We were looking for a museum that was on the outskirts of Istanbul. I was navigating through the unsigned roads that intersected the highway. Invariably, I picked the wrong side and we had to walk a 6 kilometer detour. In the heat. After already walking some 20,000 steps.
There’s usually a moment at every journey where I lose my way. I actually think having a map in front of me at all times make it worse. I’m much better with the occasional glance and then setting off.
To be honest, I embrace the part of me that can’t read maps. Getting lost is part of the adventure.
On this particular lost adventure, my partner and I walked through some ruins that skirted the highways. Gypsies were cooking over a fire and old men chain-smoked in crevices of what looked like the remnants of a castle.
It looked like the bones of the building had gone through quite a battering.
We had to walk through and skirt around the place.
Eventually, we found the museum – and you’ll never guess, the museum was dedicated to a story that took place in the very ruins we had walked through. Back in 1453, the Fall of Constantinople took place in the area we just walked through. You know, no big deal.
It was an amazing serendipity and reminded me of J. R. Tolkien’s line “Not all those who wander are lost.”
And that is why I’m glad I can’t read a map.