They Just Know By Darren Baker

česky

In Japan, the people often go out of their way to help you when you're lost. Literally. Once my friends and I asked two young Japanese students for directions after we got lost walking around in Tokyo one sunny afternoon. Since the students didn't know English well enough to tell us them, they decided to take us there personally. How kind of them, we thought - and then it became apparent they didn't have a clue as to where this place was. First we made a left, then a right, then another left and another right, kind of like climbing a stairwell on a map. All along the busy streets they kept asking others for help, and these people would first point left, then right, then left and right again. But at least they all tried.

In England, I was lucky to get any directions at all. Everyone I stopped would claim not to know how to get where I wanted to go, or else would point like a compass and say "there somewhere". It wasn't as if I was looking for some obscure street or bus stop, but landmarks like the museum and the chopping block where a couple of Henry's wives lost their heads. An acquaintance of mine later explained that the English, thanks to their tradition as a seafaring nation, have an innate sense of direction. They might not know exactly where they're going, but they get there nevertheless. Sort of like a flock of geese. His observation was countered by another acquaintance, who said that the English, again thanks to their tradition as a seafaring nation, got so good at making maps that they didn't bother trying to compete with them anymore.

To get a better understanding how such an internal guidance system works, one can go to the Sahara desert, where there lives an ant with a name ten times longer than itself. Because the Sahara is so hot, this ant has only about thirty minutes to forage for food. So he comes out of his hole and starts scampering around in every conceivable direction. By the time he finds something to eat - some less fortunate ant, let's say - he will have zigzagged quite a distance from his hole. What's more, all he sees around him is sand and he might have only one minute left before the sun cooks him. But never mind, for no matter where he finds his lunch, he always dashes in a straight line back to his hole. Scientists aren't yet sure how he does it without the help of satellites, signs or maps. Maybe he's able to calculate every step and angle he takes, maybe he just knows, the way geese in England do.

Whatever the case, I've seen an internal guidance system similar to the ant's at work in the Czech Republic, a nation that has everything except oceans and deserts. The only difference is, it works in reverse. When a man leaves his home for a night of drinking in the pub, he usually goes straight there. After he gulps the last of his beer, he begins to head home, zigzagging here and there, often with his head flopping around on his shoulders. But no matter where the pub is, or how much he staggers and stumbles and strays from the path, he always makes it to his home safe and sound. To the relief of his wife and family, no doubt.