenirs to cherish. At some point your high drops—as everyone with emotional disturbances or addiction knows. Taking care of yourself you go gentle, the waves of up and down, up and down, the downs create the ups, the ups create the downs. You could be laughing in a cat cafe with everyone else if you just got up and go. But instead, this is rest?

Maybe rest isn’t helpful. Maybe rest should be about turning off your brain. How can you turn off your brain and write? Maybe we are back to being an over thinker in Amsterdam. Not everything you write has to be great. You always thought you write, you write, you write, and eventually, you’ll get it. Something. Somewhere.

The next day I’m back at it, walking in the wrong direction, as the funny fact is that I’m super bad at reading maps! I think this time, I know what I’m doing, feel happy and confident until I cross a canal and it looks all wrong. Think I better ask someone then keep going. I look around – in the midst of bikers, and see a young man standing alone on the corner with his phone looking at ease. 

Excuse me can I ask you for directions? Map in hand.

Sure, he says, with I think a British accent,  but I’m not from around here. I can help you with Google maps though, he says, like I’ve heard before. I’ve also heard people say they are in a rush, too busy to help, and I completely understand. 

I simply point to the canal, on the map, and ask if this is the one I am looking for to cross.

Oh no! He says, you are over here—and points, the exact opposite side of the park, I’ve been walking all this time north east, when I had wanted to go south west, and should be there by now. I realized now I didn’t even turn at the street I was supposed to. I am the worst at this.

I laugh—Haha so ridiculous! That’s fantastic. Thank you!!!! 

Glad to at least not keeping in the wrong direction. 

I don’t think I would always like to travel this way. But it’s nice for a bit—phoneless, clueless, discovering my own way by myself, with the help of some people along the way, asking for directions, the way people did in the old days—not exactly the same, but a mix of old and new, good for my brain cells I think. I don’t mind this for now. It’s helping me get out of unhelpful patterns of being alone too much and never asking people where I am or how to get somewhere else. 

China Martens is a writer and 57-year-old single-mother of a grown 35 year old. She recently went to the doctors and was horrified to find out she has lost 1/5 of an inch which makes her 6’2 4/5 of an inch. Losing some of her height to the aging process, after finally hitting a sweet spot with it, feels like such a familiar conundrum of life. She no longer considers her self extra tall.