I’ve just settled with the insurance company. And I only have myself to blame. I was in Spain, on my own in a hired car, and could not get the satnav to do my bidding. I had to repeatedly pull off the road to look at the map on my phone and then attempt to somehow commit its complicated route suggestion into my flummoxed brain. This was OK until I entered a city and found myself heading down a lane that narrowed with every passing second. Suddenly, all that lay ahead was a slither of a path between two buildings and, beyond that, a set of steep stone stairs. Several people were rightfully giving me the evil eye. Worth braving it out and pushing on?
Somehow, during one of my layby map-reading moments, I had mistakenly pressed “walk” rather than “drive” as my chosen mode of mobility and so was now about to manoeuvre the car into a pedestrianised shopping zone. I reversed, smiling the smile of a foreign idiot as I edged backwards past a row of motorcycles that I feared would fall domino-style with the slightest tap of my wing mirror. And then? A scraping noise as I edged past a metal pillar; the theme tune for a day going awry. Finally, on an actual road rather than a path, I slowly found my way back to base using that novel device: road signs. I have had better motoring moments.
The triumph of satnavs and map apps can feel so complete that, even when the visual evidence suggests that something might not be quite right, we press on, trusting that enticing siren call of a digital line on the car’s display screen. As with many technical advances, satnavs can strip us of our common sense, winnow away our self-confidence and denude our inbuilt sense of direction. There’s no going back now – well, unless your fat-fingered map reading accidentally forces you to go cold turkey.
And before I get momentarily romantic about the past, do you remember life pre-satnav? Parents arguing over who misread the map. Trying to track down a friendly local who might be able to tell you where the hell you were – “Ah Greece, I think we must have missed the turn-off for Chichester”. Trying to locate a big party only to discover that the crucial page was missing from the London A-Z. But?
Well, for knowing where you are, paper maps still rock. To get the lay of the land, see how the terrain has lent names to villages and entertain last-minute detours, a fold-out map beats digital. Digital maps put your car at the centre of the story and pull the focus in so tight that what’s beyond the brough of the hill seems of little consequence. Towns pass to the left and right, all reduced to the same digital flatness. Names of villages are often absent. You can see your moving spot on the road but you are as blinkered as a shire horse when it comes to the bigger picture.
Today, as you read this, I am halfway through the drive south to Mallorca. With the other half onboard, tech-forward and always a little too keen for my liking to be the driver, there will be no danger of us ending up in a pedestrian shopping zone. I will be given the task of dog whisperer, service-station stop-off selector and DJ which, actually, is all fine by me.
But while that onboard computer will mostly rule the day, roosting in our glove compartment is a large map of France and another of Spain. Every now and then, when I want to know where we truly are, I will unfurl one of these flapping monsters with the gusto of a rally driver’s co-pilot. It makes me happy.