The human brain is a fascinating thing. I have a college degree and speak several languages, but once managed to literally walk in a circle looking for a building in Berlin. But what I lack in general orientation I make up for with my inbuilt compass. This is not a given, even in people with a good sense of direction, something I discovered one day while describing to my husband where to find a particular store.
“It’s on the north side of the street.”
He looked at me as if I had just spoken ancient Greek.
“What do you mean — north — where is that?”
I couldn’t believe he didn’t know the points of the compass. He, in turn, couldn’t believe that I did. In classic husband style, he proceeded to test me whenever we exited a train station.
“So? Which way is west?” he’d sneer, fully confident I wouldn’t know.
I’d sniff the air and point. “That way.”
OK, I’m lying about the sniffing, but I did point. And I was always right.
It wasn’t until I read a passage in one of Bill Bryson’s hilarious books that I realized that giving directions using the points of the compass is a cultural thing. He claims you can identify who is American in Paris since they are the ones standing on…
